Jean Nouvel ― An Artist who Writes Poetry of the Future, with Architectural Images
The French-born architect, Jean Nouvel, is a world-renowned figure not only in architecture but in many areas of culture and arts. Born in 1945, he got admitted to the prestigious École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris as the first in his class. His genius was already in the working at that young age.
"I put art in the architecture, and the architecture in the city."
Jean Nouvel has been active in many areas of architecture. In 1976, he led the French architectural movement, Mars 1976; in 1980, he was in charge of planning for the arts programs in the Paris architectural biennale. In 1983, he was awarded the Knight of the Order of Arts and the Letters.
The Arab cultural center in Paris, completed in 1987, is among his masterpieces; it was received with raving reviews for its simplicity that seems to express the relationship between the Arab world and the European culture, and conflicts between tradition and modernity. His other works include the Cartier foundation in Paris, Lyong opera house, and the Andel building in Prague, which was completed recently. And the completion of his Agba Tower is just around the corner, which will be Barcelona’s next monumental landmark, along with Antoni Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia church.
Jean Nouvel has expressed in many of his works the contemporary and futuristic sentiment of cities. Frequently using glass, steel, and other “cold, hard” materials, he creates sharp and sophisticated images. His designs are oftentimes described as a massive work of art. He contends that architecture be raised to join the ranks of poetry, and designs his works as dictated by his instinct and intuition, like so many artists do. A hybrid of cutting-edge technology and contemporary art esthetics, his architecture is progressive as well as provocative.
Why he designs to his intuition, and why his architecture is brimming with poetic images is revealed in his own words:
“Luckily, there is no right answer or only answer in architecture. There are only countless pathetic answers and numerous exciting answers. It is enough, therefore, for an architect to come up with a “realizable” answer. But such an answer is oftentimes (surprisingly) too simple, or clear yet (paradoxically) undecipherable.”
"Please listen to the story of spaces which are as diverse as the branches and roots of trees."
What did you feel when you decided to take the Leeum project? And what is the primary concept for the project?
I took on this project a long time ago. At that time, there were several other buildings in the lot. My initial concept was to take into consideration the relationship between the building and the topography, and to arrange the layout such that the building will be situated at the center of the dent in the lot, along with other structures.
I mean the dent by a space with long traces of the city, not a blank space or clean slate. That’s where I first started with this project, but as it became more concrete, I realized that the building must “shoot out” from the massive ground in order for it to look like it’s part of the topography. So that’s how I designed my building, and the visits to the museum will get the feeling that the structure has escaped a space deep down the Earth. Even the trees: they will be planted not where the entrance is located, but about 10 to 15 meters lower than the entrance level. The building is an embodiment of contrasts between horizontal lines and curves. It will also embody a wide variety of contours that resemble the contours of the lot. It may seem somewhat arbitrary, but the inner space to be created will be the one with many possibilities, depending on the differences and directions.
You’ve used a unique material: rusty stainless steel. For what purposes did you choose that material?
MUSEUM 2 is a building made of steel and glass.
And the steel I’ve used is quite ambiguous. It is not your ordinary oxidizing metal; it is neither rusted nor rusting. It may look like polished dark rock, and it is open to light and at the same time looks dark. I mean it is a material that is capable of expressing many different qualities; it is a material that at once exists and not exists. But I’m not particularly fond of using rusty metals for my work. I was merely looking for something with a hint of rocks or that implies the topography. Another important thing is the typically metallic sense of mass created by all those curves. There is glass in between the display boxes. The sense of non-existence implied by glass contrasts sharply with the sense of mass in the metal boxes. Their angular contours become softer as the lines move through the glass windows. I meant it that way so as to avoid the mechanical feeling. To me, architecture is a dialogue between existence and non-existence.
I find the gray metal boxes (display boxes) outside the building beautiful and impressive! How did you come up with such original idea? And how is that design related to the artworks displayed in the museum?
The display boxes are quite abstract in form, and they face different directions ― which makes them very expressive.
What I was trying to achieve was to make the boxes symbolize certain ideas. And the ideas will be realized by many different exhibit areas inside the museum.
Which will make up the “solid” parts of the building. But once inside the building, you’ll get the feeling that the geometric “solid” elements have embraced dynamic qualities. Depending on the characteristics of the displayed art, you can change the entire space inside by utilizing the walls or adding temporary installations. You can transform the museum into many different things, by, say, closing a few boxes and thus making an exhibition hall dark. What is intriguing here is the contrasting effects of light. The sun, as it creeps its way into the cracks above the works that are placed inside the dark boxes, creates a space where light and shadow is in harmony with each other. I mean, you’ll get the co-existence of light and darkness. I like spaces that have properly utilized the penetration of light, which is different from the general tendencies of art museums; your ordinary museums try to control light. I wanted to create a contrast between natural light and shadow, just like in the ancient architectures, although you could also offset two spaces by using artificial lights and verticals.
I understand that you wanted the open space, created by drilling the earth, to be left as it was. What was your intention behind that?
I wanted the building to look like it’s shot out of the earth, like a rock, and I wanted to create a feeling that it has always been there, and thus it claims its place in the earth.
Visitors to the museum will encounter a large pit. Surely, they will look down into it ― into the pit in the ground. And that changes everything, because such a building is completely different from a structure that just sits on the ground. You can feel the “root,” if you will. And my interest lied in such utilization of topographical contours, which will make you feel like the building is half above-ground and half underground, and the effects are contrasting. But the contrasting elements become one and they create a single entity. The visual image that the structure has “penetrated” into the earth is what makes it unique.
All three of the buildings in the museum have been created by master architects, and they are all very different from one another. What kind of relationship or relationships do you see between them?
I see a story. You need to find out the story in order to understand the relationships between the buildings.
The story is the one that is particular to the museum, and it is the story of works of art there as well as the story of the entire architecture as the collection of all the art therein. So each of us architects has searched for his own ways of expressing that theme, while keeping in mind the designs of the other architects. In my case, the focus was placed on making sure the structure is “rooted” as deeply as possible, whereas Mario Botta emphasized the appearance of volume, and Rem Koolhass was playing the part of a “foothold,” which helps reveal what is hidden. So each of us has created a wonderful complementary relationship with the other two architects, although our styles are of course quite different from one another. I think the surrounding landscapes and the spaces in between the buildings will provide the necessary links.
Do you have any particular wish for the future of Leeum?
Although some of the works on display there will be part of the permanent collections, I’ve designed the museum as a sort of special, temporary exhibit hall.
What I was aiming for is a kind of new flexibility, which is different from your traditional sense of flexibility. An art museum that will showcase a variety of artworks should be a place that presents more than a meager collection of categorized art pieces.
The museum I wanted to create is a space where artworks are not collected and warehoused, but where a relationship between the works is created, where various expressive modes and media that are being used for the contemporary art are accepted and embraced. Designing an art museum is to me an adventure. And I take uniqueness very seriously, and thus I wanted to create something that is one of a kind. In fact, I wanted to design something that is so unique that there has never been anything quite like it before, ever; something that is the newest, that is existent yet non-existent. In such a place, viewers will feel the museum is larger than it actually is. The museum will not be a simple rectangular space, but it will be an endless labyrinth of a space. What I want for the Samsung Museum Leeum is that the curators will be able to experiment with different exhibition schemes, not limited by the constraints of space, because that is the new flexibility I mentioned, and the multi-functionality.
