A Slice of Nairn's Paris

Ian Nairn (1930-1983) was a British architectural critic known for his wit, strong and idiosyncratic opinions, fondness for drink, and bon mots.  In 1968 he published a small volume of his random musings on Paris architecture (and Paris city life, in general) called "Nairn's Paris."  I recently picked up a copy, and it is a charming book, in a you-could-never-get-something-like-this-published-today kind of way.  But it is, in fact, a delight to read.  The accompanying photographs are the author's own grainy black-and-white snapshots of Paris, again charming, but which sometimes leave one wanting more detail.  

So, while I can wholeheartedly recommend the book, I feel that I can also provide a public service of sorts:  reproducing his short (and hilarious) description of a building in our neighborhood (that we can see from our window), supplemented with my own, more generous, photographic documentation. 

From Nairn's Paris, page 101:

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University of Paris, Institute of Art and Architecture

Eugene Bigot, 1927

A bizarre, fretted skyline sticks up very rude indeed in the view south from the Luxembourg gardens.  Things get no better on a closer look; this is Art Nouveau re-interpreted with the naivete of a primitive painter.  The complex transcriptions from the vegetable world come out dead flat, stamped out with an unforgettable directness in the kind of brick that sits in an overwrought band across the rebuilt areas of the First World War:  diagonal patterning, formidable arches, battlements you would need stilts to fire from.  Low down near your hands there is a terracotta band with a variety of Renaissance subjects, beautifully done.  It is like a brick balloon inflated to its limit with an unquenchable puff:  the toy fort become as real, through sheer creative force, as the Douanier Rousseau's lions.     

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Sounds about right.  And now my photos, so you can decide for yourself: