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Aldo van Eyck. Modern architecture and Dogon culture

Article in Lotus International · September 2002

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Aldo van Eyck – Modern Architecture and Archaic Culture
Francis Strauven

Aldo van Eyck occupies a particular place in postwar architecture. As early as 1947, when he entered
CIAM, he delivered a fundamental critique on the reductive rationalism of postwar building and he
pleaded for grafting back modern architecture onto its avant garde roots. Later, in the early sixties he
reaffirmed architecture as a bearer of meaning. He gave new momentum to the notion of architecture
as a language with an emotional impact and a social-cultural scope, as the primary visual medium with
which human society expresses and reveals itself. He defined architecture as ‘built meaning’. In the
context of the prevailing functionalism this was a highly original and unusual view, which has been
recognized as such by several authors, most of whom considered it largely attribuable to his
‘anthropological experience’.i
Van Eyck indeed has nurtured since the forties a close interest in archaic cultures, in their world view
as well as in their art and building. In the early fifties, he undertook two venturesome expeditions
through the Algerian Sahara where he studied a number of oasis settlements. Afterwards, his interest
focused on the Dogon in Mali and the Pueblos in New Mexico, and from the sixties onward, he made
journeys to almost every archaic culture in the world. Meanwhile, he became a passionate collector of
ethnic art. He assembled a wide collection of artefacts from all continents and all epochs, including
figurines, masks and other cult objects, pottery and fabrics. At the same time he composed a
substantial library of anthropological literature and he quickly became an expert in identifying ethnic
objects.
All this has undeniably marked his ideas and his work, but it would be a misconception to presume
direct formal influences or to consider his anthropological experience as the one and only determining
source of his views. As he explained at the final CIAM congress in 1959 at Otterlo, his approach has
not been based on one but on three great traditions: the classical, the modern and the archaic. He
visualized his credo with a striking two-circle diagram. In the first circle he characterized each of the
three traditions with a fitting paradigm: the classical, ‘immutability and rest’, with the Parthenon; the
modern, ‘change and movement’, with a counter-construction of Van Doesburg; and the archaic, ‘the
vernacular of the heart’, with a Pueblo village. He held the view that these three traditions should not
be considered mutually exclusive but should be reconciled in order to develop an architecture with a
formal and structural potential sufficiently rich to meet the complex reality of contemporary life. The
paradigms of the three traditions are united in a large circle which stands for the realm of architecture.
This clearly defined realm is connected with a different one, the reality of human relationships which
is summarized in the right-hand circle by a picture of dancing Kayapo Indians. Their bodies join to
form a circular – or rather spiral – human wall around an open centre that expands or shrinks as the
spiral relaxes and tightens in the rhythm of the dance. Architecture has to deal with this ‘constant and
constantly changing’ human reality, i.e. not only with what is different from the past but also with
what has remained the same. Hence the importance of tradition, and by this Van Eyck also meant
archaic tradition. In his diagram he placed it on equal terms with the two other traditions. He
considered it a heritage equally important as the classical patrimony of Western culture. Leaning on
the writings of anthropologists such as Franz Boaz, Margaret Mead and Ruth Benedict, he developed
the conviction that all cultures are equally valid and that Western civilization should not be regarded
as the superior system it pretends to be. He reckoned that the so-called primitive cultures are just as
sophisticated as our own, particularly as regards cultural production, such as language and art. So he
never used the expression ‘primitive’ cultures. He was allergic to the disparaging meaning of this term
and held that the cultures concerned are all but primitive.
But this concern with ancient heritages was by no means prompted by a desire to escape from modern
reality. Van Eyck fully identified himself with modernism, and it is from that standpoint that he took
an eager interest in the two other traditions. His passion for archaic art grew out of his identification
with modern art, notably with the 20th century avant garde. It was aroused by Surrealism, notably by
the publications of André Breton and his friends who were particularly interested in the art of the
Pacific isles. And it was through the surrealist magazine Minotaure that he became acquainted with
the Dogon. During the war, in a Zurich bookshop he found an old issue of this magazine entirely
devoted to an ethnologic expedition across Africa, conducted by Marcel Griaule.ii It included a number
of pictures showing masks and other cult objects, and an article on a Dogon funeral ritual.

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What attracted Van Eyck in archaic art has to be understood in the context of the view on modern art
which he acquired in that same period through his personal contact with the art historian Carola
Welcker, the wife of Sigfried Giedion, and with artists like Arp, Lohse, Vantongerloo, Giacometti,
Tzara and Brancusi. According to this view modern art aims at grasping the elementary energies
hidden behind the outward appearance of things, in order to reveal them in their unbridled fullness. It
wants to retrieve the pairs of opposites that constitute the substance of our ‘dissonant existence’ –
opposites such as mind-matter, subject-object, cerebral-sensual, universal-individual, movement-rest –
in order to express them in elementary forms and to reunite them in paradoxical, non-subordinative
connections. To realize these intentions modern art does not only turn, as in the case of Mondrian, to
pure geometry, but also, as in the case of Klee, Arp and Brancusi, to biomorphic archetypes. And these
elementary biomorphic forms, which modern art puts forward, often appear to be closely akin to those
one can find in prehistoric and archaic art. In the view of Carola Welcker and her kindred spirits,
including Aldo van Eyck, this similarity was not a question of the former being influenced by the
latter. For them it meant the manifestation of the same human identity in a kind of Ursprache, a
primeval human visual language which had survived through the millenia within a number of archaic
cultures and which modern art had rediscovered independently.
Thus, paradoxically, it was in order to implement the achievements of 20th century avant garde that
Aldo van Eyck became engaged in archaic art. And inversely, he never conceived modernism as a
negation of the past, but precisely as a rediscovery of the fundamental human constants which
manifest themselves through history. As he put it at the Otterlo congress: ‘To discover anew implies
discovering something new. Translate this into architecture and you’ll get new architecture – real
contemporary architecture.’iii
It was this view which motivated his early Sahara journeys. He undertook these rather risky
expeditions in order to gain first-hand knowledge of the primal elements of architectural language. He
set out for remote places where building, immune from Western influences, had preserved its original
forms; places where dwelling forms, due to the extreme rigours of the climate, had been reduced to
their most elementary expression. iv When he gave an account of his journeys in the Dutch Forum
review, he mainly voiced his experience of constancy:

'It cannot have been so very different in Ur 5000 years ago; the same laboriously fashioned bricks of
sandy mud, then as now; the same sun weakly bonding and then harshly disintegrating them; the same
spaces around a courtyard; the same enclosure; the same sudden transition from light into darkness;
the same coolness after heat; the same starry nights; the same fears perhaps; the same sleep.' v

In the photographs he made, the primal elements prove to be no simple geometric solids. The
elementary takes the form of roughly cube-shaped houses with sturdy, slightly rounded walls that do
not meet at exact right angles but, enlivened by sparing details, produce a generally biomorphic
impression and are clustered together like heavy, thick-skinned organisms. In the burial monuments,
both the small graves and the marabouts, the biomorphic features are more pronounced. Accessible
through suggestive openings and crowned with phallic pinnacles, they confront death with the most
elementary of vital symbols. Van Eyck was particularly seduced by a small, individual grave at
Timoudi, an oasis near the Western Erg in Algeria: a spot defined by a low, fluently modelled wall
forming a square, the four corners being marked by gently rounded pinnacles and the central axis by a
lowered entrance and fifth pinnacle with a hole in the middle. The symmetry of this soft but expressive
form was subtly broken by an offertory niche located in a slight swelling in the wall. It was a form
with the grace of an Arp sculpture, embodying a fusion of the organic and the geometric.
What was the impact of this experience on his architectural approach ? In a later article, he declared
that he was deeply impressed by the timeless character and the prodigious mildness of these silent
desert villages, and he expressed the wish that ‘something of this gentleness would enter our own sad
environments’.vi However, before he went to the Sahara, the intention to achieve a fusion of the
organic and the geometric already appears in his own work, notably in the playgrounds he designed for
the centre of Amsterdam. In these modest yet particularly refined samples of urban design he had
evolved an elementary form language of his own, an idiom which constituted a synthesis of the
geometry of De Stijl and the purified organicism of Brancusi. The playgrounds are composed of
elementary tectonic forms, the low, massive enclosure banks of the sandpits and the stepping stones,

2
and the slender frames, arches and domes made of metal tubing. They are all simple, stable forms that
do not impose a particular function but appeal to the child’s imagination and suggest different uses.
They are archetypal forms that do not stick to one single meaning but evoke different meanings. The
sandpits, round or square, can be seen as purely geometric forms but at the same time they can be
experienced as a kind of receptive bodies, welcoming and sheltering the playing child. In the
Radioweg design (1949) this applies to the playground as a whole. This playground, intended for a
central reservation of a suburban road, shows three circles of different diameter, linked by an axial
path. It can be seen as a succession of simple geometric forms, but at the same time its composition
evokes a somewhat anthropomorphic figure, a shape outlined with a continuous, two meter thick
hedge that follows its evocative curves and expresses them to the outside. The playing children are
harboured within a body-like space, in a kind of maternal body. This design was not executed but the
concept was realized later on a smaller scale in Mendes da Costahof (1957, built 1960), where the
circles were ‘carved out’ from shrubbery. In the meantime the sandpits also developed some tangible
biomorphic features. In Dijkstraat, for instance, it looked like a giant triangular fungus growing out
from the wall, while at Zeedijk it was a round body with five inside lobes evoking a magnified cellular
organism.
In his search for the fusion of the organic and the geometric Van Eyck found various points of support
both in archaic and modern art, in Dogon artefacts and the sculpture of Brancusi, which condense the
essential communicative features of the human body in strong archetypical forms. Later he also found
out that in several African cultures, notably in the Sudan, the house is generally conceived as a direct
projection of the human body, a metaphorical way of building which causes every part of the house to
acquire a specific meaning, closely associated with the corresponding part of the body.
This pursuit of meaning took more pronounced forms in Van Eyck’s mature work, in the first place in
the Amsterdam Orphanage. In this building he achieved a synthesis of the three traditions mentioned
above. The classical tradition resides in the regular geometrical order that lies at the base of the plan.
The modern one manifests itself in the dynamic centrifugal space which traverses the classical order.
The archaic tradition shows up in various aspects of the building’s formal appearance. The first
impression it evokes is that of an archaic settlement, reminiscent of a small Arabic domed city or an
African village. This association is in the first place due to the soft, biomorphic cupolas which cover
the entire building. These forms do not stand alone, but are part of a form language that shows
definitive affinities with archaic imagery. The geometrical order of the building is articulated by a
contemporary version of the Classical Orders, composed of columns and architraves. The perforated
architrave combines with the dome into an expressive biomorphic form which, variously underpinned,
evokes a changing archetypal image. It may be firmly planted in the ground on two columns, spanning
a bay which may be filled in with two-part glazing; or resting on a solid wall and articulated into a
pregnant T-shape by an axially placed window or door. As a result, the bays suggest bodily shapes of
an explicit symmetry. When linked, the architraves present an equally evocative image. Their
horizontal openings recall the eye holes of an archaic mask, particularly when centrally underpinned
by a free-standing column. This form occurs in diverse situations, where its column is anything but an
obstacle. Rather, it establishes a local centre, the stem onto which a place or some interior element can
be grafted. And whether separate or joined, in all kinds of variations, the bays give rise to symmetrical
images, images of varying intensity which appear as a built reflection of the human figure. As such,
they constitute a striking realization of Van Eyck’s intention to conceive building ‘in the image of
man’ and to make ‘a welcome of each door and a countenance of each window’.
Thus, in the orphanage, Van Eyck did not only turn to the idea of the Classical Orders, which, as well
known, are considered to be anthropomorphic, but in the rather reduced sense of being an abstraction
of human proportions. Inspired by archaic form language, he made this anthropomorphism more
tangible by reverting to the communicative features of the human body, the symmetry of its frontal
appearance, the binary appeal of the human face. And for all its expressive power, this form language
is in no way expressionistic. The anthropomorphism and its communicative potential are couched in
elementary, purely geometrical forms. They simultaneously constitute the structural elements of the
building, and as such they also make sense. The perforated architrave may be seen as a girder with a
neutral zone removed. A similar structure can be found in the church which he built at The Hague in
1968. Here the perforations of the architraves are coupled into pairs. They are like eyes through which
one space looks into the other.

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So it may be clear that Van Eycks interest in archaic culture was not focused on recovering primal
building types or models. He was not looking for his own version of the primitive hut in order to
retrace the origin of building. He wanted to evolve a meaningful language of forms, a language which
drew meaning from timeless archetypes. And his interest was not limited to building forms, it
encompassed almost all kind of artefacts, including sculpture, textiles, pottery, ritual objects and
utensils. Not that he ever took over or copied their form. Far from imitating forms he probed their
morphology, looking for basic structures which, when applied anew, had to be reshaped according to
the given cirumstances.
At the same time he wanted the syntax of his form language structured in accordance with the basic
intuitions of contemporary culture. Imbued by the new world view of relativity, which he deemed to
be the most legitimate basis of 20th-century culture, he wanted to contribute to the formation of a non-
hierarchical order, a world where the order of things lies no longer in their subordination to an intrinsic
centre but in their mutual relations. In his opinion current functionalism, despite its modernist
appearances, had largely relapsed into the past hierarchical order. Clinging to an blunt rationalism, it
went for splitting up environment into separate functions and was in this way ignoring the relational
coherence that constitute the kernel of the new world view. He considered that modern town planning
had sidestepped true modernism and that it had failed to bring about an appropriate ‘counterform’ for
contemporary society, particularly with regard to the problem of vast plurality. He maintained that
modern architecture, in order to meet the complexity of contemporary society, should appeal to the
entire building experience of the human past, including the vernacular building of archaic cultures.
Indeed, architecture should follow the example of modern art and broaden its horizon to the whole
aesthetic legacy of these pre-rational cultures, not in the least because, as Cubism detected early on,
their artefacts offer countless clues for non-hierarchic thinking.
On several occasions Van Eyck pointed out how archaic cultures appear to be spontaneously inclined
to avoid fixed or dominant centrality, how they excell in various non subordinative composition
techniques. When they set up a centre, they turn it into an ‘open centre’, they shift it, or coordinate it
with another or more centra. They swimmingly deal with polycentrality. They also contrive to
eliminate the hierarchy of figure and background by achieving an equivalence of form and
counterform. And above all, they manage to organize large number in sensible ways: through serial
composition, by articulating it into variable themes, through counterpoint and syncopated rhythms.
What Van Eyck concretely meant can be explained by means of some artefacts from his own
collection.
1. A Zulu beadwork from South Africa. A series of 'diabolos' in four sizes and three colours. The
centre is occupied by the largest figure, a pink 'diabolo', but the accent falls on the dark blue
figures to either side of it which form a binary image together. The centre is unstressed in favour
of its peripheral neighbours.
2. A shield from West Irian in New Guinea. Three convex boards, a wide board in the middle with
a narrower one on either side, are tied together by four bundles of string to form an elementary
structure in which the skilful detailing has produced a polycentric form. The central board has a
groove carved along its entire length; this may be regarded as the main axis of the design. At the
same time, however, the two 'valleys' between the planks also present themselves as axes, namely
of the spiralling rondels painted on the boards. These rondels bring the lateral boards into relation
with the central board, thereby forming two halves of a binary design.
3. A textile from Thailand, which shows a simple but efficient way to break the hierarchy of a
three-part composition. The 2 times 2 spirals at the left are horizontally coupled so that the centre
is shifted to the interval at the right. The coherence of the whole is effected by coupling the 2
spirals at the right vertically.
4. A small Zulu beadwork, a bracelet. This tiny strip is not symmetrically composed around one
centre. The little pentagon in the middle is in fact simultaneously part of two different motifs, each
with its own symmetry and its own centre. Both motifs are linked in counterpoint.
5. A raffia mat, Bakuba, Africa. The doubled strips are woven into two flat, rectangular plaits. The
obvious binary symmetry is contradicted by the right-hand plait being made wider, thereby
shifting the vertical axis to the left. The left-hand plait is more or less ‘regular’, i.e. the strips
zigzag and cross in a largely uniform way. But the wider right-hand field, whose central crests
mirror those of the left along the axis, is discontinuous in places. The widening results in the

4
 ‘windings’ of the plait getting out of step. The resulting gaps are bridged by a varied pattern of
parallel strips.
6. A beadwork composed of 7 mutually shifted rows of triangles. The remarkable thing is that it
can be read as a composition of either black or white figures. Form and counterform are
equivalent. The swinging movement of the rows is equilibrated by the addition of one single black
triangle at the bottom left.
7. A Zulu loin-cloth made of beadwork. The composition is a-centric and linear. Elementary
figures (squares, diamonds, triangles) and various colours are used to form a horizontal
composition which, like much African music, is characterized by a complex rhythm.
8. The complexity increases when different series are displayed simultaneaously. This is the case in
the weaving of the Ashanti in Ghana. These people make ceremonial textiles composed of
differently rhythmisized strips which run parallel to each other. This technique of repetitive series
generates extraordinary rich, dynamic fabrics, polyphonic compositions with syncopated rhythms
in which every spot is specified.
Van Eyck took a particular interest in the virtuoso ways archaic cultures succeed in dealing with
number, both in their music and their fabrics. He saw them as a proof that, contrary to what modern
town planning would make us believe, man is able to handle large quantities in a way that the
individual elements, far from being blotted out, are specified and articulated as lively components of a
meaningful whole.
‘What until now was unknown, or at any rate was thought to lie outside the accepted scope of human
ability, is all at once shown to lie within it. The knowledge that what they are able to do in their way,
we can still learn to do in our way, is not merely stimulating but brings with it what has almost gone:
hope.’ vii
Van Eyck tackled the problem of number himself from the early fifties on, when he was working on
the project of Nagele, a new village in a reclaimed polder which he conceived on the basis of structural
similarity of part and whole. The entire village was composed as a clustering around an open space, a
pattern that recurred in the housing units and in the schools. The houses were incorporated in strips of
three different sizes which were rhythmically arranged into seven different clusters. This design
evinced his search for the basic principles of a new ‘aesthetics of number’, a new ‘harmony in
motion’. Inspired by both the Swiss painter Richard Paul Lohse and Bakuba textiles, he wanted to
‘impart rhythm to repetitive similar and dissimilar form, thereby disclosing the conditions that may
lead to the equilibration of the plural.’ Subsequently this search manifested itself also in the
Orphanage, albeit on a smaller scale. He conceived the building as a small but intricate urban fabric of
open and close, inside and outside, small and large, and moreover as ‘a tiny city’ characterized by a
structural similarity of part and whole.
So, the Nagele project and the Orphanage can be seen as the first steps to the ‘configurative discipline’
Van Eyck mapped out in 1962: a complex design approach conceived to deal with great number in
new urban extensions and new towns. In formulating this approach, he no doubt found an ensuring
support in an archaic tradition, notably in Dogon culture. When he visited the Dogon early 1960 and
he learnt about their world view viii, he felt a shock of recognition. Their identification of house with
village, their world view of successively larger-scaled organisms contained one within the other, their
conception of these organisms ‘in the image of man’ – all this accorded strikingly with the
configurative thinking he had been developing during the preceding decade.
Van Eyck expounded his ‘configurative discipline’ in an elaborate theoretical articleix, but he never
had the opportunity to implement it himself on an urban scale. Nonetheless, his writings as well as the
examples he provided in Nagele and the Orphanage gave rise to a whole current in Dutch architecture,
the so-called Dutch structuralism, of which Herman Hertzberger is the best known exponent. Still, the
most compelling configurative projects were made by Piet Blom, one of Van Eyck’s students, who
used to devise urban projects structured as fugue-like configurations of houses and housing units. In
1962 he developed a vast project for an urban development between Amsterdam and Haarlem. It was a
structure of five successive levels of association which were all based on the same geometrical pattern.
Displaying a kind of fractal geometry avant la lettre, it was an unusually complex and virtuoso
structure which constituted a highly evocative actualisation of the metaphor of ‘urban fabric’. Aldo
van Eyck was so impressed with this project that he presented it to Team 10 as a demonstration of his
own ideasx. The project was, however, harshly rejected by Team 10, notably by the Smithsons. This

5
 rejection not only meant a refusal of Van Eyck’s fundamental ideas by those he had so far considered
as kindred spirits, it pushed the whole problem of number away from the international discussion. One
of the major issues of modern planning was eclipsed, was no longer considered to be topical – which,
anyway, did not keep Van Eyck from continuing, until the end, to point out the humanizing of large
number as the main unresolved problem of contemporary architecture.

Other Illustrations, to insert at appropiate places in text

9. Aldo van Eyck with a Mondrian painting in the Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, August 1982.
10. ‘Otterlo Circles’, diagram in which Aldo van Eyck summarized his creative credo at the final CIAM congress in Otterlo
in 1959.
11. Cover of Minotaure, april 1933.
12. Dogon masks, illustrated in Minotaure, april 1933.
13. Rock paintings from Songo, illustrated in Minotaure, april 1933.
14. Piet Mondrian, Composition with Coloured Rectangles (oil on canvas, 1917)
15. Hans Arp, Mountain, Table, Anchors, Navel (oil on carboard with cut-outs, 1925)
‘A dreamer can make eggs as big as houses dance, bundle up flashes of lightning, and make an enormous mountain,
dreaming of a navel and two anchors, hover over a poor enfeebled table that looks like the mummy of a goat.’ (Hans Arp)
16. Houses in Timimoun (photo by A. van Eyck, 1951)
17. Marabout of Sidi Aissa in Ghardaia (photo by A. van Eyck, 1951)
18. Isolated grave near Timoudi (photo by A. van Eyck, 1952)
19. A. van Eyck, Zaanhof playground, Amsterdam (1948)
20. Design Radioweg playground (1949)
21. Mendes de Costahof playground (1957, 1960)
22. Dijkstraat playground (1954)
23. Zeedijk playground (1955-56)
24. A. van Eyck, Municipal Orphanage, Amsterdam (1955-60) aerial view
25. Idem, view from the north.
26. Idem, patio.
27. Idem, terrace. The column rises from the centre of a round pond which is bordered with a semicircle of small brackets.
28. Idem, various manifestations of the ‘architectural order’.
29. Idem, interior view
30. A. van Eyck, Pastoor van Ars Church, Loosduinen, The Hague (1963-69), interior.
31. A. van Eyck, sketch plan of Nagele (1953)
32. A. van Eyck, School in Nagele (1954-56), plan.
33. A. van Eyck, Orphanage (1955-60), plan
34. Schematic plan of a Dogon Village (from M. Griaule, Dieu d’eau, Paris 1948)
35. Dogon dwelling in Banani (drawings by A. van Eyck, 1960)
36. Piet Blom, project for a housing development in Slotermeer (1960)
37. Piet Blom, ‘Noah’s Ark’, project of an urban development beween Amsterdam and Haarlem (1962), pattern of housing
unit for 10.000 inhabitants.
38. Idem, cluster of 10 housing units.

i
K. Frampton, 'The Vicissitudes of Ideology', in L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui, Jan.-Feb. 1975, no. 177; A.M. Vogt,
Architektur 1940-1980, Propyläen, Munich 1980, p. 61-63 and p. 72-73.
ii
Minotaure, 1933, no. 2.
iii
In O. Newman, CIAM ’59 in Otterlo, Karl Krämer, Stuttgart, 1961, p. 27.
iv
It was a similar assumption that motiviated Sigfried Giedion to embark about the same time on his archeological research
into ‘the eternal present’ and ‘the beginnings of art and architecture’.
v
Forum, 1953, no. 1, p. 28-37.
vi
In Ch. Jencks & G. Baird, Meaning in Architecture, Barrie & Jenkins, London, 1969, p. 173.
vii
From Van Eyck’s contribution to Documenta X, Kassel 1997.
viii
Notably through the anthropologists Parin and Morgenthaler, who also drew his attention to Dieu d’eau and other postwar
writings by Marcel Griaule and his school. See: A. van Eyck, ‘A Miracle of Moderation’, in G.Baird & C. Jencks, Op. cit.,
pp. 170-213. Of course, this acquaintance with Dogon building had no influence on the design of the the Orphanage. In
february 1960, when Van Eyck visited Mali, this building was nearly completed.
ix
A. van Eyck, ‘Steps towards a configurative discipline’ in Forum, 1962, no. 3; reprinted by Joan Ockman in Architecture
Culture 1943-1968, Columbia Books, Rizzoli, New York, 1993.
x
At the meeting of Royaumont, September 1962. For a more detailed discussion, see F. Strauven, Aldo van Eyck – the Shape
of Relativity, Architectura & Natura, Amsterdam, 1998.

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