WORDS: Gabija Purlytė
To return to the virtues of concretes for in situ realisations with masons, formworkers, carpenters… Real trades. Real workers in real situations.
The opening of MuCEM (Museum of European and Mediterranean Civilisations) on 7 June was not only the highlight of Marseille’s programme as European City of Culture 2013, it was also one of the biggest events of the year in European architecture, drawing all eyes to the harbour city on the south coast of France. The author of this new landmark, Rudy Ricciotti, responsible also for the recently inaugurated Department of the Arts of Islam at the Louvre, is a recipient of a number of French national awards, renowned for his uncompromising and outspoken character as much as for his daring architectural venture.
Dubbed the “bad boy of architecture,” he has no time for mainstream standards. The working process of a team under his direction, which, as he told tn2, has remained the same for the last 30 years, is one of the distinctive features of Ricciotti’s practice. It begins with the identification of a problem: “Identify the constraints, the nuisances and then the interstices to reconstruct a narrative. Listen to the site and the programme to be able to make it speak.” Ricciotti is the champion of figurative language, fantasy and narrative – keywords in his work, unduly marginalized in contemporary global architectural trends, which he has termed “architectural Salafism.” The site of the MuCEM was not a gratuitous one, as the new building had to withstand the challenge thrown up by the vicinity of the Fort Saint-Jean built by Louis XIV, the industrial port, the view over the historical cityscape of Marseille and the intense blue of the Mediterranean Sea. Yet the end result of this project which stretched over eleven years arguably responds to all these aspects of its surroundings, as well as to its designated purpose. In the architect’s own eyes, the museum building is somewhat physically dematerialised; feminine in the laciness of the concrete “net” which envelops the inner structure, but imbued with a tension reminiscent of the body of “an Ethiopian athlete.” The project whose visual allusion guided the conception most strongly was the Jean Cocteau Museum at Menton, a flat-topped white concrete trapezoid resting on a colonnade of tree-trunk-like posts; spaces between these turn into sharp-edged slits which cut deep into the rooftop. Its undulating forms are at once an evocation of the stretched flowing lines of Cocteau’s cinematic style and homage to his film Beauty and the Beast, whose imagery – the long wavy hair, the tentacles and the chandeliers – were the direct inspiration for the building.
Ricciotti has often called himself a mannerist. When asked to explain what he meant by this term, he gave a curt definition: “To practice a rupture with modernity and to manipulate this doxa, that’s what mannerism consists of.” In talking about his influences he was also short and clear-cut: “I like all the architects before 1939. From 1945, I detest almost all of them!” As if on a second thought, he added, “Yes, of course, all the heroes of the modern movement…” Keeping this attitude in mind, it is not surprising that the type of building Ricciotti still hopes to produce is a church. His project for the sanctuary at Notre-Dame du Laus which, unfortunately, did not win the contest, envisaged a simple but grand cave-like space opening onto the breathtaking alpine panorama in place of the chancel wall.
Another crucial aspect of his practice which makes him so exceptional is the incessant strive for technical innovation – the project for MuCEM alone entailed thirteen experimental authorisations (ATEx, to use French jargon). Stemming from his passion for engineering and his constant dialogue with architects, the combination of Ricciotti’s bold ideas and cutting-edge scientific research has resulted in developments such as Ductal, an “ultra-performing fibrous concrete”. Concrete, traditionally a very humble utilitarian material, is the architect’s most beloved, and in his designs it has been put to previously unimaginable uses. In fact, often at the start of a project neither he nor his team of engineers know how exactly the planned ideas will be realized. Ricciotti is always adamant in emphasizing the importance of the entire team without which the completion of a building would be impossible, likening his role to that of the conductor in an orchestra, firing up the ardour in the collective and pushing them to the extremity of their capabilities – “Knowing how to say please, and then thank you.”
There is a strong socialist side both to his strive for techno-scientific development and to his work ethic: His central objective, when conceiving an architectural design, is not to provide the human being with its shell, as it was for Le Corbusier. Rather, it is to “give work to the labourers. Prevent the delocalisation of jobs. Renew the memory of work.” Here is a well functioning initiative to promote local economies, avoid brain-drain and boost the global competitiveness of national industries: a redefinition of “sustainable development”. Ricciotti is critical of what he calls the “green terror” of the current “eco-friendly architecture” industry, which for him is just another form of consumerism disguised as environmental consciousness. He summed up the social function of architecture equally clearly: to be at the service of the workers, from the labourer to the engineer.
The most recent of Ricciotti’s big commissions was inaugurated on 30 August – the redesigned Parisian Stade Jean Bouin, which is the largest rugby stadium in France. At the moment, the architect is working on much smaller projects – cultural centres, social housing developments and so on. But we can be quite certain that this insurgent of the architectural world will continue to surprise and amaze us in the future.
The first photo is by Marco Jeanson, and the second is © Lisa Ricciotti.
