1156
Dach und Raum
19
2014 ¥ 11 ∂
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With his design for Notre Dame du Haut in Ronchamp, completed in 1955, Le Corbusier irritated the architectural world and the wider public to an equal degree. The very man who had been the champion and leading protagonist of a rigorous, right-angled machine aesthetic had now conceived of a wilful, expressive sculpture with an interior space bordering on the mystical. Both the exterior and the interior of the sculpture are marked by the heavy, forceful roof. A roof that, as the anecdote goes, was inspired by a crab’s shell found by chance on the beach. At the time – the height of classical modernism – the choice of the proper roof form was still an ideological matter. Anyone wanting to appear progressive would typically select the horizontal version. Le Corbusier, of all people, who, prior to Ronchamp had been among the greatest champions of the flat roof – and it was one of the essential components of his five points for a new architecture – now surprised the architecture circuit with a shapely three-dimensional construct with overt references to the surrounding landscape. What were they to make of a master who had renounced his tenets? But at least he carried the design out in a thorough manner. Outside he employs it to emphasise the desired sculptural appearance; inside he uses the heavy, downward vaulting to decisively reinforce the chapel’s cave-like character. The external form of this wilful roof is continued inside the church. It is undoubtedly a special quality in a work of architecture when the form of a characteristic roof can be experienced inside the building – i.e., when the roof and the space below it correspond. Striking roofs have, of course, been employed for ages as a means of architectural expression that has a decisive impact on the building’s image. But only rarely does the space below correspond to the roof. Today the form of a roof no longer carries ideological implications. And aided by computer programs, any conceivable form can be built. But do these nearly boundless technical possibilities truly lead to a corresponding level of spatial qualities? Roof and space throughout history In earlier cultures the house consisted primari- 21
ly of a roof – roof and living space were one and the same. Later, as the size of houses gradually increased and interiors were subdivided, the roof space typically remained open; stemming from this custom, in many places the roof acquired symbolical – even mythological – significance. And so, in the religions of people of the most far-flung regions, it becomes the favoured abode of demons and ghosts. For example, in some regions of Japan, for symbolic – but also aesthetic – reasons, it was customary to use a crooked beam in a farmhouse’s roof structure. While Japan’s farmhouse roofs could be experienced inside the building, in Europe beginning in the Middle Ages, due to heating, the two
were increasingly separated. The function of the roof was reduced to umbrella and thermal buffer. That didn’t change until the Mansard roof spread in the early modern era – and particularly during the 19th century when the population in cities surged and land became increasingly costly. As a result, the thermal buffer was sacrificed to make room for more apartments. We must keep in mind, however, that there is a difference between a roof topping a tall building and one that constitutes a major component in the overall massing. Over the centuries, particularly in ceremonial or official buildings, we find examples of open roofs. Here, too, symbolism plays a role, as does the desire for special aesthetics, or, subse-