"Formulary for a New Urbanism"
Ivan Chtcheglov

[Translated from the French by the Bureau of Public Secrets from the Newly Published Complete Version]

SIRE, I AM FROM THE OTHER COUNTRY

We are bored in the city, there is no longer any Temple of the Sun. Between the legs of
the women walking by, the dadaists imagined a monkey wrench and the surrealists a crystal
cup. That’s lost. We know how to read every promise in faces — the latest stage
of morphology. The poetry of the billboards lasted twenty years. We are bored in the city,
we really have to strain to still discover mysteries on the sidewalk billboards, the
latest state of humor and poetry:

Showerbath of the Patriarchs

Meat Cutting Machines

Notre Dame Zoo

Sports Pharmacy

Martyrs Provisions

Translucent Concrete

Golden Touch Sawmill

Center for Functional Recuperation

Saint Anne Ambulance

Café Fifth Avenue

Prolonged Volunteers Street

Family Boarding House in the Garden

Hotel of Strangers

Wild Street

And the swimming pool on the Street of Little Girls. And the police station on
Rendezvous Street. The medical-surgical clinic and the free placement center on the Quai
des Orfèvres. The artificial flowers on Sun Street. The Castle Cellars Hotel, the Ocean
Bar and the Coming and Going Café. The Hotel of the Epoch.⁽¹⁾

And the strange statue of Dr. Philippe Pinel, benefactor of the insane, fading in the last
evenings of summer. Exploring Paris.

And you, forgotten, your memories ravaged by all the consternations of two hemispheres,
stranded in the Red Cellars of Pali-Kao, without music and without geography, no longer
setting out for the hacienda where the roots think of the child and where the wine is
finished off with fables from an old almanac. That’s all over. You’ll never
see the hacienda. It doesn’t exist.

The hacienda must be built.

All cities are geological. You can’t take three steps without encountering ghosts
bearing all the prestige of their legends. We move within a closed landscape
whose landmarks constantly draw us toward the past. Certain shifting angles,
certain receding perspectives, allow us to glimpse original conceptions of space,
but this vision remains fragmentary. It must be sought in the magical locales of fairy
tales and surrealist writings: castles, endless walls, little forgotten bars, mammoth
caverns, casino mirrors.

These dated images retain a small catalyzing power, but it is almost impossible to use
them in a symbolic urbanism without rejuvenating them by giving them a new
meaning. There was a certain charm in horses born from the sea or magical
dwarves dressed in gold, but they are in no way adapted to the demands of modern
life. For we are in the twentieth century, even if few people are aware of it. Our imaginations, haunted by the old archetypes, have remained far behind the
sophistication of the machines. The various attempts to integrate modern science into new
myths remain inadequate. Meanwhile abstraction has invaded all the arts, contemporary
architecture in particular. Pure plasticity, inanimate and storyless, soothes the eye.
Elsewhere other fragmentary beauties can be found — while the promised land of new
syntheses continually recedes into the distance. Everyone wavers between the emotionally
still-alive past and the already dead future.

We don’t intend to prolong the mechanistic civilizations and frigid architecture
that ultimately lead to boring leisure.

We propose to invent new, changeable decors.

* * *

We will leave Monsieur Le Corbusier’s style to him, a style
suitable for factories and hospitals, and no doubt eventually for prisons. (Doesn’t he already build churches?)
Some sort of psychological
repression dominates this individual — whose face is as ugly as his conceptions
of the world — such that he wants to squash people under ignoble masses of
reinforced concrete, a noble material that should rather be used to enable an
aerial articulation of space that could surpass the flamboyant Gothic style. His
cretinizing influence is immense. A Le Corbusier model is the only image that
arouses in me the idea of immediate suicide. He is destroying the last remnants
of joy. And of love, passion, freedom.

* * *

Darkness and obscurity are banished by artificial lighting, and the seasons by air
conditioning. Night and summer are losing their charm and dawn is disappearing. The urban
population think they have escaped from cosmic reality, but there is no corresponding
expansion of their dream life. The reason is clear: dreams spring from reality and are
realized in it.

The latest technological developments would make possible the individual’s
unbroken contact with cosmic reality while eliminating its disagreeable aspects. Stars and
rain can be seen through glass ceilings. The mobile house turns with the sun. Its sliding
walls enable vegetation to invade life. Mounted on tracks, it can go down to the sea in
the morning and return to the forest in the evening.

Architecture is the simplest means of articulating time and space, of modulating
reality and engendering dreams. It is a matter not only of plastic articulation and
modulation expressing an ephemeral beauty, but of a modulation producing influences in
accordance with the eternal spectrum of human desires and the progress in
fulfilling them.

The architecture of tomorrow will be a means of modifying present conceptions of time
and space. It will be both a means of knowledge and a means of action.

Architectural complexes will be modifiable. Their aspect will change totally
or partially in accordance with the will of their inhabitants.

* * *

A new architecture can express nothing less than a new
civilization (it is clear that there has been neither civilization nor
architecture for centuries, but only experiments, most of which were failures;
we can speak of Gothic architecture, but there is no Marxist or capitalist
architecture, thought these two systems are revealing similar tendencies and
goals).

Anyone thus has the right to ask us on what vision of
civilization we are going to found an architecture. I briefly sketch the points
of departure for a civilization:

— A new conception of space (a religious or nonreligious
cosmogony).

— A new conception of time (counting from zero, various
modes of temporal development).

— A new conception of behaviors (moral, sociological,
political, legal; economy is only a part of the laws of behavior accepted by a
civilization).

Past collectivities offered the masses an absolute truth and incontrovertible mythical
exemplars. The appearance of the notion of relativity in the modern
mind allows one to surmise the EXPERIMENTAL aspect of the next civilization
(although I’m not satisfied with that word; I mean that it will be more
flexible, more “playful”). (For a long time it was believed that the Marxist
countries were on this path. We now know that this tentative followed the old
normal evolution, arriving in record time at a rigidification of its doctrines
and at forms that have become ossified in their decadence. A renewal is perhaps
possible, but I will not examine this question here.)

On the bases of this mobile civilization, architecture will, at least
initially, be a means of experimenting with a thousand ways of modifying life,
with a view to an ultimate mythic synthesis.

* * *

A mental disease has swept the planet: banalization. Everyone is hypnotized by
production and conveniences — sewage systems, elevators, bathrooms, washing machines.

This state of affairs, arising out of a struggle against poverty, has overshot its
ultimate goal — the liberation of humanity from material cares — and become an
omnipresent obsessive image. Presented with the alternative of love or a garbage disposal
unit, young people of all countries have chosen the garbage disposal unit. It has become
essential to provoke a complete spiritual transformation by bringing to light forgotten
desires and by creating entirely new ones. And by carrying out an intensive propaganda
in favor of these desires.

* * *

Guy Debord has already pointed out the construction of situations as being one of the
fundamental desires on which the next civilization will be founded. This need for total
creation has always been intimately associated with the need to play

with architecture, time and space. One example will suffice to demonstrate this
— a leaflet distributed in the street by the Palais de Paris (manifestations of
the collective unconscious always correspond to the affirmations of creators):

BYGONE NEIGHBORHOODS

Grand Events

PERIOD MUSIC

LUMINOUS EFFECTS

PARIS BY NIGHT

C O M P L E T E L Y   A N I M A T E D

The Court of Miracles: an impressive 300-square-meter reconstruction of a Medieval neighborhood, with rundown houses inhabited by
robbers, beggars, bawdy wenches, all subjects of the frightful KING OF THIEVES, who
renders justice from his lair.

The Tower of Nesle: The sinister Tower profiles its
imposing mass against the somber, dark-clouded sky. The Seine laps softly. A
boat approaches. Two assassins await their victim. . . .⁽²⁾

Other examples of this desire to construct situations can be
found in the past. Edgar Allan Poe and his story of the man who devoted his wealth to
the construction of landscapes [“The Domain of Arnheim”]. Or the paintings of Claude Lorrain.
Many of the latter’s admirers are not quite sure to what to attribute the charm
of his canvases. They talk about his portrayal of light. It does indeed have a
rather mysterious quality, but that does not suffice to explain these paintings’
ambience of perpetual invitation to voyage. This ambience is provoked by
an unaccustomed architectural space. The palaces are situated right on
the edge of the sea, and they have “pointless” hanging gardens whose vegetation
appears in the most unexpected places. The incitement to drifting is provoked by
the palace doors’ proximity to the ships.

Chirico remains one of the most remarkable architectural precursors. He was grappling
with the problems of absences and presences in time and space.

We know that an object that is not consciously noticed at the time of a first visit
can, by its absence during subsequent visits, provoke an indefinable impression: as a
result of this sighting backward in time, the absence of the object becomes
a presence one can feel. More precisely: although the quality of the impression generally
remains indefinite, it nevertheless varies with the nature of the removed object and the
importance accorded it by the visitor, ranging from serene joy to terror. (It is of no
particular significance that in this specific case memory is the vehicle of these
feelings; I only selected this example for its convenience.)

In Chirico’s paintings (during his Arcade period) an empty space creates
a richly filled time. It is easy to imagine the fantastic future possibilities of
such architecture and its influence on the masses. We can have nothing but contempt for a
century that relegates such blueprints to its so-called museums.
Chirico could have been given free reign over Place de la Concorde and its
Obelisk, or at least commissioned to design the gardens that “adorn” several
entrances to the capital.

This new vision of time and space, which will be the theoretical basis of future
constructions, is still imprecise and will remain so until experimentation with patterns
of behavior has taken place in cities specifically established for this purpose, cities
assembling — in addition to the facilities necessary for basic comfort and security
— buildings charged with evocative power, symbolic edifices representing desires,
forces and events, past, present and to come. A rational extension of the old religious
systems, of old tales, and above all of psychoanalysis, into architectural expression
becomes more and more urgent as all the reasons for becoming impassioned disappear.

Everyone will, so to speak, live in their own personal “cathedrals.” There
will be rooms more conducive to dreams than any drug, and houses where one
cannot help but love. Others will be irresistibly alluring to travelers.

This project could be compared with the Chinese and Japanese gardens of illusory
perspectives [en trompe l’oeiI] — with the difference that those
gardens are not designed to be lived in all the time — or with the ridiculous
labyrinth in the Jardin des Plantes, at the entry to which (height of
absurdity, Ariadne unemployed) is the sign: No playing in the labyrinth.

This city could be envisaged in the form of an arbitrary assemblage of castles,
grottos, lakes, etc. It would be the baroque stage of urbanism considered as a means of
knowledge. But this theoretical phase is already outdated. We know that a modern building
could be constructed which would have no resemblance to a medieval castle but which could
preserve and enhance the Castle poetic power (by the conservation of a strict
minimum of lines, the transposition of certain others, the positioning of openings, the
topographical location, etc.).

The districts of this city could correspond to the whole spectrum of diverse feelings
that one encounters by chance in everyday life.

Bizarre Quarter — Happy Quarter (specially reserved for habitation)  —

  Noble and Tragic Quarter (for good children) — Historical Quarter (museums,
schools) — Useful Quarter (hospital, tool shops) — Sinister Quarter, etc. And an
Astrolarium which would group plant species in accordance with the relations they
manifest with the stellar rhythm, a Planetary Garden along the lines the astronomer Thomas
wants to establish at Laaer Berg in Vienna. Indispensable for giving the inhabitants a
consciousness of the cosmic. Perhaps also a Death Quarter, not for dying in but so as to
have somewhere to live in peace — I’m thinking here of Mexico and of a
principle of cruelty in innocence that appeals more to me every day.

The Sinister Quarter, for example, would be a good replacement for those ill-reputed neighborhoods full of sordid dives and unsavory characters that many
peoples once possessed in their capitals: they symbolized all the evil forces of life. The
Sinister Quarter would have no need to harbor real dangers, such as traps, dungeons or
mines. It would be difficult to get into, with a hideous decor (piercing whistles, alarm
bells, sirens wailing intermittently, grotesque sculptures, power-driven mobiles, called Auto-Mobiles),
and as poorly lit at night as it was blindingly lit during the day by an intensive use of
reflection. At the center, the “Square of the Appalling Mobile.” Saturation of
the market with a product causes the product’s market value to fall: thus, as they
explored the Sinister Quarter, children would learn not to fear the
anguishing occasions of life, but to be amused by them.

The main activity of the inhabitants will be CONTINUOUS DRIFTING. The
changing of landscapes from one hour to the next will result in total
disorientation.

Couples will no longer pass their nights in the home where they live and
receive guests, which is nothing but a banal social custom. The chamber
of love will be more distant from the center of the city: it will naturally
recreate for the partners a sense of exoticism⁽³⁾ in a locale less open to light, more
hidden, so as to recover the atmosphere of secrecy. The opposite tendency,
seeking a center of thought, will proceed through the same technique.

Later, as the activities inevitably grow stale, this drifting will partially
leave the realm of direct experience for that of representation.

Note: A certain Saint-Germain-des Prés,⁽⁴⁾ about
which no one has yet written, has been the first group functioning on a
historical scale within this ethic of drifting. This magical group spirit,
which has remained underground up till now, is the only explanation for the enormous influence that
a mere three blocks of buildings have had on the world, an influence that
others have inadequately
attempted to explain on the basis of styles of clothing and song, or
even more stupidly by the neighborhood’s supposedly freer access to prostitution (and
Pigalle?).⁽⁵⁾

In forthcoming books we will elucidate the coincidence and incidences
of the Saint-Germain days (Henry de Béarn’s
The New Nomadism, Guy Debord’s Beautiful Youth, etc.).⁽⁶⁾ This
should serve to clarify not only an “aesthetic of behaviors” but practical
means for forming new groups, and above all a complete phenomenology of
couples, encounters and duration which mathematicians and poets will study
with profit.

Finally, to those who object that a people cannot live by drifting, it is
useful to recall that in every group certain characters (priests or heroes) are
charged with representing various tendencies as specialists, in accordance with the dual
mechanism of projection and identification. Experience demonstrates that a dérive
is a good replacement for a Mass: it is more effective in making people enter into
communication with the ensemble of energies, seducing them for the benefit of
the collectivity.

The economic obstacles are only apparent. We know that the more a place is set
apart for free play, the more it influences people’s behavior and the greater is
its force of attraction. This is demonstrated by the immense prestige of Monaco and Las
Vegas — and of Reno, that caricature of free love — though they are mere
gambling places. Our first experimental city would live largely off tolerated and
controlled tourism. Future avant-garde activities and productions would naturally tend to
gravitate there. In a few years it would become the intellectual capital of the world and
would be universally recognized as such.

IVAN CHTCHEGLOV⁽⁷⁾

1953

[TRANSLATOR’S NOTES]

1. The humor
and/or poetry of some of the signs in this list is obvious, but in other cases
it will be obscure for the non-French reader. For example, Saint-Anne’s is a mental
asylum, and the Quai des Orfèvres is the
headquarters
of the Paris police department.

2. The Court of Miracles
and The Tower of Nesle: allusions to two Medieval tales dramatized,
respectively, by Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas.

3.
exoticism: literally excentricité,

which in French can mean either eccentricity or outlying location.

4. Saint-Germain-des-Prés:
neighborhood on the Left Bank of Paris frequented by the lettrists in the early
1950s. It was famous as the scene of postwar bohemianism and existentialism
(Camus, Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, etc.), but less visibly, in less trendy cafés and less
reputable bars, Chtcheglov, Debord and their friends pursued their own
adventures, evoked in Debord’s Mémoires and in two of his films (On
the Passage... and In girum...) and recounted in detail in
Jean-Michel Mension’s The Tribe.

5.
Pigalle: Parisian red light district. Chtcheglov’s point is that the supposed
presence of prostitution had nothing to do with Saint-Germain-des-Prés’s
cultural impact since Pigalle had far more prostitution yet exerted no
particular influence. 

6.

Neither of these books were written. Henry de Béarn, another Lettrist
International member, was a close friend of Chtcheglov’s.

7. “Ivan Chtcheglov participated in the ventures that were at the origin of the
situationist movement, and his role in it has been irreplaceable, both in its theoretical
endeavors and in its practical activity (the dérive experiments). In 1953, at the age of
19, he had already drafted — under the pseudonym Gilles Ivain — the text
entitled “Formulary for a New Urbanism,” which was later published in the first
issue of Internationale Situationniste. Having passed the last five years in a
psychiatric clinic, where he still is, he reestablished contact with us only long after
the formation of the SI. He is currently working on a revised edition of his 1953 writing
on architecture and urbanism. The letters from which the following lines have been
excerpted were addressed to Michèle Bernstein and Guy Debord over the last year. The
plight to which Ivan Chtcheglov is being subjected can be considered as one of modern
society’s increasingly sophisticated methods of control over people’s lives, a
control that in previous times was reflected in atheists being condemned to the Bastille,
for example, or political opponents to exile.” (Introductory note to
Chtcheglov’s “Letters from Afar,” Internationale Situationniste

#9 [1964], p. 38.)

“Formulaire pour un urbanisme nouveau” was written in 1953. An abridged
version appeared in Internationale Situationniste #1 (Paris, June 1958),
a translation of which was included in the Situationist
International Anthology. The present text is a translation by Ken Knabb of
the complete original version, which has just been published for the first time
in France (Écrits retrouvés, Éditions Allia, April 2006).
See also the preliminary biographical study by Jean-Marie Apostolidès and Boris Donné:

Ivan Chtcheglov, profil perdu (Allia, 2006).

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