Unité, Santé, Humanité

We're on the 22 bus speeding down Boulevard Michelet.  "Are you going to see Le Corbusier?" Josette says in perfect accented English, having quickly identified us as architecture tourists.  She tells us she's been living in the Unité d'Habitation since 1970 with her husband, raised three children there, and was now heading home.  Would we like to see the apartment?  "You cannot understand the architecture unless you see the stairs and passageways inside." 

Pilotis, pedestrians and parkland near the main entrance (photo by Michael Grimm)

When the Unité d'Habitation, or Cité Radieuse, was completed in 1952, it was a grand experiment in vertical urban housing design.  Inspired by older communal living projects--a  14th century Carthusian monastery and the daring Narkomfin building in Moscow, Le Corbusier's design aimed to solve a local housing shortage while also healing societal wounds brought on by years of war and political upheaval.  The tower brought together compact living units with generous social mixing zones in the form of central passageways, a roof terrace, kindergarten, and a collection of internal shops including a restaurant. The interior passageways are located at every third floor.  These are the "interior streets" where residents could socialize with each other and form neighborhoods within the building.

In architecture school, the Unité is required reading:  the innovative section and unlikely plans (those strange long, skinny bedrooms) are easily recalled from memory.  But I hadn't thought much about it since then.  I remember being more interested initially in its utopian mission than its spatial character, though of course the two work together.  To have the chance to see the experiment in action, on the inside...that would be a rare experience.

As we exit the elevator on her floor, Josette shows us the bank of mailboxes.  The mail is part of the cultural program of these internal streets.  The mailman is sorting through the day's delivery...he and Josette exchange a few words.  We walk down the passage...large metal boxes protrude adjacent to each apartment's entry doors.  These were originally for ice and grocery delivery--directly into the back of the original kitchen iceboxes, but now are used for packages.

An interior street

She apologizes for being out of sorts.  She explains she's fatigued from the radiation treatment she just received, and shows us the marker on her chest.

Modernist architects in the early-mid-20th century embraced concrete for its sculptural and structural properties, but also believed it could prevent the spread of contagious diseases such as tuberculosis.  The solid walls left no secret voids for microbes to fester, while the ornament-free finish discouraged dust and clutter from propagating.  Elements of sanatoria design found their way into housing:  expansive glazing to help daylight penetrate into the interior, balconies for access to fresh air, and roof terraces for fitness activities and sunbathing.

The cast-in-place board-formed concrete has weathered well.  The lobby and passageways glow with stained glass details and painted metal details in handsome colors.  These public communal spaces are dimly lit, clean and calm.

Josette opens the door to her home. The white walls washed with daylight and the view of the sea beyond immediately draw us in.  Forty-seven years of living sit lightly, if layered, on the infilled floor near the window.  The kitchen still has its original Charlotte Perriand-designed casework, and features elegant ship-like details, such as sliding cabinet doors, and a sloped storage rack for pots.

The infilled floor which originally was a space open to the living area below

Josette in her kitchen (photo by Michael Grimm)

 We admire the view of the sea and the many treetops of neighboring parks, still there after decades of Marseille's growth.  A few other housing blocks are visible at the periphery.

This pastoral setting had an intentional role in the Unité's conception. Early conceptual images show the tower floating in a sea of trees, a classic garden city utopia.  The building plan, placed at a flattering oblique angle from the Boulevard (but perfectly aligned to the cartesian north-south axis), orients all of the units towards sweeping views of the sea to the west and the hills to the east.  The ingenious tetris-like section arrangement means that each unit has one floor that extends the entire width of the building, permitting light, views and ventilation from two sides.

Section sketch by Le Corbusier showing how the units wrap around the interior street

We head downstairs to the more private areas of the apartment:  spaces for sleeping and bathing.   A compact shower pod is tucked under the kitchen in the center of the floorplate.  It's constructed from what appears to be a single welded plastic surface with nooks for soap.  A new washer-dryer stands nearby, clearly built to a different scale of Modulor Man.

Her children are grown and have since moved out, and their long, skinny bedrooms along the eastern facade have been taken over by her husband for his workspace.  An original sliding chalkboard panel still divides the space into two rooms. Tiny vials of rock and coral samples along with notebooks and file boxes are stacked on every surface.

"My husband is not here.  But his things are everywhere!"  She's exasperated by his expanding collections.  He's a retired professor, still conducting research.  Josette taught English and played piano.  Their daughter is a painter.  The grandchildren come for long visits.

Her husband is absent, but Josette has a neighbor friend who is on her way to check on her after her appointment.  She wants us to know that the community feeling within the building is real.  We don't want to take up more of her time so we thank her for the rare glimpse of life in the Unité, say our goodbyes and wish her well. 

We head upstairs to the roof terrace, where a late summer sky and sea breeze create ideal conditions for sculpted concrete forms. The center of the roof is a raised platform, which lets you see over the perimeter guardrail to the sea and hills all around.  Between the guardrail and the platform, a running track of course. 

On the roof (photo by Michael Grimm)

Near the shallow wading pool we spot a curious inverted figure silhouetted against the sky.  Someone is showing off their advanced yoga skills, using a concrete bench as a mat.  He tells us that lives in the building and, since a severe health crisis a few years ago, has devoted himself to yoga practice.  As we chat with other visitors and take some sun, he moves smoothly through one pose after another: feathered peacock, scorpion, monkey king.

The hydrotherapy pool (photo by Michael Grimm)

Exactly fifty-two years earlier, Le Corbusier was enjoying the sun and sea at his rustic cabin, Le Cabanon, in Roquebrun, Cap-Martin, east of Marseille.  Le Cabanon was a prototype for another Unité project, the Unité de Camping, a system for healthy communal summer living.  One morning, during a habitual early morning swim in the sea, he died.  "How nice it would be to die swimming towards the sun," he had been known to say, having in advance conceptualized a death in harmony with the elements.  Sunbathers found his body nearby on shore.  He was buried alongside his wife Yvonne Gallis nearby in the local cemetery, a terraced rocky landscape with views towards the  the sea.