Anneli Xie
Prof. Alice Friedman
ARTH 321: Gender, Sexuality, and the Design of Houses
2019/04/13
Prof. Alice Friedman
ARTH 321: Gender, Sexuality, and the Design of Houses
2019/04/13
Reading response:
Luis Barragan Home and Studio, Mexico City
Viewed from the outside, Casa Luis Barragán – or the “Mexican” house, as
Kathryn O’Rourke labels it in her essay “Alone in History: Luis Barragán’s “Mexican”
House” – appears completely mundane, lacking the surrealism and magic that
is often associated with the architect’s work. A two-story building, the
exterior of the house is a dull industrial gray and contains only a couple of
small windows (all equipped with burglar bars); O’Rourke even calling it “exterior-less.”
At first glance, the house is thus not very enticing – but upon entrance, the
space transforms into a compelling contemplation on the dynamics of
private/public life, the company of solitude, and the complex issue of
historical representation. In this way, Casa Luis Barragán unmistakably falls
under the category of poker-face architecture, as it acts to both empathically
conceal and keep out – but also to regulate the movement of the visitor
that has actually been invited to enter. In O’Rourke’s words: “Barragan’s
desire for people to see his house was nearly as great as his desire for them
not to see it.”
Built in 1948, Casa Luis Barragán was continuously modified to fit Barragán’s needs and his experiments within architecture. For example, the living room was initially designed to be spacious and light-filled, but was later divided into two by a new wall that was put up, and the roof deck became an outdoor room (with walls and thus only showing the sky.) Much like artists could modify a canvas, Barragán believed an architect should be able to do the same, and often removed or moved walls, something he was able to do as the sole resident and the architect of the building. In O’Rourke’s essay, it seems like solitude, silence, and spirituality were the most important factors in formulating his private space, especially as Barragán believed that the opportunity to think and reflect was lost in the public, and that his mission as an architect was to make homes comfortable and secure. In Barragan’s mind, solitude was both good company and very needed – much like shadows were needed – in allowing an entry into oneself.
Combining vernacular forms of Mexico with influences from Western architects such as Le Corbusier, Matthias Goeritz, and Ferdinand Bac, Barragán himself was an engineer by training, and rejected both high-standing modernist architects, such as Mies van der Rohe and Philip Johnson, as well as any connection to pre-Columbian cultures and pre-Columbian architecture. Despite this, he was often portrayed as “quintessentially Mexican – particularly outside of Mexico;” an embodiment of “Mexicanness” that could be found in his use of material, furnishings, decor, and contradictions. However, this was something that Barragán himself rejected, and in response to Mexican poet and critic Elena Poniatowska’s question, “Is there an essentially Mexican architecture?” he instead replied: “No. Definitively no,” something quite remarkable during the time, as many of his colleagues (Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, e.g.) were heavily concerned with “Mexicanness:” the national pride that drew extensively from indigenous traditions. It wasn’t that Barragán’s house wasn’t nostalgic for the pre-colonial past, using “volcanic rock to pave the vestibule and main stairs, wood for floors, ceiling beams, and some furniture [and] woven floor mats, and the leather-covered chairs [… as] additional allusions to provincial rusticity.” What distinguished Barragán, however, was the emphasis on utilitarian rather than decorative objects, the abstraction and “the avoidance of much actual folk art,” not collecting nor displaying any objects associated with children, fantasy, or culinary practices. Instead, Barragán’s non-utilitarian decorations made considerable references to Catholicism with religious sculptures and horse heads emphasizing an acceptance/resignation to colonialist thought. By distancing himself from the idea of embodying the “quintessential Mexican,” arguing that there is no Mexican architecture, Barragán could create spaces for alternative ways of living, seeing architecture as a place of refuge, perhaps more than a piece of politics or a place to live.
O’Rourke, Kathryn. “Alone in History: Luis Barragan’s “Mexican” House.” In Modern Architecture in Mexico City, 283-327.
Built in 1948, Casa Luis Barragán was continuously modified to fit Barragán’s needs and his experiments within architecture. For example, the living room was initially designed to be spacious and light-filled, but was later divided into two by a new wall that was put up, and the roof deck became an outdoor room (with walls and thus only showing the sky.) Much like artists could modify a canvas, Barragán believed an architect should be able to do the same, and often removed or moved walls, something he was able to do as the sole resident and the architect of the building. In O’Rourke’s essay, it seems like solitude, silence, and spirituality were the most important factors in formulating his private space, especially as Barragán believed that the opportunity to think and reflect was lost in the public, and that his mission as an architect was to make homes comfortable and secure. In Barragan’s mind, solitude was both good company and very needed – much like shadows were needed – in allowing an entry into oneself.
Combining vernacular forms of Mexico with influences from Western architects such as Le Corbusier, Matthias Goeritz, and Ferdinand Bac, Barragán himself was an engineer by training, and rejected both high-standing modernist architects, such as Mies van der Rohe and Philip Johnson, as well as any connection to pre-Columbian cultures and pre-Columbian architecture. Despite this, he was often portrayed as “quintessentially Mexican – particularly outside of Mexico;” an embodiment of “Mexicanness” that could be found in his use of material, furnishings, decor, and contradictions. However, this was something that Barragán himself rejected, and in response to Mexican poet and critic Elena Poniatowska’s question, “Is there an essentially Mexican architecture?” he instead replied: “No. Definitively no,” something quite remarkable during the time, as many of his colleagues (Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, e.g.) were heavily concerned with “Mexicanness:” the national pride that drew extensively from indigenous traditions. It wasn’t that Barragán’s house wasn’t nostalgic for the pre-colonial past, using “volcanic rock to pave the vestibule and main stairs, wood for floors, ceiling beams, and some furniture [and] woven floor mats, and the leather-covered chairs [… as] additional allusions to provincial rusticity.” What distinguished Barragán, however, was the emphasis on utilitarian rather than decorative objects, the abstraction and “the avoidance of much actual folk art,” not collecting nor displaying any objects associated with children, fantasy, or culinary practices. Instead, Barragán’s non-utilitarian decorations made considerable references to Catholicism with religious sculptures and horse heads emphasizing an acceptance/resignation to colonialist thought. By distancing himself from the idea of embodying the “quintessential Mexican,” arguing that there is no Mexican architecture, Barragán could create spaces for alternative ways of living, seeing architecture as a place of refuge, perhaps more than a piece of politics or a place to live.
References
O’Rourke, Kathryn. “Alone in History: Luis Barragan’s “Mexican” House.” In Modern Architecture in Mexico City, 283-327.