Lanzarote II: the astonishing interventions of César Manrique
César Manrique was born in Arrecife, the capital of Lanzarote in 1919.
He began training as an architect but dropped out and switched to a Fine Arts college in Madrid, graduating as a painter and art teacher. Travelling the world, he ended up in New York City in the 1960s, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Andy Warhol and having a series of exhibitions as a sculptor. In 1966 he moved back to Lanzarote, and from our perspective, that is where things start to get really interesting.
To say he turned his attention to architecture would be an over-simplification. True, he compiled and published a catalogue, Lanzarote: Arquitecture inédita, of "unedited" vernacular architecture from his home island. And true, he designed a series of buildings which combined those native vernacular styles with the minimalist, modernist, big-window (retro-)futurist flourishes of the 1960/70's contemporary architecture scene.
However his work went beyond simply designing buildings. Of course, every architect ever loves to waffle about the "contextual response" of their work to its location, but Manrique embodied this rather more deeply and successfully than most. Formulating an aesthetic concept he called Art-Nature/Nature-Art, he sought to integrate his artistic/sculptural approach not only with traditional Lanzarote architecture, but with the fabric of the island itself.
The volcanic geology of the island is stark, barren, alien, and with its pallette of jagged black lava and arid ochre, even jarring, discomforting --
Lanzarote through a bus window #4 by stevekeiretsu, on Flickr
-- especially to someone from such a famously 'green and pleasant' isle as myself. In fact, let's be real: Lanzarote has essentially no fresh/drinking water whatsoever, and almost no arable land, so quite apart from any ironic winks about how rainy England is in comparison, it is quite literally inhospitable. It makes perfect sense for an initial reaction to this landscape to be wariness, not falling in love. And yet....
In Manrique's words, “For me it was the most beautiful place on Earth and I realised that if people could see it through my eyes, they'd think the same”.
His influence in the late 60s and throughout 1970s and 1980s was far-reaching. Tourism on the island was in its early stages, and he campaigned vigorously not just to promote that beauty to the new wave of international tourists, but to ensure that the corresponding development was sympathetic and fitting with the native scenery and architecture, not a mushrooming of international-style tower hotels. As we saw in Arrecife, this was not 100% successful as there is one outright high-rise hotel, and lots more generic mid-rise ones. Still, while Arrecife might not be an instagram belle, it's certainly no Benidorm, and the resort development elsewhere on the island almost entirely tends toward 'suburbs' of low-rise villa/apartments in at least a vague impersonation of traditional vernacular styles. For that Lanzarote can thank César Manrique.
Beside this general activist influence, though, he also made numerous direct 'interventions', blending landscape, architecture, public realm, sculpture and art. The island is littered with restaurants, museums, parks, houses, lookouts and even roundabouts bearing his distinctive style. Alas I had only time to visit four of them, but what a mind-blowing experience it was. I would certainly rank it right alongside the likes of Valletta or La Mezquita in terms of personal architectural wonderment, I hope these pics can give even a small flavour of it.
César Manrique was born in Arrecife, the capital of Lanzarote in 1919.
He began training as an architect but dropped out and switched to a Fine Arts college in Madrid, graduating as a painter and art teacher. Travelling the world, he ended up in New York City in the 1960s, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Andy Warhol and having a series of exhibitions as a sculptor. In 1966 he moved back to Lanzarote, and from our perspective, that is where things start to get really interesting.
To say he turned his attention to architecture would be an over-simplification. True, he compiled and published a catalogue, Lanzarote: Arquitecture inédita, of "unedited" vernacular architecture from his home island. And true, he designed a series of buildings which combined those native vernacular styles with the minimalist, modernist, big-window (retro-)futurist flourishes of the 1960/70's contemporary architecture scene.
However his work went beyond simply designing buildings. Of course, every architect ever loves to waffle about the "contextual response" of their work to its location, but Manrique embodied this rather more deeply and successfully than most. Formulating an aesthetic concept he called Art-Nature/Nature-Art, he sought to integrate his artistic/sculptural approach not only with traditional Lanzarote architecture, but with the fabric of the island itself.
The volcanic geology of the island is stark, barren, alien, and with its pallette of jagged black lava and arid ochre, even jarring, discomforting --
Lanzarote through a bus window #4 by stevekeiretsu, on Flickr
-- especially to someone from such a famously 'green and pleasant' isle as myself. In fact, let's be real: Lanzarote has essentially no fresh/drinking water whatsoever, and almost no arable land, so quite apart from any ironic winks about how rainy England is in comparison, it is quite literally inhospitable. It makes perfect sense for an initial reaction to this landscape to be wariness, not falling in love. And yet....
In Manrique's words, “For me it was the most beautiful place on Earth and I realised that if people could see it through my eyes, they'd think the same”.
His influence in the late 60s and throughout 1970s and 1980s was far-reaching. Tourism on the island was in its early stages, and he campaigned vigorously not just to promote that beauty to the new wave of international tourists, but to ensure that the corresponding development was sympathetic and fitting with the native scenery and architecture, not a mushrooming of international-style tower hotels. As we saw in Arrecife, this was not 100% successful as there is one outright high-rise hotel, and lots more generic mid-rise ones. Still, while Arrecife might not be an instagram belle, it's certainly no Benidorm, and the resort development elsewhere on the island almost entirely tends toward 'suburbs' of low-rise villa/apartments in at least a vague impersonation of traditional vernacular styles. For that Lanzarote can thank César Manrique.
Beside this general activist influence, though, he also made numerous direct 'interventions', blending landscape, architecture, public realm, sculpture and art. The island is littered with restaurants, museums, parks, houses, lookouts and even roundabouts bearing his distinctive style. Alas I had only time to visit four of them, but what a mind-blowing experience it was. I would certainly rank it right alongside the likes of Valletta or La Mezquita in terms of personal architectural wonderment, I hope these pics can give even a small flavour of it.