A Brutal day in Tel Aviv

A recent business meeting in Tel Aviv took me to a non-descript former high school building now housing a culinary school. After the meeting, I began taking pictures of the building. I was finding more and more details to admire. To those studying and working there, it was an ugly dilapidated structure serving its purpose to a low degree at best. I hope with the images and thoughts below, I can share my point of view, finding the magic in the mundane.

The two structures, one lower and one taller, are examples of a school of architecture called brutalism. This genre had its peak in the 1970’s and may be the nail that sealed the coffin on modernism in architecture.

Brutalist structures are generally perceived as ugly. The style is defined by a reliance on and emphasis of core structural elements together with a rejection of frivolous or even traditional decoration. The style was embraced by socialists (becoming constructivism in the USSR) and has many examples in Israel, with Ben Gurion University in Be’er Sheva being one of the most famous.

Brutalist structures are easy to identify: lots of concrete, with steel thrown in for good measure.

In this image, the concrete façade from the top picture continues over, becoming a screen. The use of concrete here, to contemporary eyes, seems overdone, unnecessary and, well, brutal. An art history lecture might explain this detail within the context of modernism and the celebration of once-new technologies. A pre-modern eye could not conceive of such weight ‘floating’ in the air with no columns in support. Therefore, modern architects used new technologies to create the ‘impossible’. Still, I don’t see this detail solely as a display of what reinforced concrete can do. I recognize an inherent modesty in Brutalism that sees a building integrating with its surroundings, acting like a canvas waiting to be painted or a boulder asking to be sculpted. The over-reaching pergola not only continues the façade’s horizontal orientation, but embraces the surrounding landscape.

The building contains a central courtyard. Like the open façade, the open atrium reveals the

architect’s intention to weave nature into his design. Not only plants, but light and air flow through this structure in a most intentional and designed fashion. The natural light and the natural ventilation offer a refreshing contrast to contemporary building practices grounded in complex lighting systems and mechanical air conditioning.

From inside the court yard, with the grace of an open door, one can see straight through one wing of classrooms to the world outside. This brings attention to the subtle layering of the building as it defines and bridges transitions between different types of spaces.

The paving transitions from the rough garden sod, to an open sidewalk, to protected pavement. In a single frame, one can feel the stepped back section, like a wedding cake, as the space open to the sky meets the covered walkway which becomes a closed classroom, whose ceiling is itself a walkway in front of classrooms which then rise to the roof. Even the purely vertical structural columns move in and out of the structure, woven through different horizontal elements as they rise to the roof and disappear into the construction. Note how the architect has taken the morphological language of the traditional cloister and implemented it differently at different floors.

The central stairs take part in both the horizontal and vertical transitions. They are positioned in between the entry and the court yard. Upon entering the building, you move through an entry hall and meet the stairs. Here you either turn left toward the yard or go up the stairs and turn right. These half turns disorient the visitor just enough to give each space, each level its own unique point of entry. And again, on the stairs one rises from darkness into light.

The stair railing is so simple, yet brilliant. The uprights enter the poured concrete rail perpendicularly. This may seem obvious, but most designers would keep the uprights vertical and only have the hand-rail itself at an angle. Though I can’t know for sure, my guess is that the designer had in mind the means of production. Sections of the rail could be manufactured off site and cast into the concrete section on site. Keeping them orthogonal simplifies the process. In addition, the angularity of the stairs is heightened when the viewer instinctively feels that the steel railings are almost falling backwards, as if the stairs had once been horizontal and rose up with tectonic force.

Of course the building is old and in need of repair. But if my assumption is correct that the building is over 50 years old, then the overall fitness of the structure is remarkable. Clearly a testament to the focus on core structural elements rather than fashionable finishes which hide the construction.

Furthermore, this building didn’t just survive for 50 years, it remained relevant and functional. The design and details were robust enough to allow modern systems to be added over time, such as the AC ducts and sprinkler systems visible in this image.

The concrete pergola designed to shade the lower walk-way finds a secondary use supporting AC compressors. The bold shapes and simple elements remain visible and attractive, even when wires and pipes carelessly cross their paths. Just as with the inclusion of nature, this structure invites further development. The building is strong, but not egotistical, bold and imposing, yet flexible and accepting.

Keep your eyes out. There are architectural gems in the most mundane buildings. You just need to know what to look for.