The configuration of the buildings that dot the slope is random, yet refined. The metallic, trenchant gleam of the roofs is like a knife-blade on these wooden boxes, these “cabins,” which are the epitome of constructive self-evidence. The rigour of the construction and the proportions, combined with the interplay between the textures of the wood and the stone, is sufficient to the architectural substance. But where are we? In Switzerland? In Austria? No. In the French Alps. And there is nothing to be surprised about in this architectural statement set on walls of stone hewn from the mountain—walls that support wooden constructions in simple, limpid forms, with an identically repeated module creating a collective space. Constructive rigour is what informs the economy of the project. The mountain climate limits the amount of time during which building work is possible, which means that the assembly process needs to be carried out swiftly. And one way to do this is to make the components in a workshop, so that on the site itself they can simply be slotted together. The carpenter becomes a technologist in overalls whose skills are those of an engineer. His work carries status—he no longer has to wade through rivers of concrete. He is a “white-collar worker.”
The forest is nearby, and the serried trunks grow straight—like those who planted them, to replace the ones that had already been cut down. The species was chosen for its sustainability: there is no need for chemical protection; no fear of pollution. Wood absorbs carbon dioxide, thereby maintaining the balance of the atmosphere. Using local material is ethically responsible, especially when one thinks that Europe’s Alpine forests contain enough wood to build whole cities. As the Swiss and the Austrians actually do. So what are the French waiting for? But Tectoniques is present on this front. The team’s approach to construction is based on “political civic-spiritedness.” They exercise their profession as an act of faith. They make, and do (and make do) with local resources, turning construction into a game—erudite, magnificent—in which wood is assembled by human intelligence. Architecture is no longer a sterile academic debate, but a social act based on a political stance.
Looking at photographs of their work, it might be thought that these are formal demonstrations; that each project is simply the instantiation of a constructive protocol—an exploration of the thousand and one ways in which two pieces of wood can be put together; an illustration for a carpentry encyclopaedia, or for the Ying Zao Fa Shi. But there’s joy in the air! The exaltation of the forms is full and intense. Take the riding club at Draveil, near Paris. The vertical rhythm of posts supporting clamped beams makes up a long colonnade. An equestrian temple? The arachnidian structures of the volumes evoke a horse’s graceful gallop. Architecture is not confined to constructive logic alone. The rules that generate these forms are profound; their legitimacy lies in the repetition and rigour of the assemblages. The architectural form is freely inspired by the constructive approach. Order, logic, strictness in the organisation of volumes and sequences—these are the distinguishing features of the school in La Tour-de-Salvagny. The alignment of the columns and the palpitation of the blinds act as a counterpoint to the spare facades. No formal effects mar the rigour of the volumes. It is the richness of the arrangement and the simplicity of the articulations that impose a sense on the architectural space, while the large expanses of colour—blood-red, canary-yellow, petrol-blue and black—set off the rich textures of the wood. The knowledge and experience of constructive culture accumulated by a society in the course of its history give a geographical and social underpinning to the edifices it builds. And the Maison du Parc Naturel in the Haut-Jura (designed in association with Adelfo Scaranello) makes subtle use of local constructive cultures, which contribute to its integration. But Tectoniques rejects the idea that architecture should mimic regionalisms. What it uses is local expertise. The social and political dimension, once again! In other words, this is not a case of deference to a traditional vernacular. It is a contemporary vernacular. According to this point of view, a building should be at the service of the people who use it. And the presence of an architect should be unobtrusive behind a building that people need, and want, to make their own. Tectoniques works according to demanding rules derived from a constructive culture—that of wood—which implies a certain discipline, but which also, by doing away with the need to invent forms, liberates the imagination. And in turn it liberates forms from the architect’s psychological straitjacket. But is the anonymity adopted by the Tectoniques team not actually another way of escaping from this strait-jacket? The architectural act can touch the sublime if, detached from its agent, it becomes a pure cultural production, made to last. It might be thought that this approach is constant and unwavering, but in fact it is conditioned by places and programmes. It is endless in its diversity, as can be seen in Tectoniques’ houses. One may be struck, for example, by the concision of the one in Saint-Pierre-de-Chandieu, which resembles a large snail set in the middle of a wood. The zinc shell emerges from the slope, and is extrapolated into a visor stretching out towards the sun and the landscape. Wooden shingles give the external surface a minimalist texture, and the veranda projects out towards the nearby river.
The house in Montbernier is quite different. Four closed bays, and three others that have been left open, are enough to define it. Eight trusses, placed on posts two storeys high, give the structure a warehouse-like architectonic character, and the pattern thus defined is completed in modular fashion with opaque, glazed or louvred panels. The broad overhanging roof and balcony protect the facade from the sun. The textural richness of the wood and the strong colours of the facing panels are what give this rustic vessel its identity. A house is often thought of as a nondescript volume—a parallelepiped with a ridged roof. But in this particular case, constructive rigour is a form of architectural expression. Drawing on the constructive language of farm buildings, it is, in its context, as fittingly sited as any other house in the Dauphiné region. The Montanay project has the sense of unity of a Usonian house, with the simplicity and purity of its line and form entirely wood-clad, outside and inside. The long, incisive, horizontal line of the roof suggests a Japanese or Californian house in the Frank Lloyd Wright style. What one is intensely aware of, with this building, more than technology or material, is an architectural ethos—a quest for simplicity and fittingness that gives an impression of harmony and authenticity. The house in Novalaise is something else again. It is the embodiment of an approach that combines constructive rigour and architectural ethics—but also its negation. The volume is a simple cube, with the single-slope roof folding back up and projecting outward at the rear to shelter the veranda that forms an extension of the living-room. It is a highly “banal” form of habitation; and this architecture of the banal undoubtedly stems from a resolve to have no truck with anything that might suggest representation. It is a blend of abstraction and materiality, with a facade like an endless ribbon opening up windows onto the landscape. This divergence between, on the one hand, external protection pro vided by untreated wooden boards, with sliding shutters in the same material, and, on the other hand, standardised panels in a green hue (recalling the ducks on lake Aiguebelette?), introduces a certain ambiguity as to whether the facade plays a functional role or is simply decorative. The corner windows, without uprights, highlight the absence of load-bearing elements—a fact which is not hinted at by anything else in the design. Were it not for the roof beams that extend out under the awning, this would be a pure architectural form, devoid of any tectonic dimension. These different projects go beyond technical choices alone, into the realms of harmony, poetry, signs. Has the time now come for the team to strike out towards unexplored horizons? Tectoniques is faced with some new choices…
Gilles Perraudin is an architect and founder of the practice Atelier Architecture Perraudin. He received the National Grand Prix for Architecture in 2024.
Essay first published in Unplugged. Paris : Les presses du réel, 2007. 252 p.