ARTS
Influences
Gavin Stamp
have always admired the Finns from
I
afar: they have bravely beaten back the Soviet army on several occasions; they are, I am told, permanently drunk; and they have built some very remarkable architec- ture. Helsinki, which became the capital of the Russian Grand Duchy after Finland was taken from Sweden in 1809, was at first a Neo-Classical city, a prOvincial Petersburg with buildings designed by the German ar- chitect Engel, but today many of the most interesting buildings date from the begin- ning of this century. Finland was con- spicuous in that flowering of the arts, stimulated by national revivalism, which occurred all over Europe at the turn of the century. This nationalism, which was often so ar- tificial and yet so passionate, was both destructive and creative. It eventually destroyed the settled map of Europe, broke up the Austrian Empire and gave us the linguistic and racial problems which Hitler and Stalin tried to solve by deportation and murder. German-speaking citizens of Bohemia began to speak the Slavic language of their servants, Englishmen in Ireland tried to learn Gaelic, and in Finland Swedish-speakers — like Sibelius — grap- pled with the recondite and difficult Finnish language. The consequences of this Roman- tic nationalism have often been bloody when not absurd: no good architecture has resulted from Basque, Serbian or Irish agitation (indeed, Irish nationalists in the Civil War managed to burn out the best buildings in Dublin and destroy the na- tional archives), but Catalonia produced Gaudi, Czechoslovakia some excellent Jugendstil and Finland several architects who were inspired by what historians now call National Romanticism — the architec- tural equivalent of the music of Sibelius. The most famous is Eliel Saarinen, of the firm of Gesellius, Lindgren and Saarinen, but, to judge by the exhibition of drawings and photographs now at the Heinz Gallery (21 Portman Square, until 27 February), Lars Sonck ought equally to be celebrated. Sonck, like Saarinen, studied traditional Finnish wooden architecture in an attempt to develop a national style for his people, who were increasingly resentful of Russian domination. He designed a number of neo- vernacular wooden villas with odd, spiky detail and these included Sibelius's house, 'Ainola', built in 1904. But the interesting thing about this National Romanticism is not so much its individual peculiarity but its distinctly European character. Sonck's buildings have much in common with l'art nouveau and the Jugendstil flourishing elsewhere on the Continent. This is especially true of city buildings. Sonck's are
both original and yet strongly influenced by contemporary German architecture; they are also built of rugged blocks of granite in a way which may reflect knowledge of the great American architect H. H. Richard- son. Finland is rich in granite but, oddly enough, a deputation of Finnish architects earlier had to go to Aberdeen to learn how to use it.
After Finnish independence Saarinen went to the United States but Sonck stayed. His later buildings were largely immune to the revived Neo-Classicism and the Interna- tional Modern which Finnish architects like Aalto made their own in the 1920s and 1930s. After the intriguing excesses of Na- tional Romanticism it is strange to find that the Finns warmed to the austerity of the Modern Movement, a style commonly associated with left-wing, progressive at- titudes between the Wars. Yet at the time Finland had a right-wing government. Despite the easy generalisations of historians, fashion has more to do with ar- chitectural style than politics and further proof of this can be seen at another ar- chitectural exhibition currently in London.
At that bastion of architectural radicalism in Bedford Square, the Architec- tural Association, are drawings and photographs of Mussolini's new town of Sabaudia, designed in 1933 (until 13 February). This is hot stuff, for the exhibi- tion could not be held in Italy where there is still resistance into research into fascist ar- chitecture. It is difficult to see why: the buildings of Sabaudia are rather bland and the exhibition merely performs the valuable function of demonstrating that there never really was an expressly fascist style. Just as public buildings redolent of Speer can be found in Washington or Cardiff, so Mussolini, like Hitler, was happy to use dif- ferent modern styles for different buildings and, ironically, the famous pioneer Modern Movement building on Lake Como by Ter- ragni was built as a Casa del Fascio.
Sabaudia, built in the remarkably short time of 253 days, was one of five new towns constructed as part of Mussolini's resettle- ment and reclamation scheme in the Pon- tine marshes. In style, the buildings can be characterised as 'Rationalist' — a sort of stripped-down, pure Classicism, rigidly bas-
ed on the right-angle, which reflects ar- chitects' recurrent search for essentials and their simplistic belief that what is simple is somehow more practical, more honest, more efficient, timeless. Conservative Italian architects disliked this fascist ra- tionalism but Mussolini defended his ar- chitects: 'It is absurd not to want a rational and functional architecture for our times . . Sabaudia is fine for me and I think it beautiful. This is what a city of the XlIth year of the Fascist Era should look like and it should not be done differently.' — words which, ironically, remind one of the historical determinist arguments of Modern Movement critics, who would have us believe that fascist states built reac- tionary architecture.
As new towns go, Sabaudia does not seem unattractive despite being built so quickly. The buildings may be Rationalist but they are asymmetrically disposed in a picturesque town plan. There are not in- timidating vistas but interesting communal spaces articulated by towers and porticoes. The Italian exhibition organisers have pro- duced a catalogue which, in typical modern . architectural rhetoric, tells us that such planning reflects the influence of the melan- choly, surrealist visions of de Chirico, but to English eyes Sabaudia does not look unlike a typical British new town, a better and earlier version of, say, Harlow. Similarly, the individual buildings do not look particularly Italian but international in style. The modernistic church could sit hap- pily in Romford, Blackburn or North Har- row and the stripped-down geometrical Classicism is paralleled in Britain by Dagenham Town Hall or the Underground stations by Charles Holden.
Interesting in itself, this exhibition should also be welcomed if it undermines the easy generalisations of historians and critics about 20th-century architecture — even if I have my doubts about the ostensible divorce between political message and built form. Rationalism may not be exclusively fascist but it does manifest an authoritarianism which comes from a belief in order. Encouraged by the revival of in- terest in Neo-Classicism and Schinkel and reinforced by the surviving dogmas of the Modern Movement, Rationalism is now `There's nothing more I can do, Mrs Platt, you can turn his cassette player off now.' fashionable again. Its modern proponents are certainly not fascists — the Italian en figure, Aldo Rossi, has designeut monuments to the victims of fascism — bu their ruthlessly pure, white visions of ar. chitecture seem inhuman and intimidating, compared with the jolly irresponsibility al Post-Modernism. Such architects still want to be the architects of society. Rossi s famous building is a block of flats in tile Gallaretese quarter of Milan: a long] elegant, unremittingly repetitive and geometrical structure which is nothing I, not totalitarian. If I were Italian, I think would rather live in Sabaudia.
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