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Brutalist Interiors
192 pages, Hardcover
Published November 1, 2025
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About the author
Blake Gopnik
8 books55 followersBlake Gopnik (born 1963 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) is an American art critic who has lived in New York City since 2011. He previously spent a decade as chief art critic of The Washington Post[1], prior to which he was an arts editor and critic in Canada[2]. He has a doctorate in art history from Oxford University, and has written on aesthetic topics ranging from Facebook to gastronomy.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
March 19, 2026
A challenging book - worth reading both for defenders of brutalism (a group among which I usually count myself) and for its skeptics. Some of the interiors on display are functional and beautiful. Others, though architecturally sophisticated and skillfully photographed, appear dull and hostile, displaying all the qualities associated with "brutalism" in its bad-faith, pejorative sense. All but the most hardened partisans will find something here to trouble their preconceived notions about this style.
The exclusive focus on interiors is unusual for a book on brutalism. As Felix Torkar notes in his essay (p. 160), a brutalist exterior does not always mean a brutalist interior, and many mid-century brutalist buildings were not decorated in a concrete-forward manner: there's a reason the only photo of the Barbican in this volume (p.146) is from the conservatory, a space that blends indoors and out. At the same time, the focus is instructive, because it removes us from the architectural and intellectual abstraction of exteriors - where engagement primarily happens at a remove, through the one-directional gaze - and encourages us to imagine engaging with these buildings interactively, on a human scale, through our physical bodies.
Brutalist architecture is derided by its critics as "inhuman," and many of these interiors display the clear shortcomings of raw concrete as a surface treatment. It is cold, rough, rigid, and sucks the light and color out of its surroundings. In an interior setting, unexposed to the elements, it does not evolve or patinate in the celebrated manner of brutalist exteriors: the material is so hard and permanent as to simply overpower the human touch, and does not yield gracefully to it over time in the same way as wood, bronze, or even marble. The worst offenders in here include a number of churches, probably on account of their scale and deliberate attempts to overawe: p. 48 and p. 64 are the sort of thing to make even a cafeteria Catholic start griping about Vatican II.
But the book includes many highly successful projects, and there is a clear through-line that connects them. The same uncompromising qualities that make raw concrete so difficult on its own - the fact that all of its natural characteristics are expressed to an extreme degree - make it an ideal foil for complementary materials and forms. It is of course stunning when paired with the organic vibrance of plant life, as is well known from some of the best brutalist exteriors, but other productive combinations include those with wood, plush leather and textiles, profuse organic curves (Sydney's Punchbowl Mosque, p. 180, uses novel casting technology to point in an exciting new direction), and sunlight, particularly when used in such quantities as to diminish the distinction between interior and exterior. The harsh equatorial sun is key to the success of tropical/postcolonial brutalism, as Rixt Woudstra and Ewan Harrison explain in their essay (p. 26), but in less dry and hot climates the same effect is achievable through an excess of glazing, such as in Medellin's Chapel of the Assumption (p. 124).
The most important word there is "excess." In order for any juxtaposition to be effective, other elements must be used forcefully, in a way that opposes the raw concrete and does not simply try to moderate it. A concrete room flooded with light can be fresh, open, and exhilarating - one into which only a certain quantity of light is allowed, from a single portal, as an architectural accent, is still the same grim cave it would be without the window. Not every brutalist interior needs sunlight, specifically, but in order to be a livable space every one needs something.
One successful church, Saint Bartholomew in Treviso (p. 132), is a striking example of productive opposition. Francesco Vacchini cleaves the whole space horizontally with a line above which looms a massive, voluminous, unforgiving concrete roof (and, symbolically, the crucifix), while below is a space of human dimensions and human qualities: warm colors, organic materials, and approachable scale. In a more humble mode, the Leatherhead Theatre (p. 66) displays a very simple scheme in which all of the touch surfaces are rendered in wood, establishing a clear hierarchy of materiality in which raw concrete is subordinated despite still making up the majority of the interior.
There is not much text in this book. The essays are all worth reading, but are few and disconnected from one another. Outside of the buildings that happen to be mentioned in an essay, the images are presented almost completely without context - just a name, architect, location, and construction date. Certain shots are detail shots only and give no real impression of the interior as such. So I would recommend this only to readers with a broad interest in brutalism, or who are looking for some aesthetic guidance, and not necessary to someone with a more scholarly interest. Regardless, it's a solid overview and a good jumping-off point.
If "neobrutalism" is indeed destined to be a phenomenon - and I am not at all opposed! - then we are likely to see more of this type of interior in the future, as the fetishists of concrete-for-concrete's-sake extend its application to places it might have been used with more discretion in the '60s or '70s. While this book can certainly be read as being in that camp, due to the lack of critical attitude on display toward any of the material it presents, I hope the cautionary lessons it has to offer are learned as well.
The exclusive focus on interiors is unusual for a book on brutalism. As Felix Torkar notes in his essay (p. 160), a brutalist exterior does not always mean a brutalist interior, and many mid-century brutalist buildings were not decorated in a concrete-forward manner: there's a reason the only photo of the Barbican in this volume (p.146) is from the conservatory, a space that blends indoors and out. At the same time, the focus is instructive, because it removes us from the architectural and intellectual abstraction of exteriors - where engagement primarily happens at a remove, through the one-directional gaze - and encourages us to imagine engaging with these buildings interactively, on a human scale, through our physical bodies.
Brutalist architecture is derided by its critics as "inhuman," and many of these interiors display the clear shortcomings of raw concrete as a surface treatment. It is cold, rough, rigid, and sucks the light and color out of its surroundings. In an interior setting, unexposed to the elements, it does not evolve or patinate in the celebrated manner of brutalist exteriors: the material is so hard and permanent as to simply overpower the human touch, and does not yield gracefully to it over time in the same way as wood, bronze, or even marble. The worst offenders in here include a number of churches, probably on account of their scale and deliberate attempts to overawe: p. 48 and p. 64 are the sort of thing to make even a cafeteria Catholic start griping about Vatican II.
But the book includes many highly successful projects, and there is a clear through-line that connects them. The same uncompromising qualities that make raw concrete so difficult on its own - the fact that all of its natural characteristics are expressed to an extreme degree - make it an ideal foil for complementary materials and forms. It is of course stunning when paired with the organic vibrance of plant life, as is well known from some of the best brutalist exteriors, but other productive combinations include those with wood, plush leather and textiles, profuse organic curves (Sydney's Punchbowl Mosque, p. 180, uses novel casting technology to point in an exciting new direction), and sunlight, particularly when used in such quantities as to diminish the distinction between interior and exterior. The harsh equatorial sun is key to the success of tropical/postcolonial brutalism, as Rixt Woudstra and Ewan Harrison explain in their essay (p. 26), but in less dry and hot climates the same effect is achievable through an excess of glazing, such as in Medellin's Chapel of the Assumption (p. 124).
The most important word there is "excess." In order for any juxtaposition to be effective, other elements must be used forcefully, in a way that opposes the raw concrete and does not simply try to moderate it. A concrete room flooded with light can be fresh, open, and exhilarating - one into which only a certain quantity of light is allowed, from a single portal, as an architectural accent, is still the same grim cave it would be without the window. Not every brutalist interior needs sunlight, specifically, but in order to be a livable space every one needs something.
One successful church, Saint Bartholomew in Treviso (p. 132), is a striking example of productive opposition. Francesco Vacchini cleaves the whole space horizontally with a line above which looms a massive, voluminous, unforgiving concrete roof (and, symbolically, the crucifix), while below is a space of human dimensions and human qualities: warm colors, organic materials, and approachable scale. In a more humble mode, the Leatherhead Theatre (p. 66) displays a very simple scheme in which all of the touch surfaces are rendered in wood, establishing a clear hierarchy of materiality in which raw concrete is subordinated despite still making up the majority of the interior.
There is not much text in this book. The essays are all worth reading, but are few and disconnected from one another. Outside of the buildings that happen to be mentioned in an essay, the images are presented almost completely without context - just a name, architect, location, and construction date. Certain shots are detail shots only and give no real impression of the interior as such. So I would recommend this only to readers with a broad interest in brutalism, or who are looking for some aesthetic guidance, and not necessary to someone with a more scholarly interest. Regardless, it's a solid overview and a good jumping-off point.
If "neobrutalism" is indeed destined to be a phenomenon - and I am not at all opposed! - then we are likely to see more of this type of interior in the future, as the fetishists of concrete-for-concrete's-sake extend its application to places it might have been used with more discretion in the '60s or '70s. While this book can certainly be read as being in that camp, due to the lack of critical attitude on display toward any of the material it presents, I hope the cautionary lessons it has to offer are learned as well.
April 6, 2026
Me habría gustado ser capaz de entender absolutamente todo lo que comentaban los autores en los miniensayos que había cada x páginas, pero mi inglés no da para más. Igualmente, los lugares que enseñan son espectaculares, y ahora tengo la urgencia de incorporar elementos brutalistas en el futuro diseño de mi casa.
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