Pirelli Tire Building in New Haven, photographed by Viera Levitt

Boston City Hall, photographed by Viera Levitt

Ever since she landed in New England in 2002 for an ArtsLINK residency at RISD, Slovakian-born Viera Levitt has found herself surrounded by stark yet familiar structures: first, as director of the Community College of Rhode Island’s Knight Campus Art Gallery; next, as the Gallery Director for the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth. Both campuses abound with buildings that evoke the same architectural style that Viera encountered growing up in Slovakia: brutalism.

In “Brutally Sweet,” a photography exhibit currently showing at the AS220 Project Space, Viera explores the nuances of the Brutalist structures in a variety of settings, from her native Slovakia to right here in Rhode Island. By photographing Brutalist buildings, Viera said she hopes to unveil the “sweet” and even “heroic” qualities of an architectural style that is often overlooked. We sat down with the artist to find out more about her fascination with brutalism.

For even more insight into this style of architecture, be sure to attend Viera’s ARTIST TALK on Thursday, June 20, from 5:30-7 PM in the AS220 Project Space at 93 Mathewson Street. Or stop by the gallery during open hours—Wednesday-Friday, 1-6pm; Saturday, Noon-4pm—to check out Viera’s photographs for yourself! They’ll be on display through June 29.

Q:
From growing up in Slovakia to your work as a Gallery Director at CCRI and UMass Dartmouth, how has inhabiting and being surrounded by Brutalist spaces influenced your relationship with Brutalist architecture?

A:
I am amazed by brutalist architecture, its monumentality and “out of scale-ness.” When I was growing up in Slovakia, there was a Brutalist “House of Culture” in the center of my town. It was a dismal grey color, and I kept waiting for the building to be repainted. But, to my surprise, it never was.
I always liked the CCRI campus in Warwick, with its bold and unusual dominant round form. Once there, I was surprised how little acknowledgement of the building there was and of course how challenging it was to find the third floor art gallery because of the many possible entrances and ramps to take. The building stimulated my curiosity. It also instilled me with a desire to bring in artists that would help the CCRI community look at their so-called megastructure differently and find ways to appreciate it.
Naturally, three years later [when I became Gallery Director at UMass Dartmouth], I was excited to work in another Brutalist campus environment—one that I had already photographed. I was also happy to see that the community supported and talked about Brutalist architecture and that there was already recognition of its importance.
When I think about architecture, I think about how it makes one feel… Does monumental architecture make you feel heroic or does it make you feel small and lost? I think that good architecture does the former; it makes you want to sing, run, contemplate, touch. The Brutalist “zikkurat” of Boston City Hall, for example, really makes you feel like a part of the monument. In my photographs of Brutalist structures, I try to point out all these “heroic” qualities, which can get lost easily when you just rush through the building quickly without noticing it. This is the role of artists or curators: to make us look, slow down, and stay focused for a moment on what is in front of us.

Q:
“Brutally Sweet” draws on your recent solo show at the Hera Gallery, “Beauty in the Beast: Photography of Brutalist Architecture,” which also explored the nuances of Brutalist architecture. What was it like to create a new show from a preexisting body of work?

A:
My new show at AS220 explores different aspects of Brutalist architecture [than “Beauty in the Beast”] and brings new buildings into the exhibition. Here, I get to see the Brutalist structures as malleable canvas for experimentation. For example, in one set of photographs featured in the exhibition, I drip honey and molasses down a Brutalist façade or embellish it with sugar frosting. Thus, the style that once seemed so solid and serious is suddenly malleable. I enjoy these interventions as a mischievous complement to the serious curatorial and art-historical aspect of my photographic research.
The honey and molasses gives me a chance to transgress and to inject surprise and fun into my work, while leaving my academic biases behind. In the fight about whether or not to preserve buildings in this style of architecture, the visual representation of brutalism in an art show is for me more effective than a lecture. I feel that unveiling the beauty and poignancy of Brutalist structures helps all of us to see what we might otherwise overlook because of a leaking roof or outdated signage.

Q:
Where does the “hidden beauty” and “sweetness” revealed in your photographs come from? Does it reflect natural qualities inherent within the architectural style? How does something that can seem so ugly when we inhabit it become beautiful when it is photographed?

A:
I try to find the hidden beauty of Brutalist buildings by celebrating their interesting details and sculptural forms and calling attention to their stark geometry. I’ve discovered that there are surprisingly human features to these buildings, including the remains of wooden forms as well as repetitive ornamentation.

Q:
You use striking celestial landscapes to set off these Brutalist buildings: pristine blue skies, billowing clouds, a flock of birds… Why is context so important to how we view these buildings? What does this kind of backdrop help you achieve?

A:
Sometimes the forms in my photos mirror the landscape and give us space to breath as we view the solidity, the wealth, and even the heaviness of the concrete.

Q:
What have you learned about Brutalism through your work, whether shooting photographs or organizing a panel discussion (“We Talk about Architecture, Architecture Talks Back,” 2011)?

A:
I am learning about Brutalism all the time, and I feel like there is so much to see and learn and pass along to others. Through the panel discussion that was part of my curatorial project at CCRI, I learned about the utopian impulse and optimism connected to this architecture, as well as about the changes that these building underwent over the years. Often it’s these very changes that critics of brutalism point out as the buildings’ pitfalls. Now, I see how many of the features of these buildings that have been criticized were not part of the original [architectural] plans. I learned as well that some great ideas for these buildings that would have counteracted much criticism never materialized due to cutting funds.

Q:
By photographing a Brutalist structure, you are making art about and from preexisting art. How does this dynamic alter, enhance, and/or diminish the creative experience?

A:
Because this architecture is often seen as ugly, I see this as an interesting challenge. I wonder, how can I as an artist help people to see these buildings through the eyes of their creators? This creative process is somewhat similar to my curatorial practice, in which I must ask questions like: How do we bring people to the gallery to appreciate art without a fear of getting lost in its complicated explanations and reasons? How can I make the experience of looking at something more interesting?

Q:
What do you say to people who come into your show already disliking Brutalist architecture or thinking it’s ugly? What do you hope they’ll take away from it?

A:
I actually talked to a few people who said my show changed their opinion about this type of architecture. It is very easy not to like it, and I am very proud if I make it harder to dislike!

Q:
Have you always liked Brutalist architecture? How has your relationship with Brutalism evolved since you first encountered it as a child?

A:     
It is similar to my perception of modern and contemporary art. As a kid, whenever there was a TV show about visual art, I quickly changed the channel. It seemed pompous and self-referential. But my grandfather made a kind of constructivist huge glass mural with colored glass stripes that kept changing the light in the porch all the time as it made colorful shadows on the floor.  It was so much fun to look at. If you let yourself to enjoy the changes of light and color, you can see how the UMass Dartmouth campus changes in different light as it hovers above the land in the early morning’s fog or turns gold and dreamy during the sunset.

Q:
How does your work as a gallery director play into your artistic exploration of Brutalism?

A:
Being part of the academic community of UMass Dartmouth has been a great opportunity to learn about its architecture. There was a great show entitled “Concrete Dreaming” organized by the Art History seminar in Dartmouth. There was also a symposium about Paul Rudolph’s work and a celebration of the library’s renovation that shed light on the historical aspects of the architecture as well its interpretation. Being part of a community that is eager to explore its architectural heritage is a great learning opportunity for me.

Q:
What was the experience of making the video for “Brutally Sweet” like? Why did you want the exhibit to have this multimedia element?

A:
That was lots of fun! How often you get to do something so crazy as pour sticky substances on a building and watch it slowly and poetically drip down on the “corduroy-like” Brutalist facade? The purpose of the final video, which is available as part of the show, was to extend viewers’ understanding of the facade’s concrete ornamentation in a sensual, slow way.
In general, I believe that it is always good to try to bring more life to exhibitions, and video is one way to do so. Plus, the meditative quality of this process just begged for video to complement the photography.

Q:
What’s it like to be exhibiting at AS220 again?

A:
AS220 is a great institution. It’s open, supportive, and fun. Neal [Gallery Director] and Molly [Gallery Assistant] were great and relaxed partners to work with, and I enjoyed their feedback while installing the show.