Posts Tagged Jean Nouvel
The best architecture of 2011: Rowan Moore’s choice
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on December 11, 2011
It was the year of pop-ups and postmodernism – and the playful Frank Gehry went sky high
In New York they managed to complete the vast 9/11 memorial fountains in time for the 10th anniversary of the events of 2001, while around them rises the strange spectacle of commercial skyscrapers sponsored at huge expense from the public purse. Also in New York, Frank Gehry completed his tower of flats in Spruce Street with a playful beauty that has not been seen in skyscraper design for a while. These days, it's fashionable to knock Gehry for being the father of iconic building, but this tower, and his New World Symphony in Miami, shows that he is what has always been: a proper architect who likes to enjoy himself.
Last year the Serpentine Gallery got the turkey award in this space with its pavilion by Jean Nouvel; now it gets into the top 10 with Peter Zumthor's version of its annual commission. Pop-ups, identified as craze of the year in 2010, are still popping up, with Assemble's Folly for a Flyover leading the field. Olympic projects, such as the stadium and the aquatic centre, are getting their final buff and polish. Both are looking good, if you overlook the temporary add-ons on the latter, and the pointless plastic wrapper planned for the former, supplied courtesy of the Bhopal-implicated Dow Chemical Company.
In other news, postmodernism continued its inevitable revival. The magnificent James Stirling was honoured with a show at Tate Britain, and the V&A is currently revisiting the age of Grace Jones and leopard-skin Formica.
In a strong field of turkeys, the catastrophic Museum of Liverpool breasts the tape ahead of Rafael Viñoly's Firstsite in Colchester, the underwhelming new home of the BBC in Salford Quays and the anti-urban Westfield Stratford City.
TOP 10
8 Spruce Street, New York
Dazzling, elegant fun from Frank Gehry.
The Hepworth Wakefield
David Chipperfield completed two of his sober, considered, light-filled art galleries in 2011, in Margate and Wakefield. The one in Wakefield is the more convincing of the two.
New Court, London
Financial prestige meets cultural super-sophistication in Rem Koolhaas's headquarters for Rothschild.
Brockholes Visitor Village, Preston
A very nice place for looking at nature, on the edge of Preston, by Adam Khan. It floats.
Folly for a Flyover, London
Assemble, maker of the 2010 hit Cineroleum, maintained its form with this temporary cinema/bar/performance space under an elevated section of the A12.
Aquatic Centre, London
Breathtaking inside. Will look good outside, after the Olympics, when they have removed the giant water-wings that contain temporary seating.
Olympic Stadium, London
Handsome in its simplicity, until they wreck it with a festive wrapper for the Games.
Lyric theatre, Belfast
Just plain good, by the Dublin practice O'Donnell and Tuomey.
Maggie's Centres
Three more in the series of high-design cancer centres. The one in Glasgow, by OMA, and the one in Nottingham, by Piers Gough and Paul Smith, stand out.
Serpentine Gallery pavilion, London
An arena for watching plants grow, by Peter Zumthor.
TURKEY
Museum of Liverpool
Confused, expensive, misguided and offensive to the adjoining "Three Graces". Otherwise OK.
One New Change: never brown in town
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on October 21, 2010
It has been designed by Jean Nouvel – but the brown glass walls of this new London shopping centre jar with its City surroundings
One New Change is likely to be called many names in its lifetime, not all of them complimentary. An enormous shopping and office complex thumped down to the immediate east of St Paul's Cathedral in the City of London, it has been designed by French architect Jean Nouvel.
Though Nouvel's bright red Serpentine Gallery in Kensington Gardens made a colourful splash this summer, the architect is not particularly well known in Britain, and this is his first permanent building here. Some of his very best work – like the diaphanous Fondation Cartier and the mesmerising Institut du Monde Arabe with its hi-tech play on traditional Arabic designs, both in Paris – are truly captivating structures. However, One New Change is a very different beast.
The Prince of Wales, who believes the Luftwaffe did less damage to London than modern architects, has been sniping at One New Change since 2005, when he wrote to the developers, Land Securities, hoping to get Nouvel off the job and have him replaced by one of his "traditionalist" chappies. He failed, and One New Change looks like the kind of building that will cause controversy. The computer images on Nouvel's website, especially those showing it lit up at night, are seductive in a cinematic way. They make the building shine darkly, as if it were some unexpected meteorite or giant jewel glinting from the City streets. The reality, in the grey light of London, is far more sombre than this, if not exactly prosaic.
It's already known as the "stealth building" for two good reasons. First, this low, wide £500m behemoth, with its three floors of shops and five floors of offices, has muscled its way into the City while – remarkably – being all but invisible from just a few streets away. Second, its design – or, at least, its faceted facade or skin – really does have something of the look of a US Air Force Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit, or stealth bomber, whose folded surface makes it virtually invisible to radar.
However, it's the colours of this bulky new arrival that truly startle. Instead of the military shades of grey one might expect, One New Change is sheathed in acres of largely opaque brown glass. For many centuries the Square Mile has been an enclave of largely white, grey and black buildings with discreet splashes of red brick or marble. Brown? No sir.
In fact, though Land Securities would never admit it – still less the team of architects led by Richard Rogers who chose Nouvel's design in an open competition held in 2003 – the role of One New Change may be to shock. Squeezing such a big building into the City has been a bit like pouring a heavyweight boxer into a city boy's suit. And, rather like a bespoke three-piece, while the exterior of the Nouvel building is essentially formal, its cruise-ship shiny, shop-lined interior is as flash as a loud silk lining.
The big idea is that the building appears to be a single block of material with passageways or "streets" carved through it, so that it feels like at least four separate, yet connected, buildings, turning around a central atrium. These "streets" are lined with shops and cafes, and have sloping walls. The biggest of them leads from the heart of One New Change to St Paul's Cathedral, framing studied views of Wren's enduring monument.
When you reach the atrium, a glass "panoramic" lift takes you up to a zig-zag, sixth-floor roof terrace. Whatever you make of the building as a whole, the experience of standing up here, so close to Wren's haunting dome, is undeniably moving and exciting. "You feel you can reach out and touch St Paul's," says Nouvel. It's true. Sitting here outside the rooftop cafe will be one of the most inspiring everyday experiences the City can offer.
There is little doubt that when it opens next Thursday, One New Change will be jam-packed with City workers and tourists. How can it go wrong? Nouvel sounds so very convincing when he says that "the design of One New Change is about enriching the City with a new sort of modernity. It is a contemporary building which will set up a dialogue with St Paul's and the neighbouring buildings. The design is calm and deferential to St Paul's and provides a unique opportunity to bring the public into the site."
The public will come anyway, such will be the allure of yet another branch of Topshop, H&M and Banana Republic, another outlet of Nando's and Eat; how can they resist a new Gordon Ramsay restaurant or Barbacoa, the latest culinary venture by Jamie Oliver and Adam Perry Lang? There are some independent shops, yet these are swamped by the big chains. Meanwhile, any new building on this site – good, bad or indifferent – would inevitably set up a dialogue with St Paul's. This mighty landmark can never be ignored, and the buildings around it must say something to their majestic neighbour if only to the effect that they don't care what it or anyone else feels about the way they look.
There goes the neighbourhood
Two big questions need to be asked about One New Change. One is whether the City of London should follow the path of every other British city centre; the other is whether Nouvel's stealthily bombastic design is the right neighbour for St Paul's. For me, it seems a little sad that the City is unable to follow its own star. Until very recently, it had retained its own special character. Here, a largely medieval street pattern adorned with fairytale names like Threadneedle Street and Pudding Lane is matched with secret, shoulder-wide alleys leading to quietly angelic churches, venerable pubs, ancient livery companies, and even the odd surviving independent shop with some half-remembered name, such as Shivelights and Shadowtackle or Dombey and Son. All this packed into the legendary Square Mile, between monuments to Mammon as traditional as the Bank of England and as a radical as the Gherkin, the up-and-coming Cheesegrater and all the other new towers with equally potty nicknames.
Certainly there have been fine places to shop in the City in the form of covered markets (such as Leadenhall Market, in the shadow of Richard Rogers's Lloyds Building), as well as the noble 1844 Royal Exchange alongside the Bank of England. Yet the City has remained aloof, or simply remote, from the wave of malls inundating Britain.
A cheeky wink to Wren
Until it was demolished to make way for the Nouvel building, St Paul's did have a good, and modest, neighbour in the guise of No 1 New Change, a Portland stone and red-brick office complex designed for the Bank of England by Victor Heal. Completed in 1960, this cautious and polite building was much mocked. And, yet, for all its conservative nature, Heal's building was a careful foil to St Paul's. Where Heal nodded politely to Wren, Nouvel winks at him cheekily as if saying: "Come on, grandpa; get down with the bling, and get shopping."
Assuming the Heal building had to go, I would never have recommended replacing it with the kind of Kentucky Fried Georgian buildings facing the north and west fronts of St Paul's in Paternoster Square. Creatures of the 1990s, these were – mostly – every bit as wrong here as One New Change is. Ultimately, St Paul's was best set off by the tight clusters of streets and buildings that stood almost within touching distance of its Portland stone walls until blitzed by the Luftwaffe. I suppose that today's big-shot developers could never make their money by creating a contemporary take on narrow streets and small independent shops and cafes; because of this, St Paul's was bound to be faced by a building as big as One New Change.
For me, though, it would make no difference whether or not One New Change had been designed by Frank Gehry or Alvaro Siza, or by today's equivalent (should they exist) of Wren or Hawksmoor. It just seems a shame to see the City of London go the way of all other cities. The heavily marketed idea that you can reach out and touch St Paul's from a funky new "stealth" shopping mall is not reward enough for robbing the City of what passes for its soul.
Moscow’s architectural heritage is crumbling under capitalism
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on August 10, 2010
The city's avant-garde masterpieces are falling into ruin. It seems only the oligarchs' wives can save them
From the pedestrian bridge that crosses the Moskva river towards the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour you normally have a clear view of the Kremlin. But for several days last week its fairytale towers had disappeared behind an acrid grey pall. With the thermometer stuck at a record-shattering 40C and the smog hidden by smoke from the burning marshes outside the city, this was a hellish Moscow that none of its residents had ever seen before.
I was in the city to give a talk at a new school, the Strelka Institute of Architecture, Media and Design. Located just across the river from the cathedral, the Strelka occupies the garages of the former Red October chocolate factory, which until two years ago had been producing chocolate on that site since the late 19th century. The school only opened earlier this summer but already it's one of the liveliest nightspots in the city, with film screenings, clubs and a restaurant frequented by Moscow's glamorous media set. If you're thinking that this doesn't sound much like a school, then you'd have a point, but we'll address that later. In all other senses the sight of a former industrial complex being turned into a cultural hotspot is one that we've been accustomed to in Europe and the US for several decades. In Russia, however, it's a more recent phenomenon.
One reason is that the gradual switch from an industrial to a services economy didn't begin until the Yeltsin years. And it was only around the turn of the millennium that developers started to speculate on factories (the more unscrupulous ones earned the description "raiders"). The other factor in the slow speed of the post-industrial project is that the Russians appear to value new things more than old ones.
Any sightseers embarking on a tour of Moscow's avant-garde architecture from the early 20th century had better brace themselves for a catalogue of degradation. The more hallowed the building in the architectural history books, the greater its decrepitude. Take the Narkomfin building, designed by Moisei Ginzburg with Ignaty Milnis in 1928 to house the workers of the commissariat of finance. This radical apartment block, which spearheaded the idea of collective living, is one of the most important surviving constructivist buildings. And it is literally crumbling – indeed it's in such a sorry state that I was amazed to find that people still live in it. Then there is another constructivist masterpiece, Konstantin Melnikov's Rusakov workers' club of 1929, with its muscular geometric profile. It's still as dramatic as ever but empty now except for an Azerbaijani restaurant that has attached its own folksy timber entrance (with lurid neon signage) to the unforgettable facade.
But it is not just the early modernist heritage of Moscow that is unloved. Even the pride of a more recent Soviet past is going to seed. The All-Russia Exhibition Centre (VDNKh), the expo site in the north of the city that was a town-sized advertisement of Soviet achievements, is today a rather seedy theme park. None of its grandiose pavilions still contain anything worth seeing. The grandest, announced by a Tupolev rocket in the forecourt, is the 1966 Space Pavilion. It now houses a garden centre that would embarrass your average parish hall, let alone this vaulted cathedral to the Soviet space programme. Under the dome, the giant portrait of Yuri Gagarin has a sheet draped over it. I asked a local why and he answered simply: "Shame." It would dishonour the legendary cosmonaut to look out over this mess.
This is the climate in which the Russian post-industrial project is taking shape. Preservation is not a major preoccupation here, which is ironic considering that much of the post-communist architecture has been built to look old (it's known unofficially as the "Luzhkov style", after Moscow's long-serving mayor). And yet one fifth of Moscow is made up of industrial sites – think of the impact that Tate Modern had on London's cultural scene and then imagine how much potential Moscow has. But destroy-and-rebuild is the model favoured here, with over 1,000 historical buildings knocked down in the last decade. There's no pressure from heritage bodies and no incentives to convert industrial buildings. Indeed, there tend to be disincentives, such as the regulation that only new buildings can qualify for class A office status. It's no wonder that developers have been either demolishing the factories to build luxury apartment blocks or turning them into business parks.
In the last few years, however, things have started to change. For one thing, the recession has put the brakes on developers, allowing nimbler entrepreneurs to slip in. The Red October factory, for instance, was meant to be turned into a luxury residential zone called Golden Island, with buildings by Norman Foster (much beloved of Russia) and Jean Nouvel. Only the credit crunch enabled the Strelka's founders to lease their site. But there is also a new player on the Moscow property scene: the oligarch's wife, who knows only too well from the international circuit how to turn defunct industry into cultural prestige. One such is Dasha Zhukova, Roman Abramovich's wife, who two years ago turned Melnikov's temple-like Bakhmetevsky bus garage of 1927 into an art centre called Garage. Last week it was holding a Rothko retrospective, the kind of show that normally only major museums can handle.
On a grander scale, though less refined architecturally, are the cultural developments in the Kursky industrial area. Here there is Winzavod, a red-brick wine factory built in the 1860s. It was bought by Roman Trotsenko to turn into offices but again his wife, Sofia, saw the potential for a cultural centre. Today it's full of galleries, showrooms and creative studio spaces. And right next door to it is what used to be the Arma gasworks, which supplied the gas for Moscow's streetlights. Now its four brick gasometers are home to a clutch of nightclubs, creative agencies and publishing houses. In a strange hangover from Soviet bureaucracy, you have to show your passport to enter and you're not allowed to take photographs, which somehow is not quite in the spirit of the place.
Here's the question: is it to be left to the oligarchs' wives to deliver on all this potential cultural programming? One Muscovite I met referred to Garage and Vinzavod rather dismissively as "toys for rich people". "Still," he added, "they could just be buying more yachts."
Perhaps the Strelka offers a different model. The founders of this postgraduate design school, with a curriculum designed by Rem Koolhaas, are at least using their wealth to invest in the next generation. And one way that they are making the school's name (while recouping some funds) is as a social hotspot. In fact, the Strelka is the kind of hybrid that could probably only exist in the turbo-capitalist experiment of Moscow: one part ideology, one part philanthropy (the education will be free) and one part the place to be seen. If the school succeeds, then while Russia may have come late to the post-industrial party, it will have contributed something new to the rather predictable formats we know so well in Europe. Meanwhile, locals are paying it a classic Muscovite compliment: "It's so not like Moscow."
Video: Serpentine pavilion 2010: Jean Nouvel’s aesthetic game
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on July 8, 2010
Jonathan Glancey talks to the French architect Jean Nouvel about his design for this year's Serpentine pavilion
The new Serpentine pavilion is a rhapsody in red
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on July 7, 2010
Award-winning architect Jean Nouvel has finally built in Britain. He tells Jonathan Glancey why he created a 'sun machine' in a London park (complete with ping-pong tables)
Jean Nouvel stands before his first British building, a striking all-red structure set amid the sun-baked greenery of Kensington Gardens in London, and says: "You walk past the park. You look. You catch the red between the trees. What is it? Sails? A circus? Something. You don't know what, so you have to look."
The French architect is talking about the summer pavilion he has created for the Serpentine Gallery, which was unveiled yesterday. What inspired this rhapsody in red? "It was that moment," he says, "when the summer sun catches you full in the eyes and, as you blink, the world dissolves into red."
Nouvel's pavilion – the 10th to grace this park – isn't just red on the outside, though. Beneath its commanding red steel frame and retractable red canvas awnings, there's a red rubber floor, around which are dotted red table tennis tables, red hammocks, red tables and chairs, and red chess sets. Even the auditorium and cafe bar are red (as are its fridges). And, just in case you had any difficulty spotting the pavilion from a distance, off to the side there is a 12-metre red glass wall, sprouting up from the grass like a great big punctuation mark.
This "big sunglass", as Nouvel calls it, leans over at an unsettling angle, appearing to threaten the pavilion, adding a sense of drama, even danger, to his eye-catching creation. "In one way," says Nouvel, "the pavilion is a sun machine, a way of directing sunlight. In another, it is a fragile flower that rises in the park in the summer sun, wilts in the autumn, and then vanishes. Of course, red is also the colour of London in some ways – the buses, the pillar boxes, the soldiers for the Queen – but mostly red is about the sun."
But Nouvel, who follows in the footsteps of previous Serpentine architects Oscar Niemeyer, Zaha Hadid, Toyo Ito and Rem Koolhaas, wants the pavilion to do more than just catch the sun. "I want it to catch and filter emotions, to be a little place of warmth and delight. For an architect, it's always a pleasure to work with a programme that has no great consequences – the pavilion comes, the pavilion goes. It leaves an impression, echoes of emotion, nothing more. In this way, the architect is free to be the artist. This is not a perfect exercise in architecture. It's a building from a dream that allows us to have some little, I hope happy, sensations. It's architecture on holiday."
Nouvel's pavilion is a simple yet striking construction that, on closer inspection, proves to be far more than a brightly coloured sculpture. Some of its red surfaces absorb light, others reflect it; some glimmer, others are translucent. Beneath its retractable roofs hang photographs of another grand park in a great capital city: Paris's Jardin du Luxembourg – but that's a formal park, like most of France's, unlike the more relaxed and playful English ones. These shots are by Jean Baudrillard, the celebrated French philosopher who died three years ago; he was a big influence on Nouvel, as well as a friend. Through this pavilion, architect and philosopher walk together again in a vibrant green space.
The structure has clearly been shaped, with a little help from Arup engineers led by David Glover and Cecil Balmond, as a plaything. Yes, there will be serious talks and various events in the auditorium. But before people go along to these, they can meet and chat in the red bar – or play red table-tennis, or kick a red football or hurl a red Frisbee out into the park. So, what's with all this playfulness?
Well, the Serpentine pavilion is traditionally designed by an architect who has yet to build, or complete, a building in Britain. The 2010 pavilion, however, is only just ahead of the game: this autumn sees the opening of Nouvel's One New Change, a controversial shopping and office complex to the east of St Paul's Cathedral. This is serious architecture, about as playful as a nuclear reactor. Nouvel himself has described the building as a "stealth bomber": although enormous, it is clad in non-reflective (or opaque) glass, as if to disguise its bulk. Prince Charles tried to scupper Nouvel's chances here, but failed to get his own preferred architects appointed. The pavilion, in toying with architecture, provides a bit of balance against what is to come.
It seems a shame that Nouvel's first major permanent work in Britain is a commercial behemoth. His strength lies in the design of art galleries, concert halls and museums. The energetic 64-year- old's best works are the Institut du Monde Arabe, a mesmerising cultural foundation by the Seine in Paris, completed in 1987; 1994's Fondation Cartier, a quietly beautiful Parisian arts centre that reveals itself through layers of huge glass screens; and last year's Copenhagen Concert Hall, a mesh cube lit up at night to dazzling effect. Each of these finely wrought and enigmatic buildings was expressed in one overriding colour: silver, white, blue.
"Architecture is a dialogue," says Nouvel. "When it's complete, I hope you will see some of the ways we've incorporated games into One New Change. There will be a terrace with new views of the City and St Paul's – and it won't have that transparent glass look you get with 99% of city buildings, which makes everywhere seem nowhere." Is it possible to take ideas from art galleries and pavilions and use them in big commercial buildings? "If it's desirable, then it's possible. Architects have to offer a window into the future, even when the window won't open."
Nouvel's best commercial designs have been the soaring, 38-storey Torre Agbar in Barcelona, a Catalan cousin of Norman Foster's Gherkin (completed in the same year the Gherkin opened, 2004, but with a mosaic effect rather than a diamond one); his (sadly unbuilt) Tour Sans Fins proposal, an ethereal, pencil-thin 1,300ft skyscraper that would have vanished into the skies above Paris's La Défense office complex; and the Hotel in Lucerne, opened a decade ago and showing again Nouvel's obsession with immersing users of his buildings in intense colour, this time black.
I once stayed at the Hotel: it was like being Jean Nouvel for a few days, such was the insight it gave into his style, which began to feel like a philosophy. My suite – pitch black at one end, pure white at the other, where it opened into an unexpected bamboo garden – was reached along a jet-black corridor that rendered day and night indistinguishable. The topsy-turvy atmosphere was heightened by a concealed projector throwing a scene from Buñuel's That Obscure Object of Desire across the bedroom ceiling. The same scene played over and over and I couldn't turn it off. It was dreamlike, unforgettable and, to be honest, somewhat maddening.
Nouvel is very good when working with art, artists and imaginative concepts. Both of his major arts projects are now in the Middle East: the Louvre Abu Dhabi and the National Museum of Qatar. Both are caravanserai-like attempts to find a design that responds to the desert landscape, and both are set above water gardens. "These seem to be early days for European architects working in the Middle East," he says. "We have to do better than we have before. We must find ways of helping to shape a true Arabian architecture, not just put ready-made, inappropriate designs down in the desert."
Nouvel is an architect with plenty of jokers up the sleeves of his trademark jet-black suits. But his ideas can be as romantic as they are philosophical: the Tour Sans Fins proposals showed how even the most matter-of-fact building type (in this case the office block) could be a work of poetic imagination, finesse and structural daring. As the sun beats down on his scarlet pavilion, it is hard not to think of Nouvel as an optimist, too, one with a very unFrench view of the British weather. He has certainly been lucky to unveil his "sun machine" in the middle of a heatwave. He could so easily have found himself explaining its inspiration from beneath a rain-battered red umbrella, as the world dissolved into grey.
The Serpentine Gallery Pavilion is open to the public from 10 July until 17 October.
Jean Nouvel’s Serpentine gallery pavilion
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on July 6, 2010
The French architect Jean Nouvel's Serpentine gallery pavilion was unveiled this morning. Here's a first look around the temporary structure
Jean Nouvel, the French revolutionary architect
Posted by The Sheet in Architecture News on July 3, 2010
The designer of this year's Serpentine pavilion is also hard at work on another of his radical buildings, right next to St Paul's
If you want to know the difference between Britain and France, you could do worse than study the pronouncements that Jean Nouvel and his office make about their work. "This is not a tower," they say of something that definitely is a tower. "It is more an emergence." Or, of a museum project: "Everything is designed to evoke an emotional response to the primary object, to protect it from light, but also to capture that rare ray of light indispensable to make it vibrate and awaken its spirituality."
Over here, this would be professional suicide. Project managers would reckon that such fancy talk must add at least 30% to the budget. Baffled clients would pass on to someone who didn't make them feel stupid. In France, such utterances, delivered by the black-clad and – but for his beetling eyebrows – hairless Nouvel are part of his success. It may be a cliche, but the French really do like an intellectual show; we mistrust it.
We tolerate it in foreigners, however, enough for Nouvel to be the architect of this year's Serpentine pavilion, which will be unveiled this week. He has also designed One New Change, a shopping and office building now being built to the east of St Paul's cathedral, a brooding, rock-like thing that Prince Charles tried to stop with one of his secret letters. (As a member of the competition jury which selected Nouvel for this job, I recall a more direct, less Rive Gauche approach when he presented. He was canny enough to know this would play better with this Anglo-Saxon audience.)
Nouvel's biggest idea is what he calls "dematerialisation", the "interplay of light and materiality", which "gives the impression that materials have vanished". He talks of "fragile effects", "fleeting moments" and "precise mists" in his work. In the Fondation Cartier in Paris, multiple planes of glass cause the facade to dissolve into reflections and transparencies. At One New Change, he has chosen a kind of glazing with a matt and grainy surface, which is intended to be stone-like while still also glassy.
Now aged 64, he originally wanted to be an artist, but was persuaded by his parents to enter the solider profession of architecture. He worked for Claude Parent, an intellectually driven architect famous for his collaborations with artists such as Yves Klein and Jean Tinguely, and the philosopher Paul Virilio, who controversially found beauty in the concrete bunkers built by the occupying Nazis in the second world war. He then set up on his own, designing strange, postmodern confections very different from the slicker stuff he does now.
Nouvel's big break was to design L'Institut du Monde Arabe of 1987, one of the grands projets with which President Mitterrand left his mark in Paris. This was more refreshing and less bombastic than most, with a 10-storey wall of light-filtering steel shutters. Inspired by the decorated screens of Cairo houses, and operating like camera shutters, it was the first of the magic surfaces that are now Nouvel's trademark.
Since then, the magic surface has taken many forms. There was a hotel in Bordeaux wrapped in a rusty metal mesh, and the unbuilt Tour Sans Fins, a 1,400ft skyscraper in La Défense designed to fade into the sky. It was backed by the tycoon Robert Maxwell, whose financial support proved as evanescent as the architecture. The Gherkin-like Torre Agbar in Barcelona, built for the water company, is wrapped in glass that "evokes water: smooth and continuous, shimmering and transparent, its materials reveal themselves in nuanced shades of colour and light". His design for the Serpentine seems to depend heavily on its bright shade of red, the colour of London pillar boxes and buses, and Hyde Park's complementary lush summer green. It will be so pervasively and completely red that it calls to mind Apoplectic Cardinals Harvesting Tomatoes on the Shore of the Red Sea, an all-red picture of 1884 by the prototype conceptual artist Alphonse Allais.
Nouvel has also designed the controversial Louvre Abu Dhabi, where jewels of French patrimony will be displayed for payment to the French government of a cool $1.3bn. Here, Nouvel's magic surface is a shallow, inverted bowl, perforated with a web of holes, to filter powerful sunlight into an ever-shifting pattern of light and shade. It will be his most spectacular work to date.
Nouvel says that the power of the screen, the ability to compress three dimensions on to two, is characteristic of the modern age, as is the ever-increasing virtuosity of building materials. Certainly, his approach works well with the way large buildings are now usually built: the structure and the cladding are treated as separate, almost independent, entities. The first is more the domain of engineers and contractors; the second is where architects have most licence for their creative flourishes.
He also talks of the power of the image and at One New Change his biggest move is to create a powerful new view of the dome of St Paul's, which makes it into a snapshot, or an icon. The dome also gets reflected, in a typically Nouvelian game, on the fragmented surfaces of the building and with different degrees of clarity and opacity.
But it's tempting to think that Nouvel's love of two dimensions is partly because he is uncomfortable working with three. Nouvel doesn't draw, which was once considered an essential skill in the shaping of architectural space.
When it comes to organising volumes, or making rooms, his buildings are often rudimentary. Their scale is often awkward. The aqueous skin of the Torre Agbar makes it a fascinating object on the skyline – more so than the Gherkin – but at close quarters, where it crashes into ground level, it is horrible.
Nouvel's method is to translate crazy concepts into sensuous surfaces and striking images, on which his projects stand or fall. They can be beautiful, or intriguing, or a bit bling or a bit disco, or sometimes plain unconvincing. In those projects where the making of a surface is not the main concern, things tend to fall apart. One example is the catastrophic Musée du Quai Branly, close to the Eiffel Tower, an inchoate and clumsy series of spaces that do nothing for the ethnographic collections they house.
Few architects have the ability to be as good and as bad, at the same time, as Nouvel. He shows how far a contemporary architect can go by working almost entirely in the realm of image. He also shows that other things, like detail, and the shaping of rooms and sequences of spaces – the things he doesn't bother with all that much – do still matter.
He was a slightly surprising choice for the Serpentine pavilion. He is not quite a giant at the level of Frank Gehry, or of the moment in the way that last year's designers, Sanaa, were. The pavilion is supposed to be by architects who haven't built in London, which the admittedly unfinished bulk of One New Change contradicts. I hope they weren't thinking that his pavilion would be a calling card to the wealth of Abu Dhabi, where Nouvel is building his Louvre. But it, like its architect, won't be dull. It will also be very, very red.