A new generation of architects around the world is adapting brutalism to modern times. Neobrutalism is not just a resurgence, but leading toward an ecological development of the polarizing architectural style.

For several years now, brutalist architecture has been undergoing a revival. But not everyone is excited about it, yet. When the infamous Mäusebunker building in Berlin was saved from demolition in 2023 through a petition with ten thousand signatures, the local right-wing tabloid B.Z. ran the headline: “Berlin’s Ugliest Building Now Heritage Protected.” In tandem with the aesthetic arguments over the brutalism of yesteryear, amazing things are happening in the contemporary world of architecture.

New projects around the world seem to once again follow brutalist approaches of the 1950s–1970s. Raw materials, exposed structures, legible arrangements, and a new appreciation of sculptural forms cast doubt on whether brutalism really disappeared into oblivion after 1980. If you look at buildings like the Universidad de Ingeniería y Tecnología (UTEC) in Lima, completed in 2015, you’re immediately struck by the similarity to the bold designs of half a century ago. What we are witnessing is nothing less than a global resurgence that could be called neobrutalism.

Can We Still Build Like That Today?

The Nubuke Foundation building in Accra, Ghana (Amuzujoe / Wikimedia Commons)

If you speak with these architects, you usually detect a general interest in building styles of the past. Le Corbusier’s later work, such as the radically brutalist La Tourette monastery in France, is widely admired. However, their own architecture is in general not seen as a reference to those earlier models. Rather, it is a reaction to the challenges of today.

Digging deeper, not only the aesthetic, but also the underlying design philosophy, whether consciously or unconsciously, resembles historical precedents. Similar approaches lead to a similar aesthetic. Now as then, the goal of a decidedly “honest” architecture is to make structure and function openly visible, to intentionally avoid cladding and plaster, and to openly display fundamental building materials. Of course, it is hard to claim that a plastered wall or wooden panel is “dishonest.” Nor are they necessarily functionless, considering for example their insulating properties. Nevertheless, there is something particularly appealing about displaying the bones of a building. On top of aesthetic considerations, the avoidance of industrial building products is also said to be a pragmatic response to the growing global scarcity of resources. A brick or concrete wall saves on plaster and paint and ideally does not need to be regularly recoated.

The use of concrete, however, has long been criticized. How can we still plan huge reinforced concrete sculptures when the cement industry alone is responsible for 7 percent of humans’ CO2 emissions, while in many places sand and gravel suitable for concrete are already becoming scarce? Innovations touted by the industry such as climate-neutral cement and recycled or bio-concrete are a long way from bringing about a change of direction in the global construction industry and for the time being will remain niche products in advertising brochures.

Nevertheless, for building planners, there is still a lot to be said for conventional reinforced concrete. The construction industry readily uses it even in remote regions, and compared to many other materials, transportation routes are shorter and costs are lower. Added to this are the still-unsurpassed advantages of the properties: no other material is so freely moldable at a comparable price. Reinforced concrete allows for the boldest cantilevers, thin shell constructions, and almost unlimited sculptural possibilities.

When asked about sustainability, some acknowledge the issues but respond that concrete allows for a lot of space to be enclosed with little material, which means fewer resources are consumed overall. And thicker insulating concrete dispenses with highly specialized wall layers, contributing to a reduction in hazardous waste.

Neobrutalist projects make up only an extremely small fraction of global concrete consumption, which lessens the overall impact. But because they are photogenic and popular they have a prominent influence on our collective visual memory. This means they unavoidably serve as models of taste, which doesn’t make the question of whether to admire or condemn them any easier.

Why Now?

AFF Architekten: Spore Initiative, Berlin, 2018–2021 (Courtesy of Felix Torkar)

An architecture style is always a mirror of the time in which it arose. Its aesthetic results from a certain ethical stance toward design and construction. Architecture firms not only react to conditions and challenges but are also dependent on clients approving and financing their designs. And since the brutalist aesthetic is still struggling with its image, financing is not a given. But in our increasingly virtual, dematerialized, and hypercomplex living environments, there is a longing for distinctly physical, haptic, seemingly tangible phenomena — a longing that (neo)brutalism can satisfy.

Anyone interested in where and under what conditions their breakfast eggs were laid might also be interested in how a building is planned, what materials it consists of, and how it is constructed. The roughly cast concrete wall with its marks of construction not only shows how it was created, but also reveals (and sometimes exaggerates) the physical nature of the building. Where a load-bearing structure props up a heavy beam, and where cables and pipes are laid openly, the system appears comprehensible. Unfortunately, where the electricity actually comes from is still a mystery when the power line from the socket disappears into the wall just a few meters further on.

At the same time, the massive, rough surfaces offer a physical experience. Brick or concrete walls seem less abstract than glass and white-painted surfaces. Along these lines, neobrutalist approaches strike the same chord as the collective fascination with craftsmanship. Just as 150 years ago, when the Arts and Crafts movement put forward nature and craftsmanship as an antidote to a rapid industrialization that was perceived as threatening, today the regional, handmade, non-factory-produced once again offers an image of longing.

Who Is Building and Why?

The north face of the Ningbo Museum (Siyuwj / Wikimedia Commons)

The fact that brutalism and neobrutalism differ greatly in terms of who commissions the work also fits into this picture. For brutalism, the public sector was central. Universities, cultural centers, town halls, infrastructure, and government projects were well funded, and postwar administrations were surprisingly open to experimentation. In contrast, neobrutalism is largely a project of the private sector. Education buildings such as the UTEC are being constructed for private universities, and the single-family house, while no longer sustainable in terms of resources, has become a central preoccupation of neobrutalist planners.