Reflections On Brutalism And The Connections I’m Pulling To Inspire My Artistic Process

JULY 19, 2020

As of late (specifically: since my last post and newfound journey into more “intuitive artistry”) I’ve been drawn to rough, raw textures and honest, expressive, gestural details. Most notably, I am appreciating these elements as they relate to my paintings and experimenting with new materials, scales, and techniques (without overthinking *too much*).

As with any exciting design/making endeavor, my inquisitive nature has begun to question and look to additional sources for inspiration that can better help inform my process (bless you, Pinterest). One of those sources is Brutalism - an architectural style defined by raw, exposed building materials, large, monolithic structures, and predominantly rough, large-scale use of concrete construction.

Among many prolific building design styles, Brutalism may perhaps be among the most controversial - having been subject to scrutiny and labels such as “stark”, “unwelcoming” and even “totalitarian” by many since its inception in the 1950’s. But once one starts to look beneath its surface (particularly: its raw, honest, bare, rough, board-formed and textured surface) this style can reveal some profound (and dare I say — beautiful) design ideologies.

I was first introduced to Brutalism in architecture school, having signed up for an elective aptly named “Heroic Modernism”. Led by OverUnder co-founder Mark Pasnik, the class took a deep dive into exploring Brutalism’s origins and history throughout the years, while also shining light on the ever-evolving dualities of reception of this bold architectural style. The class used Boston as a case study for the movement, focusing specifically on a transformative period between 1960-1976 when the city underwent some pretty radical changes with civic interventions. Most notably though, lessons and discussions were centered around dismantling the negative connotations that seemed to be inextricably connected to Brutalism as a term all on its own, opting instead for Heroic as a more appropriate descriptor to embody the movement. Our efforts in the class also helped with contributions towards Heroic: Architecture and the New Boston - a book synthesizing Boston’s transformative concrete evolution (please see introductory pages for a beautifully executed axonometric drawing of the Boston Architectural College generated by yours truly and my teammate Steve Meyer (shoutout 🤍).

To Pasnik, Kubo, and Grimley (all co-authors) - Heroic stands to represent a number of ideals:

(Cited from page 19 and this source)

Referring to the formal attributes of the buildings themselves — powerful, singular, aspiring to the iconic — and to the attitudes of the architects and institutions that created them
A cultural project meant to reveal the realities of its time and forge a new honesty about architecture’s role sighting the broader social and urban transformations of the postwar era
A movement acknowledging the complexities of the era’s concrete buildings — both the intentions from which they grew and their controversial status afterwards
And this counterpoint to Brutalism:
A balanced character of endorsement and critique – both the aspiration as well as the flaw that characterizes the tragic hero in mythology – whereas Brutalism can only be read negatively

Based on the above points, I distilled the Heroic movement for myself into two categories:

One being the physical expression of this style (specifically its use of concrete) and its architectural implications related to material, scale, and form
Two being the immense social and civic impact this movement had (both within physical and temporal contexts)

I believe both of these points play an equal role in imbuing Brutalism with its polarizing reception (some loved it, some hated it, many seemed to misunderstand it) — with the latter perhaps bearing more weight (pun intended). Especially considering several heightened economic and political movements transpiring in tandem with Brutalism’s evolution at the time (most notably: Boston’s massive urban renewal policy and the Civil Rights Movement). Recognizing the significance and magnitude of the social and civic impact of Brutalism may deserve its own separate blog post — and rightfully so (there is so much to dissect!) I highly encourage those interested to pick up Heroic for some comprehensive insight. I myself will be spending more time in the coming weeks to dive more into this side of the subject. For today’s post, and as part of my preliminary thinking and research on this topic as it relates to my painting, I focus primarily on the first point — the physical expression of Brutalism as an architectural style.

So — what is that thinking?

Initially, I was drawn to exploring the formal qualities of the buildings themselves — taking a deeper dive into the use of concrete, the methodologies used to achieve the raw, exposed aesthetic, the authenticity related to showcasing the functional and structural elements of each building over ornate and decorative additions. Case studies like the Government Service Center by Paul Rudolph (1962-1971) and the Lincoln House by Maris Otis Stevens and Thomas F. McNulty (1961-1965) in particular stood out to me for their especially-expressive uses of concrete.

The following excerpts and images from Heroic offer a glimpse of the intricacies involved with achieving the iconic look inherent to these buildings —

On Rudolph’s Government Service Center:

Rudolph developed his approach to ribbed and hammered surfaces in response to concrete’s problems with discoloration from weathering. Because the final hammering needed to be done by hand, the technique was costly and time-consuming, but it masked any staining and exposed the aggregate, giving the entire complex a sense of depth and texture. The use of concrete enabled Rudolph to heighten his expressive forms. “Every material has its own intrinsic values and uses” he explained. “Poured-in-place concrete is a continuous material” that, at its essence, is “plastic.” This quality enabled Rudolph to develop sinuous forms and specs, which he believed would carry psychological and therapeutic benefits. (pg 122)

On Stevens and McNulty’s Lincoln House:

An inexpensive, lime-rich cement normally used for basements gave these walls a light, vibrant character. The Architectural Forum article praised the effect of “the bare concrete walls — springily soft and warm in appearance”. Historian Liane Lefaivre likewise noted “the unusually sensuous quality of its cement,” and the finely calibrated use of formwork on the house’s curves to create “a fluting of varying degrees of fineness, ‘similar to Greek and Roman architecture in achieving the effect of a monolithic structure to the human scale.’” (pg 199)

Details like these brought me pause in considering (and very much appreciating) the care and intentionality behind the use of a seemingly simple and monotonously-perceived material. Rudolph even went so far as to recognize a malleable quality to concrete that brings attention to a radically new and different lens for which to consider (and question) the permanence of the material. As an inherent appreciator of all details within the context of design (art, architecture, and graphics especially), I find even more admiration for projects like the Government Service Center and Lincoln House considering the back stories behind their process. It is stories like these that have inspired me to question my own process with my paintings, raising questions like:

How can I truly push my medium of oil painting and take advantage of all of its inherent qualities — its especially-long drying time, its thicker consistency?
How can the other materials or elements I integrate within my pieces (like pencil, tape, and pressed florals) better highlight these qualities?
What qualities lie in the surfaces that I paint on (canvas, cold-pressed watercolor paper)? Is there any value in considering and/or highlighting their properties?
What look, feel, expression do I want to convey with my materials? What kind of techniques and approaches can better highlight these looks, feelings, expressions?

Another (big) thought that came from my readings on Brutalism considered the profound level of meaning and implications that can emerge from the physical expression of material, scale, and form innate to this movement — that material being raw concrete, that scale being (very) large, and that form structural, monolithic, and geometric. Together these physical attributes formed the impetus for a revolutionary style that revealed the realities of a critical and transformative period involving Boston’s economic, political, civic, and urban climates, as Pasnik, Kubo, and Grimley recognize in Heroic.

This point led me question for myself: what do the materials, scale, and forms of my most recent paintings represent and stand for? Sure, my $10 oils and 8x8 canvas may not hold a candle to the 30 story, 40000000 ton institutional structures amidst a transformative building revolution in the city (at surface level at least). But they are beginning to shed more light on a personal evolution for myself that involves trusting more of the process and abandoning rigidity, structure, and rules when I paint.

Materials —
Oil paints: flexible, forgiving, rich, textured
Pencil, tape, pressed florals: loose, weathered, nostalgic, collage
Scale: small, intimate, personal
Form: abstract, ambiguous, intuitive, unpredictable, subjective

One thing that is consistent in my work (and will always be, albeit in varying levels) - the significance and importance of home. Innate to this creative outlet is the intention for all of my content to embody some essence of home in some way — most notably, through notions of comfort, nostalgia and tactility. Both objectively (with my latest home series) and more subjectively (with my floral series), I am aiming to explore and capture these themes in various ways. And they all tie back precisely to the intentionality behind the materials, scale, and forms of choice in my paintings. It is in this way that I am beginning to see this work as “heroic” in its own means.

So with all of this considered, I’m charging ahead in my intuitive-artistry journey — inspired by the compelling Heroic movement and fueled by new questions that have risen as I’m diving deeper into the process. Below is a preview of more pieces I worked on over the weekend (still a WIP — I will share finals when finished, promise!). The initial sense of fear and discomfort I felt when starting on this path is slowly but surely subsiding, and I am finding myself getting more and more *excited* with the work. Here’s to progress 😌

//e