Beautiful Child (1951) by Lina Bo Bardi

We are publishing this photograph of the Education Ministry in Rio de Janeiro as a call to arms to continue the fight against the formulaic and routine. Make no mistake: formulaic does not just apply to historicism, it also extends (even more dangerously) to the so-called ‘modern’ – modernism as a ‘habit’, as in ‘the old way doesn’t work any more, so let’s move ahead with the times, young men, or we’ll lose out’. We have to fight against this kind of dangerous generalisation, against this devaluation of the spirit of modern architecture, which is unwavering, and shaped by a love of humanity, and has nothing whatsoever to do with exterior forms and formalist acrobatics.

The new Brazilian architecture has many flaws: it is young, it hasn’t had much time to stop and reflect, but came into being all of a sudden, as a beautiful child. We can agree that brise-soleil and tilework are ‘intentional elements’, that some of Oscar [Niemeyer]’s free forms are sculptural complacencies, that the construction is not always up to scratch, and that in certain instances details are resolved in a way that is inconsistent with the whole (on this I must agree with my European friends). We cannot accept, however, that Brazilian architecture is already on its way towards academicism, as various foreign reviews would have it (such as Bruno Zevi’s important book, for example[1]), and nor will it be for as long as its spirit is the human spirit and its goal the improvement of living conditions – for as long as it draws its inspiration from the intimate poetry of the Brazilian land. These are the values that define contemporary Brazilian architecture. Its source is not the architecture of the Jesuits: it comes from the wattle-and-daub shelter of the solitary man, laboriously constructed out of the materials of the forest, it comes from the house of the rubber-tapper, with its wooden floor and thatch roof. It alludes to, even resonates with, this fierce resolve to make, in which there is a pride and a poetry – the pride and poetry of the backlander who has never known the great cities or the monuments of civilisation, who cannot refer to a tradition that stretches back thousands of years, but whose achievements – things made possible only because of his singular pride – cause men from ancient civilisations to stop and stare.

For a direction to follow, Brazil looked to the work of Le Corbusier (who visited Brazil, as did Wright), as it seemed to correspond most closely to the aspirations of a Latin people – a poetic work, unrestrained by puritanical assumptions or prejudices.

This lack of polish, this crudeness, this carefree appropriation and transformation is the driving force behind contemporary Brazilian architecture – it requires a continual mixing of technological know-how with the spontaneity and passion of primitive art. Which is why we do not agree with our European friends’ view that Brazilian architecture is on the path towards academicism.

This is an attempt to respond to Abelardo’s assertion that ‘we still do not know for sure the reasons why we have made such progress in our architecture’.[2] Brazilian architecture was born a beautiful child: we may not know why, but we must nevertheless go on raising it, caring for it, nurturing it, following its development. We have witnessed the miracle of its birth, but now its direction – the continuation of its life, the unfolding of a coherent purpose – will depend on our strength of will, on our readiness to take up the struggle, on our resolve. This is what needs reaffirming.

First published in Habitat 2 (January–March 1951)

Translation by Anthony Doyle and Pamela Johnston. This text will form part of the AA’s forthcoming selection of writing by Lina Bo Bardi called Stones Against Diamonds www.aaschool.ac.uk/publications