Couvent Sainte-Marie De La Tourette, In the Name of Concrete

A monastery made of reinforced concrete sounds like an oxymoron. It has to be seen – or, even better, lived in – to be believed. Dominican friar and art historian Marc Chauveau has made his home in this light-filled brutalist building designed by Le Corbusier for the past 20 years. Learn more about how this world heritage site teaches visitors to discover buildings and people in a similar way: first the rigorous structure, then the inner light.

Do you remember your first impression when you arrived here in 2001?

MC I was so excited! I told myself that I was looking at a major work. Nothing about it charmed me, but I thought it was great – great in the sense of powerful.

Were you instructed to come here, or did you choose it?

MC Neither. I studied law and art history in Paris and entered the Dominican Order at the age of 30. When I was ordained a priest, everyone was aware of my artistic sensibility, so I was sent here. For me, it was an incredible opportunity.

Did you feel welcomed by this concrete structure?

MC This is rigorous architecture that reveals itself gradually, not at first glance. Little by little, you discover the delicacy in the texture of the walls and in the play of light, thanks to the “Mondrian squares,” for example, made of concrete and glass. Different textures express themselves, and the concrete takes on different aspects: smooth, coffered, etc. It has a flavor. It’s friendly.

To the point where you have a physical relationship with it?

MC I don’t touch it, no, if that’s what you mean. I get excited when the sun draws a diagonal line on the wall of my room, but I don’t have a spontaneous urge to caress it. On the other hand, I am deeply moved by the piers, with their badly distributed pebbles, full of imperfections. I love imperfection. Smooth, perfect concrete, like Tadao Ando’s, would be cold.

Twenty years later, you still seem to marvel at it.

MC Every day, I might see something that makes my day. Even now. I might take a different route to go from one point to another, and all along the way, the light is dramatized by Le Corbusier. When there’s fog, for example, it produces a diaphanous light in the corridors. In winter, a ribbon is projected horizontally on the wall in front of the big windows. In summer, on the other hand, when the sun is high, the light is on the ground. All this might seem ordinary, but it becomes an event if you observe carefully.

You seem to have a very spiritual relationship to the building.

MC A characteristic of any great work of art is that it shapes you – and it shapes your observational powers. There is a sensibility behind Le Corbusier’s very assertive architecture. This is architecture that teaches you to look. And in that way, yes, it is spiritual.

What do you mean by “teaches you to look”?

MC It teaches you to be receptive, to retain your ability to be surprised. It’s a disposition of your gaze, your heart, that makes you available and prepares you, in the end, to meet the men and women of your time. I can see in the other person first a structure and then an inner light.

The architecture of the monastery was meant to represent the spiritual quest of the Dominican Order. Do you think it succeeds?

MC The motto of the Dominicans is veritas, the search for truth. And it’s true that this architecture does not lie. It positions us face to face with ourselves and with the naked truth. Its high standards demand honesty with oneself and with others. Performances and disguises don’t make sense here! This is architecture that demands something from us.

Le Corbusier said that this monastery made of rough-hewn concrete was “a work of love.”

MC I believe that, and these are things I can experience every day. We see so many jaded people – it’s beautiful that a work of art can keep us alert.

He also said, “It must be experienced from the inside – that’s where the essential happens.”

MC The architecture of a monastery is a kind of mirror – it sends you back to yourself. If you are well, you love the architecture, life is beautiful, and you feel lucky to live there! On the other hand, if you’re not well, the architecture doesn’t help you; it gives you nothing to hold on to… It’s tough! This is not a place that will cheer you up.

Speaking of the inside, how can you live in a cell that is 19.4 feet long, six feet wide and 7.4 feet high – the height of a man with his arm raised?

MC Le Corbusier’s approach was rather authoritarian. I challenge you to try and rearrange your cell. You could say that he created – with the help of the Modulor, a measuring tool that adapted the architecture and furni- ture to the dimensions of the body – something intelligent that you must adapt to, but you could also resist and think: “It’s unbearable. I can’t even put my bed where I want to!” I understand both positions.

Was it to counter the austerity of the place that you decided to hold a contemporary art exhibition there every year?

MC Not at all. The monastery is a work of art in itself; it doesn’t need “dressing up.” There is no question of putting paintings on all the walls here! I had the incredible opportunity to start out with a great artist, François Morellet. It helped me define the artistic line of my exhibitions, i.e., artworks shown in dialogue with another artwork, to renew the way both the artworks and the architecture are seen. Morellet was totally overwhelmed to see one of his works in the church. He told me: “The work escapes me there. Something goes beyond me.”

The work of Anish Kapoor was also exhibited here in 2015, on the occasion of the 800th anniversary of the Dominican Order.

MC When he came to scout out the place, I jokingly said to him: “You see, monsieur, we don’t need your works to embellish the monastery. It’s enough in itself. It’s already very beautiful and listed by Unesco!” He sat down in the church and asked me to leave him alone for a while. Then he said: “Brother Marc, it’s perfect. What more do you want me to add?” After thinking about it, he came up with an idea. At the same time, his work was being shown in a powerful exhibition at the Château de Versailles. Here, he came on tiptoe.

Perhaps, but his success exceeded your expectations, didn’t it?

MC It was too much. Five hundred people on the first weekend. That’s not the spirit of the monastery – we don’t want busloads of tourists coming here. Some even came to see if there was anything as bawdy as the so-called Queen’s Vagina [actual title: Dirty Corner] at Versailles. They were disappointed!

The exhibition also celebrated the 50th anniversary of the death of Le Corbusier. Didn’t the architect’s remains spend a night here once, in 1965?

MC Yes, his coffin was on its way from the French Riviera to Paris by car, and André Malraux had the idea of stopping the hearse halfway there, at the Couvent de la Tourette. The brothers watched over it all night in the church.

So, his ghost haunts the corridors?

MC [Laughs] I won’t speak about a ghost. I thank him for his work, but I don’t see him in every corner of the building. Let’s say “his soul” instead.

This feature was originally published in Mastermind 09 – buy all issues here.