This dissertation takes as its primary focus the cathedral of Notre-Dame at Senlis in an attempt to reestablish the original context of its sixteenth-century rebuilding, and to address the issue of its royal character. While Senlis has been studied in relation to the major late Gothic cathedrals of northern France, it has not been discussed in a broader context. This study, therefore, begins by examining the historical and political period prior to, and during the monument's reconstruction, the involvement of the monarch, Francois I (1515--1547), in the appointment of bishops to Senlis, and finally the procuring of funds for the rebuilding of the cathedral. The early building history of Notre-Dame at Senlis is, then, presented as a foil to the later rebuilding. Likewise, the late medieval building activity in Senlis proceeds a formal analysis of the cathedral and its symbolism. By focusing on the iconographic details, this study establishes the wealth of emblematic representation incorporated in the rebuilding of the cathedral and relates this aspect to contemporary royal building activity in France and abroad. As an important example of the increasingly politicized nature of ecclesiastical architecture prior to the outbreak of the Wars of Religion, the cathedral of Notre-Dame at Senlis affords a new perspective on the architecture of the late Gothic/Renaissance period.

Despite its monumental scale, its position at a turning point in the development of Gothic architecture and its visionary spatial conception, the cathedral of Bourges has remained an anomaly of medieval architectural history. Conceived and built concurrently with the cathedral of Chartres, Bourges has persistently been viewed as the lesser of the two buildings. This thesis attempts to contextualize supposed irregularities of Bourges' design and to review existing historiographical notions of the building in order to rearticulate its artistic character and redefine its historic position. Historically, Bourges has been overshadowed by the greater success of Chartres as a model on which subsequent buildings were based. In turn, the somewhat fragmented acceptance of Bourges' ideals has led to an historiography in which the building is perceived as a series of individual elements rather than as the embodiment of a powerfully focused vision. These factors, and the resulting insistent comparisons of Bourges with Paris as an antecedent and with Chartres as a contemporary, have nurtured a significant bias against Bourges and a consequent disparity in studies of High Gothic architecture. In seeking to redefine the role of Bourges in the history of Gothic architecture, it is essential to identify the unifying force which motivated the first architect of the building who envisioned the original design which was preserved, virtually intact, throughout the building's sixty-year period of construction. At Bourges, it was a fascination with spatial amplitude on a very large scale which fueled the builder's efforts, and it was toward the goal of spatial equilibrium that all elements of the building were oriented. The designer's highly integrated spatial conception was concretized through his use of form and structure, resulting in a building of powerful homogeneity. In the creation of its spatial configuration, and with respect to those buildings influenced by it, Bourges' elevation and structure are its most distinctive features. Bourges' elevation consists of five levels distributed over three planes, resulting in simultaneously two and three dimensional characteristics. The complete three-story elevation of the inner aisle is amply visible through the very tall main arcades so that the two elevations form a single aesthetic unit. At the same time, the three planes differentiate the volumes of the building without being spatially divisive. The elevation's individual components provide an element of vertical continuity while the multiplicity of its planes assures an expansiveness of space throughout the building. Although the elevation is perhaps a more obvious feature of the building's spatial configuration, Bourges' singular vision is no less a function of its structure. The flying buttress, which was introduced towards the end of the twelfth century, provided a powerful structural tool for the builders of both Chartres and Bourges because it provided the technology necessary to build very high, vaulted buildings without using a cumbersome, galleried construction. The artistic emancipation resulting from the use of the flying buttress provided a strong impetus, not only to re-evaluate the Early Gothic aesthetic, but also to develop an entirely new appreciation of structure itself. The Bourges architect capitalized on both aspects of the flying buttress, availing of the artistic opportunities it gave to the building as a whole, and of the aesthetic properties inherent within it. Bourges' flyers manifest a clear understanding of the structural dynamics of masonry construction and a profound desire to exalt those structural properties to a point where they visually contribute to the realization of the designer's spatial concept. They are daringly slender, steeply profiled, supporting members which transfer the thrust of the main vaults to the heads of similarly slight pier buttresses. The designer audaciously employed very spare supporting members, not only to economize on the amount of material used, but also to reduce the elements to essential visual minima. The flyers create the characteristically erect exterior profile of the building and provide a unifying element for its three tiers which correspond to the interior volumes. They are not only vital to the stability of the building but also to its appearance, betraying the designer's awareness of the aesthetic potential of structure which sets him apart from his contemporaries. Unlike Chartres, Bourges' vision was rarely reformulated in its entirety; its success as a whole was too heavily dependent on the building's size and particular configuration. Although its elevation was rearticulated in several buildings in France, Spain, and even Italy, and the building's structural system was extremely precocious, Bourges' design never became an architectural formula because it was ill-adapted to the thirteenth-century liturgy. Its lack of a transept and the consequent unification of space failed to reflect the separation of laity and clergy which became increasingly marked in the liturgy from the twelfth century on. Furthermore, the building did not provide the variety of liturgical spaces requisite to thirteenth-century worship. Although Bourges failed to make as visible and lasting an impression on subsequent buildings as Chartres, it represents a profoundly unique architectural statement which marks a particular, creative moment in the history of medieval architecture. / Arts, Faculty of / Art History, Visual Art and Theory, Department of / Graduate

No description available.

Thesis. 1976. M.Arch.--Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Dept. of Architecture. / Microfiche copy available in Archives and Rotch. / Bibliography: leaf 7. / by Jean-Pierre Carniaux. / M.Arch.

As the "Revolution" threatened Rome during the final decades of the Republic, the many landscapes of the city — built, intellectual, social and natural — became inextricably linked within a confused cultural matrix. Vitruvius was not simply observing a set of places; he was living within spaces that, while having lost many of their explicit meanings over time, contained within them implicit, albeit unclear, cultural codes for him to ponder. Vitruvius in fact was not describing Roman architecture as it was; he was describing it as he wished it to be. There are a host of reasons to question the physical exactitude of his examples and subsequent models: The vantage point of a single individual living within a specific place at a particular moment in time was, and continues to be, limited at best. There are geographical and architectural inaccuracies that leave the reader wondering if Vitruvius actually saw much of what was inserted within the treatise. And Vitruvius would have generalized in order to arrive at the broad sets of tenets contained in the books. The "looseness" characterizing the tenets of Vitruvius is precisely what has enabled imaginative interpretations over the centuries. By including drawings within translations, the classical imagination has become fused with memories of what monuments should look like. Linked to this, translated versions of Vitruvius' treatise can be usurped in order to connect ruins more closely to Roman architectural ideals than they may have been in the first place. The translation and annotation project of Jean Gardet and Dominique Bertin in the 1550s is an example of how the treatise of Vitruvius was attached, inextricably, to the antiquities of southern France. The habit of turning to the De Architectura in order to produce a body of archaeological knowledge and in turn to provide "proof for the architectural reconstruction of classical monuments has persisted. In the end, the monument can serve as confirmation for the translated text, and the text re-confirms the monument. In Orange, the use of the treatise by architects has been retraced to show that the reconstructed theater does not correspond, in its rebuilt state, to that which would have stood in its place. Eventually, the habit of turning to Vitruvius was adapted to such an extent that it practically became invisible, with architects and archaeologists turning to it with little thought as to its contextual validity. This is probably why we see so few explicit references to its use in the literature documenting the re-building of monuments; it is only by retracing field notes that the extent to which it was used, even relatively lately, can be assessed. At the same time, classical archaeology has — and continues to — direct its attention to deblayage, remaniements, consolidations and in time, la sauvegarde. The present-day impetus for these activities is closely connected to history, heritage and ultimately, the notion of patrimoine. The difficulty today is that the more we re-build, whether it be for basic cultural consumption or within grander state agendas, the recourse to producing related bodies of knowledge to justify architectural plans has the potential to increase significantly. The understanding of classical architecture within the context of history and heritage must be met by a corresponding comprehension of its temporal, formal and social nature; Vitruvius' words, as I have stressed, do not necessarily depict a material architecture. Vitruvius' architect lived within an urban setting that was highly dynamic and not necessarily readily interpreted. And while Republican spaces derived from a need for function, efficiency, beauty and representation, they were not necessarily or completely redesigned each time they were reused; they were often modified to suit. Notions related to specific and ideal spaces were most probably stored within the minds of the multifaceted designers to be shaped according to particular sets of pre-existing cultural and built conditions as well as geographical settings. And to these, the craftspeople would have added personal interpretations. Today the problems arise when architects and archaeologists, eager to convince themselves and others of their theoretic, forget that we simply do not know what memories resided in the mind of Roman architects.

This study traces in Mallet-Stevens' architecture a temporality proper to the photographic image, latent in the space of the moderns of the 1920--1930. To this end, I present both an analyses of Mallet-Stevens' work and a photomontage on the Noailles and Cavrois villas, which combines my photos with historical documents. The montage reveals in these spaces a perceptual quality of the image germane to Merleau-Ponty's notion of flesh. The analysis develops this notion along the lines of 'the grain and the skin'. It reveals in Mallet-Stevens' work the capital importance of his experience, as movie set designer. Indeed, space is conceived by Mallet-Stevens in relationship to a camera frame: therefore the primary medium is the surface (the grain), where the emotional effect of temporality takes place (the skin).

As the "Revolution" threatened Rome during the final decades of the Republic, the many landscapes of the city — built, intellectual, social and natural — became inextricably linked within a confused cultural matrix. Vitruvius was not simply observing a set of places; he was living within spaces that, while having lost many of their explicit meanings over time, contained within them implicit, albeit unclear, cultural codes for him to ponder. Vitruvius in fact was not describing Roman architecture as it was; he was describing it as he wished it to be. There are a host of reasons to question the physical exactitude of his examples and subsequent models: The vantage point of a single individual living within a specific place at a particular moment in time was, and continues to be, limited at best. There are geographical and architectural inaccuracies that leave the reader wondering if Vitruvius actually saw much of what was inserted within the treatise. And Vitruvius would have generalized in order to arrive at the broad sets of tenets contained in the books. The "looseness" characterizing the tenets of Vitruvius is precisely what has enabled imaginative interpretations over the centuries. By including drawings within translations, the classical imagination has become fused with memories of what monuments should look like. Linked to this, translated versions of Vitruvius' treatise can be usurped in order to connect ruins more closely to Roman architectural ideals than they may have been in the first place. The translation and annotation project of Jean Gardet and Dominique Bertin in the 1550s is an example of how the treatise of Vitruvius was attached, inextricably, to the antiquities of southern France. The habit of turning to the De Architectura in order to produce a body of archaeological knowledge and in turn to provide "proof for the architectural reconstruction of classical monuments has persisted. In the end, the monument can serve as confirmation for the translated text, and the text re-confirms the monument. In Orange, the use of the treatise by architects has been retraced to show that the reconstructed theater does not correspond, in its rebuilt state, to that which would have stood in its place. Eventually, the habit of turning to Vitruvius was adapted to such an extent that it practically became invisible, with architects and archaeologists turning to it with little thought as to its contextual validity. This is probably why we see so few explicit references to its use in the literature documenting the re-building of monuments; it is only by retracing field notes that the extent to which it was used, even relatively lately, can be assessed. At the same time, classical archaeology has — and continues to — direct its attention to deblayage, remaniements, consolidations and in time, la sauvegarde. The present-day impetus for these activities is closely connected to history, heritage and ultimately, the notion of patrimoine. The difficulty today is that the more we re-build, whether it be for basic cultural consumption or within grander state agendas, the recourse to producing related bodies of knowledge to justify architectural plans has the potential to increase significantly. The understanding of classical architecture within the context of history and heritage must be met by a corresponding comprehension of its temporal, formal and social nature; Vitruvius' words, as I have stressed, do not necessarily depict a material architecture. Vitruvius' architect lived within an urban setting that was highly dynamic and not necessarily readily interpreted. And while Republican spaces derived from a need for function, efficiency, beauty and representation, they were not necessarily or completely redesigned each time they were reused; they were often modified to suit. Notions related to specific and ideal spaces were most probably stored within the minds of the multifaceted designers to be shaped according to particular sets of pre-existing cultural and built conditions as well as geographical settings. And to these, the craftspeople would have added personal interpretations. Today the problems arise when architects and archaeologists, eager to convince themselves and others of their theoretic, forget that we simply do not know what memories resided in the mind of Roman architects. / Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies / Graduate

No description available.

Montréal Trigonix inc. 2018

Avec "Les roses flamboyantes en France", nous avons voulu présenter une étude systématique d'un sujet encore neuf. Près de quatre-vingt roses, réalisées entre 1380 et 1550, ont d'abord été classifiées en quatre grands types de remplage: les souffiets-mouchettes, les rose à pétales, les multiples cercles, les divers polygones. Par ailleurs, trois périodes principales ont été distinguées : entre 1380 et 1435, entre 1435 et 1480, entre 1480 et 1550. Les derniers chapitres sont consacrés aux roses appréhendées dans leur province respective, afin de mieux souligner leurs tendances et caractères propres, comme la fusion des motifs en Picardie (Amiens, Abbeville), ou encore l'harmonie des roses des Chambiges autour de Paris. / Montréal Trigonix inc. 2018