When Le Corbusier designed his Brutalist Unité d’Habitation structures in Marseilles and Berlin, the architect imagined these as models for the future of vertical urban living. But, as they say in war: his plans didn’t survive contact with the enemy.

Completed in 1958, the Berlin version in particular was altered internally prior to construction, meaning that the original layouts and details Corbu had it mind were largely left on the drawing table, replaced instead by cheaper, German-drafted plans. At least until German-American architect Philipp Mohr (images Didier Gaillard-Hohlweg) bought a unit in the building.

He purchased a condo that, at the time, “was all entirely white and looked more like a prison, or the typical 1980s German social housing, than anything Corbusier had ever designed.” Even the ceiling heights were out of alignment with the original design.

Mohr went beyond restoring the 1958 format format, studying historical design documents at the Foundation Le Corbusier and the Cité de l’Architecture et du Patrimoine in Paris to see past what was actually built.

With the big picture in hand, he set about studying colors, lighting, finishes, plans and other details of Corbu’s to replicate his original vision as much as possible.

Having finished the renovation, Mohr believes the space is better for it. “The colours are timeless and very soothing and inviting,” Mohr says. “The use of wood and natural finishes is comfortable and homely. The proportions are pleasing and the relationship to views and light is positive and uplifting.”

Taking inspiration from La Flaine Hotel by Marcel Breuer and the Glenkerry House in London by Erno Goldfinger, these ‘Cuckoo Blocks’ by artist Guido Zimmermann use iconic Brutalist architecture to make a political statement. Structures like these were once built as affordable housing, but now many of them are far out of reach for the middle class, housing luxury residences instead.

Zimmerman creates an unlikely contrast by pairing their stained, drab and blocky proportions with the classic cuckoo clock, long considered a symbol of prosperity.

“The updated version, a prefabricated panel construction (“plattenbau”) reveals today’s urban and social life in residential blocks,” says the artist.

“The hull is new, but the soul, a clockwork with a cuckoo, is still an old one.”

While there’s definitely something a little absurd about the pairing, it works. These miniature faux concrete buildings are just as interesting to look at as the original ornately carved wooden versions, and it’s fun to peer into the windows to try to catch a glimpse at what’s inside. They’re especially cool after dark when the lights come on.

Zimmerman also extended the series by turning one of his mini Brutalist wonders into a birdhouse.

“The prototype, a model of a social housing building from Catania/Sicily, was quickly inhabited by a pair of titmice,” he says. “The three nondescript birdhouses next door remained uninhabited. Perhaps it was the small satellite dishes which convinced the bird of the ‘social bird housing.’”

The controversial Brutalist Pirelli Tire Building in New Haven, Connecticut was saved from demolition by a compromise with IKEA back in 2002, and now the Swedish retailer is reportedly considering a new use for the structure. Designed by Marcel Breuer, a master of Modernism whose monumental concrete creations remain divisive to this day, it’s one of the most important Brutalist buildings remaining in the United States. Now, if the rumors are true, it could be transformed into a hotel.

The building was initially built to serve as the headquarters of Armstrong Rubber in 1969. Consisting of a massive monolithic rectilinear volume of offices floating above a much longer base of research and warehouse space, the structure is nothing if not imposing. Many residents of New Haven found it ugly and villainous-looking, and once it was no longer in use, wanted to see it torn down. But it’s historically important, and advocacy groups pushed to keep it intact. IKEA proposed building a major new store on the site, but that required tearing down a substantial part of the building for the store’s parking lot.

After the sale went through and the structure was modified, many assumed IKEA would find a use for the remainder of the building – maybe for administrative purposes, as it was originally intended. But it has remained forlorn and empty, occasionally draped with a banner advertising a sale. It looks like that might finally change. The New Haven Independent newspaper reports that IKEA is “in talks” with a New England hotel developer.

While IKEA refuses to comment on any new plans for the New Haven Pirelli building, the city’s Economic Development Administrator, Matthew Nemerson, says the good news is “it is going to be preserved.” Would you book a night to experience this classic Brutalist building up close and personal?

Top photo by Gunnar Klack/Flickr Creative Commons

The simple and linear form of this remote vacation home juts out from a cliff over a sea-lion reserve in Chile; crafted to look aged and monolithic, it appears almost like a modern ruin in the natural landscape.

Designed by architects Mauricio Pezo and Sofia von Ellrichshausen, based in nearby Concepción, the Loba House juts out off the Coliumo Peninsula. For the clients, it is a dream getaway, but it takes a particular personality to enjoy the rugged forms and structural simplicity of this quiet place.

The heavy concrete structure is predominantly made of concrete, its roof forming a terrace overlooking the ocean below (with a stepped chimney sticking up from it).

“In its under-dimensioned thickness, in its narrow and tall proportion, the building could be read as an inhabited wall that runs perpendicular to the natural topography.”

The interior is intentionally sparse and rough, seeming almost like something constructed out of mud brick by hand, or an ancient retreat for some monastic order. The floors step up the hill, following the topography.

The place is just 750 square feet. Kitchen and bathroom fixtures as well as the hearth are built into the concrete columns, as is storage space below various platform levels. Below are common spaces — above: sleeping quarters.

Skylights illuminate various rooms and the board-formed walls, while limited windows keep down costs while framing specific views of the surroundings. Simplicity and geometry dominate the design inside and out, which are also common themes in the architects’ other projects (their own home is a simple concrete tower).

Sure, Brutalist architecture is divisive, but does that mean we should be wiping it all off the face of the planet? It’s true that these structures are rarely beloved by the residents of their locales; they’re often derided as ‘monstrosities’ with their blocky proportions and large swaths of concrete surfaces. That makes them a major target of trigger-happy developers eager to treat architecture that’s just a few decades old like it’s disposable, making way for new models that will likely be torn down in even less time.

We’re all familiar with planned obsolescence by now, and it’s not surprising to see a lot of the cheaper, flimsier structures of the recent past fall to the wrecking ball – but Brutalist buildings, by their very nature, could stand for centuries if well maintained. Alas, many of them are already gone, and a new series of photographs entitled ‘Brutal Destruction’ captures them in mid-demolition.

Architect Chris Grimley of multidisciplinary design firm Over,Under curated the exhibition, opening this week at Boston’s Pinkcomma gallery. Each building is captured in a raw state of traumatic injury, halfway between existence and nonexistence, and looking at them, you get the sense that people are either cheering for their destruction or mourning their loss, with few feelings in the midrange.

Grimley himself is certainly among the latter. Along with his colleagues at Over,Under, the architect has helmed a number of Brutalism-centric projects, including the book Heroic: Concrete Architecture and the New Boston and a map of Brutalist Boston produced in collaboration with Blue Crow Media. Judging by the rate at which these structures are disappearing, that map may already be out of date.

Grimley notes that, even in our contempt for ‘ugly’ Brutalist buildings, we’re being a tad hasty. After all, previous generations tore down Victorian architecture because it was ‘out of date,’ and the window by which something becomes outmoded grows shorter every year.

“We get caught up in notions of what is considered beautiful,” he says. “By the time things are allowed to be considered beautiful again, it’s often too late.”