Lidingö, circa 1970.

Green is the ultimate colour of a bahroom. What could be more cozy than standing under a hot shower imagining yourself in a rainforest? This also relates to Le Corbusiers ideas on colour - he basically thought that the shade of a floor/wall/ceiling should correspond to nature's palette. In this age where every bathroom is supposed to be some spa-hamam-refuge, green tiles ought to be more popular than they are.

Sadly, few people dwelve on these matters for mucher longer than it takes to look through the latest IKEA catalogue. And the two bathrooms above, with their fantastic rustic, domestically hand-made ceramic tiles so typical of he late sixties - early seventies, have a very uncertain future, now that the house has been sold. Statistically, they will not make it. And it is a great fatal irony that the possibility of the new owners having chosen exactly this house because of its spatial character, surely furnishing it with mid-century teak cabinets and Eames DSR's (Dowel legs); yet remain completely oblivious to the aesthtic kindred spirit that such bathrooms (and kitchens, mind you) are in relation to the afore-mentioned furniture that they just had to have.

But mark my words:

One day, they'll regret it. 

Fiscally or otherwise.

Anymous Architecture: Villa by Kystvejen

There are alot of solid good houses, immaculate in materials and execution, that will never make it to the design and architecture literature. L'ESPRIT NOUVEAU exists to present these anonymous objects of design alongside their more famous dito. Below you'll find one of these works of architecture that have been forgotten or probably never acknwledged in the first place. The pictures (by Mikael Strange -nothing wrong with them) come from a run-of-the-mill interior magazine article that focuses more on the boring and semi-chic owner-couple and their uninspiring collection of white shite that clutters the beautiful structure that an architect named Ole Henriksen gave birth to just north of Copenhagen, sometime on the sixties. That house is of course the true star of the article, and it is a shame that not more focus is layed upon it - or what's left of it. No floorplan. And while the owner-couple makes alot of talk of staying true to the original spirit of the house - they always do - walls have aparetly been moved, floors replaced and *surprise, surprise* a new kitchen has been installed. The best thing about the interiors of the house is not surprisingly the part that is untouched by the new owners:

The entrance, an architectural space in it's own right as was often the case with these villas of the sixties. Greenlandish marble and oregon pine, and black metal fixtures. Ole Henriksen knew what he was doing, all right.

 

Middle-Class Home, California, ca. 1960-ish

It is seldom that the work of the design-heroes of yesterday, displayed in producer catalogues, truly reflect the visual zeitgeist of a certain time. Normal folks hade a taste cheaper and more conservative, as well as countless heirlooms to look after, making their homes less interesting from an aesthetic viewpoint, but perhaps more from a historical one. History has most often been written with the rich and famous in mind, while forsaking the common man. It is only recently that it has changed, but along with this comes several problems. Historians are finding it difficult locating information and artefacts, while conservers are having troubles deciding on what should be conserved. This, I reckon, is especially hard when dealing with the recent history, because who cares about yesterday's news? Only when something is forgotten can it be remembered - and recherished.

So it is therefore with great joy whenever one stumbles across a true fossil of a certain time and place, like in these pictures from a real estate ad of a Californian 1958 house, not touched since the early seventies. With a tiki-bar!

You don't get to step into such a time machine every day (except when Mad Men is on).



via LA curbed

Statens normalskola

Statens normalskola. The State's Normal-School.

Whatever that means.

The hour is late for you, dear old neighbour. And while it may be summer in this picture, you are at the dawn of your life. A much too short life, for you are only 62 years old. You could have lasted hundreds of years - your (then famous, now but forgotten) maker (Poul Hedqvist), chose his materials carefully: only the best of yellow brick, wood and marble would do. Now I do not know if you will see your sixty-third year. And for what? Shiny (not for long) red plastic and sub-par Stalinist housing projects? Fools, they are! Commiting the same mistakes again and again, not ever learning from history.

But we'll come back to you later to say our formal goodbye's.

I wonder if they'll be tearing down SandellSandberg's houses in 50 years?

more on Kungliga Musikhögskolan here.

Sturegatan 13 & 15, Stockholm

Picture by yours truly, published in the think-tank Östermalmsnytt.

Built between 1966-1970 by Jaenecke & Samuelsson, as "Statstjänstemännens hus" ("House of Civil Servants"). This building always intrigued me. The iregularely placed windows between the bronze coloured anodised aluminum taunts me to figure out a pattern. So far without success. Today asymetry has become the cliché-decoration of choice, but it is a quite rare find in Swedish office architecture from the 60's.

Picture from Stockholmskällan's Building Inventory

The spacious and light lobby has been rebuilt into something that looks more like a janitor's closet. There used to be a full wall painting here by C.O. Hultén, made in enamel at the ceramics factory of Gustafsberg. I mailed the League of Swedish Officers, which currently uses the building, to ask if there was any possibility of seeing the piece, but with no answer.

I guess they were too busy jerking each other off, planning  picnics in exotic countries like Afghanistan,  or doing whatever the hell else the Swedish defense' been doing for the past 195 years, while hoping they still have a job to go to tomorrow (not bloody likely).