Essential Architecture-  Paris

Maison de Verre Maison Dalsace


Pierre Chareau and Bernard Bijvoet Patron: Dr. Dalsace, a Parisian doctor 


31 Rue St-Guillaume, Paris 


1927 to 1932


Early Modern


steel, glass, glass block 


House and ground floor medical office 
My old architecture lecturer, as a young man, made an appointment in his schoolboy French with the doctor for an examination (in order to see the building). The bemused doctor looked at him and said "My boy, you know that this is a gynaecologist's?".
The Maison de Verre (French for House of Glass) was built from 1928 to 1931 in Paris, France. Constructed in the early modern style of architecture, the house's design emphasized three primary traits: honesty of materials, variable transparency of forms, and juxtaposition of "industrial" materials and fixtures with a more traditional style of home décor. The primary materials used were steel, glass, and glass block. Some of the notable "industrial" elements included rubberized floor tiles, bare steel beams,perforated metal sheet,heavy industrial light fixtures and mechanical fixtures.

The design was a collaboration between Pierre Chareau (a furniture and interiors designer), Bernard Bijvoet (a Dutch architect working in Paris since 1927) and Louis Dalbet (craftsman metalworker). Much of the intricate moving scenery of the house was designed on site as the project developed. The external form is defined by translucent glass block walls, with select areas of clear glazing for tranparency. Internally, spatial division is variable by the use of sliding, folding or rotating screens in glass, sheet or perforated metal, or in combination. Other mechanical components included an overhead trolley from the kitchen to dining room, a retracting stair from the private sitting room to Mme Dalsace's bedroom and complex bathroom cupboards and fittings.

The program of the home was somewhat unusual in that it included a ground-floor medical suite for Dr. Dalsace. This variable circulation pattern was provided for by a rotating screen which hid the private stairs from patients during the day, but framed the stairs at night.

The house is notable for its splendid architecture, but it may be more well-known for another reason. It was built on the site of a much older building which the patron had purchased and intended to demolish. Much to his or her chagrin, however, the elderly tenant on the top floor of the building absolutely refused to sell, and so the patron was obliged to completely demolish the bottom three floors of the building and construct the Maison de Verre underneath, all without disturbing the original top floor!
The Maison de Verre. The sensuality of veiled things

"In order to raise our culture to a higher level we are forced, whether we like it of not, to change our architecture. And this will only be possible if we free the rooms in which we live from their enclosed character. This, however, we can only do by introducing a glass architecture which admits the light of the sun, of the moon and of the stars, not only through a few windows, but through as many walls as feasible, these to consist entirely of glass - of coloured glass."1 
Paul Scheerbart
Glasarchitektur, 1914

Light has always played an essential rôle in the definition of architectural form. The silent presence of the light materialises volumes and dematerialises spaces. The immense brightness of the Mediterranean favoured the massiveness of classical architecture while the thin light of the north created an atmosphere half way between heaven and earth in the gothic cathedrals. Baroque architecture used light theatrically, creating emotionally charged settings for indoctrination or ecstasy. Light generated the shadows without which visionary works such as those of Boullée could never have been conceived and light was undoubtedly one of the basic instruments of the revolution in the perception of architectural space brought about by the Modern Movement. From Sant'Elia and Mendelsohn to Le Corbusier, Louis Kahn or Tadao Ando, 20th century architecture has looked to light for the means to surpass the classic concept of space. Light gives Ronchamp, la Tourette, the Dhaka National Assembly complex or the chapel on Mount Rokko their special qualities and raises them to the category of masterpieces.

It is difficult to establish a direct link between Paul Scheerbart's text and Pierre Chareau's Maison de Verre, but his prophetic words are more real than ever in the light that is diffused by the façades of this house.
Before the Maison de Verre, other works had sought to emphasise the qualities of glass: Mackintosh's famous Glasgow School of Art library, the rear façade of the LoosHaus in Vienna by Adolf Loos or Bruno Taut's Glass Pavilion. All have exteriors that iconographically anticipate the Maison de Verre, even in the way the glazed surfaces are sub-divided into small squares, although without the audacity of covering the entire surface with glass. Kenneth Frampton attributes the germ of Chareau's use of glass in façades to the influence of Adolf Loos and pupils of Hoffman. Loos' acquaintance with Japanese architecture, which uses rice-paper partitions to subdivide spaces, appears to have been a particular influence in works such as the Kärtner Bar (American Bar), the Michaelerplatz building or the house for Tristan Tzara. According to Frampton, Chareau's friendship with Loos and Gabriel Guevrekian in Paris during the '20s clearly influenced his subsequent use of materials and his concept of the interior of the Maison de Verre.2
The input of Bernard Bijvoët, the Dutch architect who was Chareau's partner in the construction of this house, would appear to be marginal. This been disputed with some vehemence by Luciano Rubino in a book that postdates Frampton's article. Rubino claims that Bijvoët is a key figure in explaining the use of glass blocks at the Maison de Verre. He had worked with Duiker in the Netherlands (where he was to return in the '30s) and had been in contact with works such as Berlage's church at the Hague or J.W.E. Buys' De Volharding coop department store, as well as other anonymous buildings that were being built at the time in the Netherlands, Germany and Czechoslovakia.3
Consequently, if Bijvoët had any contribution to make to the project it was precisely his familiarity with concrete-and-glass walls, particularly bearing in mind that in Paris, at that time, no wall of this type had yet been built with the precision and perfect workmanship we find at the Maison de Verre. For instance, Le Corbusier was not to use a similar wall until a year later, 1929, at the Salvation Army hostel, or four years later, 1932, at the Maison Clarté.

What appears to be clear, whatever Bijvoët's contribution to conceiving it may have been, is that this façade is a landmark in the history of architecture, a symbol with a face woven as though it were a veil, sometimes disquieting, sometimes surprising, but always evocative.

By way of interpretative observation
At the beginning of the 20th century, the Spanish essayist and philosopher Ortega y Gasset wrote an article in which he reflected on the nature and perception of surfaces, which unwittingly refers to the qualities of the Maison de Verre façade. 
He wrote: "The depth dimension, whether spatial or of time, visual or auditory, always appears in a surface. So the surface, strictly speaking, possesses two values: one when we take it as what it is materially, the other when we see it in its second, virtual life. In the latter case, without ceasing to be a surface, it expands in a deep sense. This is what is known as foreshortening. Foreshortening is the organ of visual depth; in it we find an extreme case where simple vision is fused with a purely intellectual act".4
The "deep sense" that Ortega y Gasset saw in surfaces is the intellectual device that painters use to represent real, deep space on a two-dimensional canvas. Particularly from the 17th century onwards, this depth was used for two purposes: on the one hand, to give a sense of a three-dimensional space, made up of planes at different depths, and on the other, to capture the notions of movement and time, as only this in-depth view made it possible for them to represent acts in the way they take place in one's consciousness. They not only represented spatial depth but also depth of time, using the same foreshortened planes. In other words, the same painting shows situations that are consecutive in time but are nonetheless represented at the same moment, although in two different spaces. Two good examples of this are Velazquez's The Tapestry-Weavers and Goya's Executions of the 3rd of May 1808. Later, the cubists evolved a method of representation that compressed three-dimensionality into such a shallow space that we tend to interpret it as two-dimensional.
The development of the aesthetics of analytic cubism is where Colin Rowe begins his study of transparency in painting and then in architecture, distinguishing what he calls literal and phenomenal transparency. Literal transparency is that which results from the inherent properties of the materials, while phenomenal transparency is that which is inherent in the organisation of the planes of depth. In other words, while literal transparency depends on the physical qualities of the materials that make up the surface of a façade (and here we have a wide range of possible gradations between transparent and opaque), phenomenal transparency refers to an intellectual act that stems from the surfaces of the façade being composed of planes at different depths that can be read more or less ambiguously.5 This is an architectural application of Gyorgy Kepes' definition of transparency, which Rowe summarises as "the transparent ceases to be that which is perfectly clear and becomes, instead, that which is clearly ambiguous".

If there is one quality that the Maison de Verre façade possesses, it is that of presenting a substantially ambiguous view of the interior. As a backdrop to the stage formed by the courtyard, it offers an oblique view of life in the wings. The playing out of the public and private life of the inhabitants must be reconstructed from the information revealed by the shadows inside, in a leap of the imagination. The owners of the house chose it for its excellent position near the Saint Germain quarter, the hub of social and intellectual life in the Paris of the '20s. Leaving a technical consideration of the façade for later, we can imagine their jubilation at the thought that their society parties would not only have a public dimension in the interior but also on the exterior, through the skin of glass that only just concealed them from alien eyes. To continue with the theatrical analogy, the glass skin acts as a screen, showing only what one wishes and leaving the imagination to complete an image of what is behind it. As a screen, the Maison de Verre façade has two meanings: its own, that which derives from the quality of its surface, texture and weave, and that of constituting a membrane which, by allowing glimpses of light and movement, provides a sketch of the life taking place within. As Joaquín Arnau said, screens have a certain erotic quality.6

The now widespread concept of the façade as a skin was first expressed by the German critic Gottfried Semper in the mid 19th century. In his theory, of the four elements that constitute architecture (an anti-classical alternative to Vitruvius' triad of utilitas, firmitas, venustas) the enclosure was the most important as he took it to be the origin of architecture.7 The other three, the hearth, the mound and the roof, were of secondary importance. The four fundamental materials, textile, clay, stone and wood, gave rise to four basic techniques, weaving, pottery, masonry and carpentry, which lead to the four elements of architecture. From the known data about primitive indigenous architectures, he drew the conclusion that the origin of architecture was textile, challenging the cabin theory of Laugier, the maximum authority on the subject, which gave pride of place to the base and the load-bearing masonry. The fact is that if we think about it, if our first protection is clothing and if clothing is merely a second skin, it is not too far-fetched to think in terms of a natural evolution towards creating habitable spaces from textiles. Tents or huts can therefore be considered as a second clothing. This, at least, was how the nomads saw them as they improvised their desert abodes, and the Muslims who petrified them in architectures of filters, sieves and veils of clay, as in the Alhambra in Granada, never lost that feeling. This brings us to a reflection on the etymological relationship between the human habitat or habitation and the habit as a garment.8 
Textiles, so radically employed by Adolf Loos in the interior decoration of his own home and so brilliantly interpreted by Frank Lloyd Wright in the walls of the Alice Millard house or the Storer house, underlie the contemporary concept of the envelope in its compositional schemes of hierarchical grids, nodes and infill materials, neutral, abstract or figurative. This applies to works such as those of Herzog and de Meuron, Kazuyo Sejima, Toyo Ito or Renzo Piano. And to an illustrious precursor, the Maison de Verre.

Semper made a distinction between the massive wall, die Mauer, and the light wall, partition or screen he called die Wand. Both terms imply enclosure, but the latter derives from 'Gewand', which in German means a gown and is related to 'winden', to make by interweaving. The subtle distinction between the two types of wall is a central feature of the reflections of various 19th century theorists on the nature of the relationship between covering and construction or bearing structure.9 The principle of covering moves between two extremes, revealing and masking. "Bekleidung" or "Verkleidung", clothing or disguise, truth or falsehood in construction, are concepts that had never before been mooted. They arose as a result of the development of new materials and the application of new techniques that made the different nature and function of structure and envelope patent. The traditional solution where the covering is only a superficial embellishment of the support was no longer valid and the seeds of vanguard theoretical formulations such as Le Corbusier's Five Points of a New Architecture were sown.
Three of these five points - free plan, free façade and long windows - are plain to see in the Maison de Verre. Indeed, Le Corbusier and Chareau influenced each other mutually and consecutively through this house: Chareau materialised Le Corbusier's theory and Le Corbusier followed its construction closely and later used materials and solutions taken directly from the Maison de Verre in his own works.

The history of a commission
Around 1927, a married couple with money and a good social position, Dr. and Mrs. Dalsace, were looking for a home in Paris. It had to be in the neighbourhood of the Saint Germain quarter which, as mentioned, was where Parisian high society of the time congregated. When they found the building at 31 rue Saint Guillaume, a big house on several stories between party walls in the central courtyard of the block, it was in such poor condition that both the future owners and the architect decided to demolish and rebuild it. However, an old lady who lived on the third floor refused to move, so they finally decided to demolish the two lower floors and keep what was above them. As well as being an unexpected setback, this meant that a technical feat was required to solve two simultaneous problems: on the one hand, constructing a new building underneath what remained without causing structural damage to the upper floors and on the other, bringing light to the interior of the new home, which suffered from a lack of natural light because of its narrowness and its position in the centre of the block.
These two demands determined the use of a metal structure and the choice of glass for the façade. Because of the novelty of its use in housing (here the rôle played by Bernard Bijvoët must be emphasised), these two choices gave the house the name by which it is still known. 
Beneath the part of the building that was to be kept, the new design had to insert a new three-storey volume into the space of the original first and second storeys. Each of the new storeys was designed for a particular aspect of the Dalsaces' life style: the first, on the ground floor, was for the doctor's professional use, with a double height consulting room and a waiting room and circulation areas set around the glazed secretary's office. Patients and inhabitants shared the entrance but once in the interior the main staircase, semi-hidden by sliding panels, led to the first floor.10 This second level accommodated the public aspect of the Dalsaces' life. The main drawing room is a large, double height volume which is big enough to hold small domestic concerts. At the back of the house, a quieter, more private space with a smaller day room and a small conservatory overlooks the back garden. The third floor was set aside for the bedrooms, all of which gave onto a balcony at the rear of the building. The bedrooms and bathrooms are reached by a gallery, its railing designed as bookshelves, overlooking the double height main drawing room. Finally, a volume on one side of the forecourt contained the service wing with the kitchen and servants' quarters.

The general stratification by uses was not novel, being that of a typical shop or workshop with living accommodation over, combining work and family life under one roof. The novelty lay in the spatial interlocking of the different storeys, the fluid treatment of the interior spaces and the freedom of interior distribution afforded by the steel structure. The treatment of the façade was also novel, as its surface appeared to reflect the ideals of the architectural vanguard of the time: new materials, modern design, standardised elements and an industrialised construction process with the immediate purposes of rapid execution and cost reduction. Nonetheless, the reality was quite different, as although the materials and technical methods were imbued with industrial potential, in a prototype house such as this, without a tried and tested construction system and with the technical insecurity of having no guarantee for the novel products being used, the methods developed for this building were far from industrial. Chareau himself confirmed this with the following remark: "(...) the house is a model made by artisans with pretensions to standardisation".
This led to astronomical costs, both financially and in building time: about 500,000 euros in today's terms and 4 years to completion.

Materials and methods
The photographs of the construction process allow us to see the different stages of shoring up the building as work proceeded. The first stage was to demolish the interior and underpin the upper storey with the new metal structure. The second stage was to remove the façades of the first and second storeys, when the metal frame became the only support for the entire weight of the storey that was preserved. There is a remarkable dichotomy between the design of the framework, made up of stanchions and girders joined by site bolted or riveted metal cleats, which is traditional, bordering on art nouveau/modernisme,11 and the modern concept of a fluid space in which the bearing structure is clearly dissociated from the internal distribution, leaving the pillars standing free and allowing mobile, folding or sliding partitions to be created. Indeed, particularly on the bedroom floor, most of the partitions open. The doors reach from floor to ceiling and alter the perception of space considerably depending on whether they are open or closed, while their high degree of mechanisation makes the interior highly versatile. In fact, at that time only the Schröeder house had a similar capacity for transformation, although there the transformation of space is total whereas the Maison de Verre normally employs subtle variations that modify the light or the view of space. However, on the bedroom floor there are doors without frames and sliding walls that completely transform the space. Even the design of the installations follows the same criterion. The heating and wiring are separated into two autonomous systems, the heating ducts that pipe hot air along the horizontal planes under the floor structures and the vertical pipes that carry the lighting, power and telephone wiring. These lead from the ground to the roof without touching the walls and have control consoles that hold the sockets and switches. The masonry is thus freed from the task of supporting the installations and the distribution can be altered without affecting them. All this was largely possible thanks to the craftsmanship of Louis Dalbert, a blacksmith who had already worked with Chareau in 1918 on the decoration of a flat for the Dalsaces, the same couple who were later to entrust them with building the Maison de Verre. 

This manner of conceiving an architecture enhanced by the use of mechanical contrivances such as the service lift, private lift, retractable stairs between the master bedroom and the day room, etc., gave rise to a machinist aesthetics that suggested to Kenneth Frampton the idea that a technical poetics invades the entire house.12 The fact is that the appearance of the interior, the floor and wall finishes, the workings of the construction details and the nakedness of the joins, the relations between installations and partitions, etc., strengthen the feeling of being inside a machine for living in and materialise the architectural theories concerning the truth of the construction and the covering formulated by Semper or Bötticher and Le Corbusier's machinist aspirations. Indeed, Le Corbusier felt deep admiration for the Maison de Verre, which he visited while it was under construction, and it undoubtedly influenced subsequent works of his such as the Weekend House in a Paris suburb, the Maison Clarté or the Porte Molitor, where glass block façades, indirect lighting and transformable spaces make their appearance. Chareau solved a problem that acquired moral overtones by deciding to demonstrate the possibilities of the new materials (steel, glass) and radically questioning the very essence of the classical tradition. By accepting the new, light, transparent materials in order to harness their expressive qualities and by superseding the tradition of building that identified enclosure and bearing wall as an insoluble whole, Pierre Chareau dissected supporting structure and covering, breaking doubly with the Vitruvian tradition as seen by the Age of the Enlightenment and imposed by the Academies.

Every machine is composed of parts and in the case of the Maison de Verre the parts are the glass blocks of the façades. They are grouped into construction units, panels, that determine the intermediate scale between the structure and the detail of the design and enable us to understand the underlying logic of the building's construction as well as the manufacturing process that justifies many of the solutions developed by Chareau. They also remind us that the field of construction in itself, far from being just a problem, continues to be a specific source of architectural invention and expression. 
Chareau himself gives us the best explanation of the solution he adopted for the façades: "I had to build between two party walls, and the plans called for a division of space according to the needs and tastes of modern living habits. There was only one way to get the maximum of light: build entirely translucent façades. I began experimenting in 1927, using large and thick plates of glass, frosted on one side. This first attempt did not satisfy me at all, though. At any rate, and given the fact that the ventilation and heating problems had been solved in a very special way, the principle of doing away with windows ws adopted: there would be only small openings, for security. At this stage, giving up the idea of using large glass blocks, we began looking for elements which, once assembled, could make unlimited surfaces, but without creating the gaping holes of large glass plates. It was out of the question to think of new materials for such a modest experiment. Among those already existing, I chose Nevada-type glass lenses as they seemed to correspond best to the conditions of the problem".13
The pragmatism and apparent ease with which Chareau speaks of the way in which he approached and solved the problem of lighting must not blind us to the difficulties he encountered in putting the solution into effect. So much so that the reason why no other building with an all-glass envelope was built between Bruno Taut's Glass Pavilion for the Werkbund exhibition and the Maison de Verre was the lack of technological development. The use of structural glass in France dates back to the end of t he 19th century, although it was confined to small pieces placed in a horizontal grid of reinforced concrete. Later, the technology that enabled them to be placed vertically was developed in Germany, but it was not until 1928 that the French firm of Saint Gobain began to market, with no manufacturer's guarantee, square, 20x20x4 pieces with fluted edges that offered an excellent external finish. However, the company refused to guarantee that its blocks would be self-bearing, so in order to prevent possible breakages of those at the base, Chareau found himself obliged to create a hidden steel grid to group them into panels of 4x6 blocks. These panels became the basic element of the design. Unlike the glass block, a primary, single function product in dimensions that are determined by technical and material demands, the panel, as a standardised building element, is a combination of components into sizes that are determined more by ergonomic than by construction criteria. The four-block width, 91 cm, made it possible to create a façade that contains doors and windows with different opening systems, as well as a large number of interior partitions, hidden panels, translucent or opaque interior doors, low or tall, fixed or moving, which close off almost all the interior spaces through juxtaposition and give the interior and exterior an exceptional unity.
The original design had identical frames on both façades. The mullions were two 30x15 mm channels welded to a 100x9 mm steel plate in order to give the façade rigidity. Horizontally, two channel sections identical to the vertical ones completed the grid that supported the glass block panels. In 1930 Chareau covered this steel framework with a mortar to achieve an apparently seamless surface, without a visible skeleton, as though it were an unlimited transparent plane. However, in the '60s this continuous covering was removed from the main façade and replaced by metal bars that emphasised the interior sub-structure by carrying it through to the exterior. The original look was preserved on the rear façade, where the two original enclosure systems can still be seen. The ground and second floor have the same glass blocks as the front façade but a second type of panel, closer to the curtain wall concept, was employed for the living room and conservatory area on the first floor. The infill material was transparent glass, dry fitted in a steel frame, allowing the light and the sun to pass directly into the interior. The parts were bolted together with a leather seal between them for weather-tightness. The panels were composed of a steel frame into which either a fixed pane of glass or an opening unit sliding on a hidden mechanism were fitted.

Poetics and function
The Maison de Verre's great contribution to the history of architecture hinges on three aspects: standardisation, transformation and transparency. 
By its standardisation, the house postulates a modular order with pretensions to mass production. Through this industrialisation of the components, the pieces not only generate a multitude of components that are based on the substitution of variables, they are also interchangeable; in other words, their potential for modification is also a potential for replacement. This potential enables the interior of the house to be transformed by operations that range from pure necessity to subtle poetic variation. An example of these two degrees of transformability in one and the same element is the main staircase from the ground to the first floor. This is in a public zone, a passage used by both the patients visiting the doctor's surgery and the inhabitants of the house. The landing is closed off by a pivoting door that separates the private accommodation from the medical practice in response to a functional need. However, the entire stair space is surrounded by perforated metal screens that transform its perception from transparency to translucency, causing subtle changes in the light that are provided largely for lyrical expression rather than a strictly functional requirement. 
Nonetheless, nobody is better qualified than the owner to convey the feeling of living in a glass box such as the Maison de Verre: "Thanks to an old lady who did not wish to vacate her sordid flat on the third floor, Pierre Chareau realised the structural tour de force of three luminous floors within the ground and first floor of this small town house. These two floors had been so dark that the employees of the old lady, who would live to be a hundred, were obliged to work throughout the day by artificial light. Light permeates freely around this block, of which the ground floor is given over to medicine, the first floor to social life and the second to nocturnal habitation. The problem this posed was enormously difficult to resolve. The interpenetration of rooms, some of which ran through two floors (i.e. the consultation room and hall), made the problem of sound insulation very difficult. The ground floor, the professional section of the house, facilitates work and affords the patients, once their first anxiety is over, great calmness. The whole house was created under the sign of amity, in perfect affective accord."14
It was this convergence of interests between client and architect that enabled the Maison de Verre to be built. It is significant that such a 'connection', particularly when the client is a doctor, has led to the construction of some of the most paradigmatic works of domestic architecture by the vanguard of the first half of the 20th century. To cite only a few: Adolf Loos' villa Karma, Le Corbusier's house for Doctor Curruchet, Richard Neutra's Lovell house, Mies' Farnsworth house or this, Pierre Chareau's Maison de Verre, built for a gynaecologist. It seems that the level of culture is a determining factor in creating a mutual understanding between client and architect that aims to satisfy spiritual aspirations rather than simply building an enclosure to live in.

Art generally employs a medium in order to convey an idea. The medium may be multiple, the ideas expressed are almost unlimited. Architecture, however, must bring the ideas into agreement with utility; poetics and function are not always compatible because bridging the rift between idea and reality is a complicated matter. John Hejduk said that the significant architect is one who, when finished with a work, is as close to the original abstraction as he or she could possibly be. Rather than a theoretical architecture that does not make the leap from paper to materiality, Chareau achieved a work of art in which the idea managed to surmount the technical difficulties without renouncing the degree of abstraction sought by the artistic vanguard of the time.


1 Paul Sceerbart, Glasarchitektur, Berlin, Verlag der Sturm, 1914, p. 11. Citado por Kenneth Frampton en "La Maison de Verre", Arquitectura nº 275-276, Madrid 1988/
1. Paul Sceerbart, Glasarchitektur, Berlin, Verlag der Sturm, 1914, p. 11, translation by CC & GR Collins. Quoted by Kenneth Frampton in "La Maison de Verre", Arquitectura no. 275-276, Madrid, 1988.

2 Frampton, K., "La Maison de Verre", Arquitectura nº 275-276, Madrid 1988/
2. Frampton, K., "La Maison de Verre", Arquitectura no. 275-276, Madrid, 1988 

3 Rubino, Luciano, Pierre Chareau & Bernard Bijvoet, dalla Francia dell' art déco verso un' architettura vera, Edizioni Kappa, Roma 1982, pp. 207-213/
3. Rubino, Luciano, Pierre Chareau & Bernard Bijvoet, dalla Francia dell'art déco verso un'architettura vera, Edizioni Kappa, Roma, 1982, p. 207-213

4 Ortega y Gasset, José, "Meditaciones del Quijote", Revista de Occidente, 8ª edición, Madrid 1970, p. 52 (1ª edición, Madrid 1914)/
4. Ortega y Gasset, José, "Meditaciones del Quijote", Revista de Occidente, 8th ed., Madrid, 1970, p. 52 (1st ed. Madrid, 1914). [Quotation translated from the Spanish.]

5 Colin Rowe explica el fenómeno apoyándose en dos obras paradigmáticas: en el edificio de la Bauhaus de Dessau de Walter Gropius interpreta la transparencia como literal, mientras en la villa Stein en Garches de Le Corbusier lo que advierte es una transparencia fenomenal. En Rowe, Colin, "Transparencia: literal y fenomenal", en Manierismo y arquitectura moderna y otros ensayos, Ed. Gustavo Gili, Barcelona 1999 (1ª edición, Barcelona 1978), pp. 155-176, donde cita a Kepes, Language of Vision/
5. Colin Rowe explained this phenomenon with reference to two paradigmatic works: in Walter Gropius' Bauhaus building in Dessau he interprets the transparency as literal, while in Le Corbusíer's Villa Stein at Garches he perceives phenomenal transparency. Rowe, Colin, "Transparency: Literal and Phenomenal", in The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa and other Essays, Cambridge, Massachusetts and London, MIT Press, 1976, p. 159-183. He quotes Kepes' Language of Vision on p.161. 

6 En un artículo lleno de mordacidad e ironía, Joaquín Arnau analiza una serie de intervenciones sobre patrimonio según tres categorías: biombo, máscara y antifaz. En "De biombos, máscaras y antifaces", Loggia, nº 10, Valencia 2001/
6. In an article with much caustic irony, Joaquín Arnau has reflected on a certain type of renovation work on historic buildings, which he classifies as screens and masks. In "De biombos, máscaras y antifaces" / "Of Screens and Masks" (translation by Elizabeth Power), Loggia, no. 10, Valencia, 2001.

7 Gottfried Semper escribió una obra sobre teoría arquitectónica que puede considerarse fundamental por su influencia en el pensamiento arquitectónico contemporáneo. Es Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen Künsten, oder praktische Aesthetik, 2 vols., 1860-1863; segunda edición, München, F. Bruchmann, 1878-1879.
En cuanto a la bibliografía sobre Semper, reflejamos tan sólo los últimos textos publicados en los que se hace un profundo análisis sobre su teoría y las contradicciones entre su pensamiento y la obra propuesta o construida. Hanno-Walter Kruft, Historia de la teoría de arquitectura, Alianza editorial, Madrid 1990; Fanelli, Giovanni, El principio del revestimiento, Ed. Akal, Madrid 1999, pp. 12-16; Frampton, Kenneth, Estudios sobre cultura tectónica, Ed. Akal, Madrid 1999, pp. 90-96/
7. Gottfried Semper wrote a book on architectural theory that can be considered essential for its influence on contemporary architectural thought: Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen Künsten, oder praktische Aesthetik, 2 vols., 1860-1863; 2nd ed., München, F. Bruchmann, 1878-1879.
For further reading on Semper, confining ourselves to the most recently-published texts that undertake a profound analysis of his theories and the contradiction between his thinking and his designs or built works, see: Hanno-Walter Kruft, Historia de la teoría de arquitectura, Alianza editorial, Madrid, 1990 [A History of Architectural Theory From Vitruvius to the Present, Princeton Architectural Press, Princeton (USA), paperback 1994]; Fanelli, Giovanni, El principio del revestimiento, Ed. Akal, Madrid, 1999, p. 12-16 [Giovanni Fanelli and Roberto Gargiani, Il Principio del rivestimento, Laterza, Bari/Rome, 1994]; Frampton, Kenneth, Estudios sobre cultura tectónica, Ed. Akal, Madrid, 1999, p. 90-96 [Studies in Tectonic Culture: The Poetics of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Architecture, MIT Press, 1995, paperback 2001]

8 Arnau Amo, Joaquín, 72 voces para un diccionario de arquitectura teórica, Celeste ediciones, Madrid 2000; 24 ideas de arquitectura, SPUPV, Valencia 1994, pp. 6-11/
8. Arnau Amo, Joaquín, 72 voces para un diccionario de arquitectura teórica, Celeste ediciones, Madrid, 2000; 24 ideas de arquitectura, SPUPV, Valencia 1994, pp. 6-11

9 Fanelli, Giovanni, El principio del revestimiento, Ed. Akal, Madrid 1999/
9. Fanelli, Giovanni, El principio del revestimiento, Ed. Akal, Madrid, 1999 [see note 7]

10 Se mantuvo un acceso independiente desde el patio de entrada para la propietaria del tercer piso original que quedaba en pie/
10. An independent entrance from the courtyard was retained for the owner of the original third story that was left in place.

11 Hertzberger, Herman, "L' espace de la Maison de Verre", L' Architecture d' Aujourd' hui, nº 236, 1984, p. 88/
11. Hertzberger, Herman, "L' espace de la Maison de Verre", L'architecture d'Aujourd'hui, no. 236, 1984, p. 88

12 Frampton, K., "La Maison de Verre", Arquitectura nº 275-276, Madrid 1988, p. 31/
12. Frampton, K., " La Maison de Verre ", Arquitectura no. 275-276, Madrid, 1988

13 Citado por Marc Vellay en La Maison de Verre, A.D.A. Edita, Tokio 1988, p. 10. El original de esta entrevista a Chareau está, según las mismas fuentes, en "Une maison de verre", Glace et Verre nº 17, 1930, pp. 19-20/
13. Quoted by Marc Vellay in La Maison de Verre, A.D.A. Edita, Tokyo, 1988, p. 10. According to the same source, the original text of this interview with Chareau is in "Une maison de verre", Glace et Verre no. 17, 1930, p. 19-20.

14 Herbst, Rene, Pierre Chareau, Editions du Salon des Arts Ménagers, Union des Artistes Modernes, Paris 1954, pp. 7-8/
14. Herbst, Rene, Pierre Chareau, Editions du Salon des Arts Ménagers, Union des Artistes Modernes, Paris, 1954, p. 7-8. [Quoted in Frampton, Kenneth, "La Maison de Verre", Arquitectura no. 275-276, Madrid, 1988]


* FRAMPTON, KENNETH, "Maison de Verre", Perspecta nº 12, The Yale Architectural Journal, 1969. Traducido al español en Arquitectura, Revista del COAM nº 276, Madrid 1988, pp. 26-43/
* FRAMPTON, KENNETH, "Maison de Verre", Perspecta no. 12, The Yale Architectural Journal, 1969, p.77-126. Original text and translation into Spanish in Arquitectura, Revista del COAM no. 275-276, Madrid, 1988, p. 26-43.

* ROGERS, RICHARD / CHAZASZCZ, L., Parigi 1930. "La casa di vetro di Pierre Chareau: una rivoluzione che non continua", Domus nº 443, ott. 1966/
* ROGERS, RICHARD / CHAZASZCZ, L., Paris, 1930. "La casa di vetro di Pierre Chareau: una rivoluzione che non continua", Domus no. 443, ott. 1966.

* RUBINO, LUCIANO, Pierre Chareau & Bernard Bijvoet, dalla Francia dell' art déco verso un' architettura vera, Edizioni Kappa, Roma 1982/
* Rubino, Luciano, Pierre Chareau & Bernard Bijvoet, dalla Francia dell'art déco verso un'architettura vera, Edizioni Kappa, Roma, 1982

* VELAY, MARC / BAUCHET, BERNARD, La Maison de Verre, A. D. A. Edita, Tokyo 1988/
* VELAY, MARC / BAUCHET, BERNARD, La Maison de Verre, A. D. A. Edita, Tokyo 1988

* VELAY, MARC / FRAMPTON, KENNETH, Pierre Chareau, Ed. Thames & Hudson, London 1985/
* VELAY, MARC / FRAMPTON, KENNETH, Pierre Chareau, Thames & Hudson, London, 1985

* HERTZBERGER, HERMAN, "L' espace de la Maison de Verre", L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui nº 236, 1984/
* HERTZBERGER, HERMAN, "L'espace de la Maison de Verre", L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui no. 236, 1984

* MONTES, FERNANDO, "La Maison de Verre de Pierre Chareau", Beaux-Arts nº 19, Déc. 1984/
* MONTES, FERNANDO, "La Maison de Verre de Perre Chareau", Beaux-Arts no. 19, déc. 1984.

* NELSON, PAUL / VAGO, P. / LAPEGE, J., "Maison de Verre", L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui nº 9, Nov-Déc. 1933/
* NELSON, PAUL / VAGO, P. / LAPEGE, J., "Maison de Verre", L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui no. 9, nov-déc. 1933.

* TALLET, M., "The Maison de Verre revisited", Architecture and Building, May 1960/
* TALLET, M., "The Maison de Verre revisited", Architecture and Building, May 1960.

* FRAMPTON, KENNETH, Arena. The Journal of the Architectural Association, London, April 1966/
* FRAMPTON, KENETH, Arena, Journal of the Architectural Association, London, April 1966.

* PRANGNELL, P., "La Maison de Verre", Spazio e Società nº 12, dic. 1980/
* PRANGNELL, P., "La Maison de Verre", Spazio e Società no. 12, dic. 1980.

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