I have just returned from the south of France and man does London weather look downright miserable in comparison. Now granted, I am not adept at warm temperatures. In fact, anytime it gets about 80 I start fearing for immediate implosion, but after several months of what seems to be the perpetual mid-November weather of England, a Mediterranean trip could not be turned down.
Our first stop was Lyon, which is in the southern central part of France and home to some of my favorite street art. Including one which told me (in English) that : "Life is too short for soft porn". Thanks. Gross.
But what I found most interesting in Lyon were the three following places:
1)
Jean Nouvel's extension of the Lyon Opera House
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I liked it, for whatever that's worth. It's trying to be epic and sophisticated but in a contemporary fashion. Much like the loud break-dancing teenagers outside the opera house, it's an attempt at taking something historic and making it contemporary. Though the real success is how it meets the public space adjacent to it.
2)
Le Village de Etats Unis (and corresponding murals) - This odd area of the city was designed almost entirely by Tony Garnier, and as such has an almost Utopian feel to it. Originally this was built, as the name implies, for Americans who had served in WWI, built between the years of 1920 and 1935, as affordable housing it's a remembrance of its time. Both beautiful and just a little off.
3)
Halle Tony Garnier - You may be able to guess who designed this one. Sadly we couldn't go inside, but the exterior was quite lovely. In fact, I would venture to say it is the nicest slaughterhouse I've ever been to. TAKE THAT SMITHFIELD MARKETS!
After we left Lyon we made our way to La Tourette, or more formally, 'Sainte Marie de La Tourette'. Which is a Dominican monastery outside of Lyon, about 30 min by car. If you're reading this blog, I'm making a general assumption that you are aware of Le Corbusier and his subsequent effect on architecture both modern and contemporary. But for me personally, I always hated the work of Le Corbusier. I know that's blasphemy, but we're being honest here. For years I thought his work was enormously over-rated and, as little as it matters in the grand scheme of architecture, ugly. This ugliness comes from what I perceived as a lazy style of baton brut, clumsy forms and ideas which are overly political for someone who finds himself 'convieniently Swiss' every time a war breaks out. He may have had Sigfried Gideon and Colin Rowe in his pocket (which are indeed, pretty good gets), but not me.
Though I always found my hatred of this ugliness to be contradictory, I mean I loved (and still do love) Robert Venturi's work, and that is about as ugly as ugly gets. Why then so much Corb-hate? I suppose it's because I saw it as claiming to be more than it is, the product of a really good spin artist and a figure just arrogant and articulate enough to be believable. That is until I saw La Tourette.
Cliche as it sounds, I think the monastery may have started to make a believer out of me. Do I think it's my favorite building of all time? No. Not even close. But being there, walking around, staying in one of the cells, I get it. There are theorists who believe that Le Corbusier's work was done in such a manner to make it more photogenic. I'm going to have to disagree. In photos La Tourette looks like a massive, miserable block of a building. Solid, impenetrable, unfeeling. But I guess what I never realized, not fully anyway, is just how hollow and empty the courtyard of the building seems to be, how green, how, well, peaceful.
It should be noted that just about a 2 min walk away from the entrance of La Tourette is a graveyard. As the woman who runs the monastery stated 'it's a wonderful place to be deceased' and yeah, in a weird way, you feel almost like a ghost in La Tourette. It feels ancient, and you are merely the earth-bound shell of blood and bone holding, like a egg in a nest, a soul which emerges, fully formed upon your death. Or maybe that's the wine talking. Either way, it was better than I expected.
Though the skylights sticking out of the chapel
are stupid looking from the exterior. That I'm never going to change my mind on.
The next step was the provincial town of Arles. Arles is the kind of place that you feel a Diane Lane movie should be set. You know the one I'm talking about, like a middle-aged woman moves to a small town in Europe after her crippling divorce to discover herself and along the way meets a gardener or like a mechanic or a wine merchant or whatever who teaches her to love again.
As a side note, I'm going to list words I hate that are used in movies such as this:
- Sensual
- Lover
- Wit and Wisdom (together, the words are perfectly fine apart)
- Rediscovering herself
Ugh - kill me.
However, to the best of my knowledge Lifetime has never actally filmed a movie in Arles, so I allowed myself the freedom to like it. And it is, really, really charming. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the entire pizza I ate by myself, but the connection of provincial, ancient and accessible just gets me every time. Sometimes I suspect that going to these places as an American means that you're going to see these places differently. In the US if there are 'charming winding streets' they are usually artificial and conceived of a Richard Sennett inspired urbanist, which is fine, by the way. But there is a kind of obsolete usefulness to these streets, like stubbornly using a type writer from the 1920s, even if the damn thing barely works. They have problems, they're not practical, but what can I say? Oh, let's just let 1990s Meg Ryan do it for me?
Stay tuned for next time when we talk about Marseilles, Unite D'habitation and various other sundries.
