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<text id=90TT1109>
<title>
Apr. 30, 1990: A Cult Hero Gets His Due
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
Apr. 30, 1990 Vietnam 15 Years Later
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
DESIGN, Page 95
A Cult Hero Gets His Due
</hdr>
<body>
<p>The bold, austere architecture of Italy's Aldo Rossi wins the
prestigious Pritzker Prize
</p>
<p>By Kurt Anderson
</p>
<p> As prizes in all realms proliferate, the outcomes--who
wins an Oscar or a Pulitzer--seem evermore capricious and
sentimental. Not, however, in the case of the Pritzker
Architecture Prize, the field's Nobel equivalent. The Pritzker,
awarded since 1979, has earned an unsurpassed reputation for
rigor, good sense and catholic taste (the $100,000 prize is an
American creation, but half of the winners have been from
abroad). The 1990 Pritzker laureate, announced this week,
should only redouble the prize's prestige: Italy's Aldo Rossi,
58, has inspired and influenced a generation of younger
architects, despite a modest built oeuvre. Rossi's work, as the
Pritzker judges declare in their citation, "is at once bold and
ordinary, original without being novel, refreshingly simple in
appearance but extremely complex in content and meaning."
</p>
<p> Like Philip Johnson, the first Pritzker winner, Rossi was
born into a well-to-do family and spent a decade as an
architectural chronicler before beginning to build in earnest.
For most of his career, Rossi's international cult status
derived mainly from his writing (The Architecture of the City,
published in Italy in 1966, is a woolly but right-minded and
seminal inquiry into the nature of urban spaces) and from
sketchy, evocative drawings. Like Johnson, Rossi has had to
live down scandalous enthusiasms. Johnson was a fascist
sympathizer in the 1930s, and Rossi, whose work is sometimes
reminiscent of monumental Mussolini-era buildings, defends to
this day "the great [Soviet] architecture of the Stalinist
period."
</p>
<p> But there the similarities end, for Rossi is serious and
original, deeply persuaded of his vision and never
calculatingly fashionable. His work recalls the local
vernacular (the silos, campaniles and old-fashioned factories
of his native land) and the international architectural
pantheon (Andrea Palladio, Etienne-Louis Boullee, Adolf Loos).
Seamlessly, he combines the down-to-earth austerity of the
former with the self-conscious erudition of the latter.
</p>
<p> Rossi has a reputation, not altogether undeserved, for
rueful, chilly buildings. Until the past decade, he was widely
known for a cemetery in Modena, Italy, that was started in
1971. The complex is dignified, with utterly no attempt to
prettify or embellish. One of its main features, a
2,625-ft.-long, colonnaded, concrete arcade, achieves serenity
by way of severity. His 1976 school in the town of Fagnano was
a similarly stripped-down collection of elemental components.
Yet, as if to confound those who would pigeonhole him as a
weltschmerzy ascetic, Rossi took the opposite tack for a family
crypt completed in 1987. The little chapel has a sweet brick
exterior, with oddly incomplete cornice and a carved-wood
interior of pediments, columns and mock windows.
</p>
<p> The years between those two very different projects saw
Rossi's transformation from cult hero to blue-chip eminence
grise. His floating 250-seat Teatro del Mondo, for the 1980
Venice Biennale, captured the imagination of architects around
the world. In 1982 The Architecture of the City finally came
out in English, and two years after that, the housewares
company Alessi began marketing his gorgeous, Teatro-like silver
espresso maker. Suddenly, there was a surge of important
building commissions and groundbreakings. In 1988 five Rossi
projects were finished in Italy.
</p>
<p> Over the past decade, Rossi has roamed the U.S. several
times. He says he relishes "the richness of the countryside and
the materials." His first U.S. buildings, finished last year,
are two developer-constructed houses in, of all places, the
Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. The clapboard houses,
unmistakably American, prove that Rossi practices what he
preaches about deference to local styles. Last December
construction began on what could be his most relaxed, and among
his finest, work: a village-like tropically colored campus for
the University of Miami School of Architecture.
</p>
<p> Rossi has always taken all sorts of risks--ideological,
stylistic, careerist--yet has never overindulged his own
quirks and perversity, the besetting sin of creative risk
takers. He avoids easy solutions of either the overdecorative
or hyperlogical kind. Instead he seeks to create buildings that
are sublime and humane, the riskiest--and noblest--challenge of all.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>