On the road

Breathing in Le Cor­busier

Anyone wishing to immerse themselves in Le Corbusier’s architecture at close quarters and savour it in contemplative silence will find the perfect destination in the Couvent de La Tourette. Dr Brigitte Schultz visited this remarkable place of tranquillity for us.

by Dr. Brigitte Schultz in July 2026

The route to this mas­ter­piece of modernism leads past the eigh­teenth century. Passing the quietly clas­sical Château de la Tourette, visitors turn into a densely planted avenue – entirely unpre­pared for what awaits them at the end of the green passage. Pho­to­graphed mil­lions of times and firmly embedded in the coll­ective memory of archi­tecture, this imposing building sud­denly appears before them. Amid the exu­berant vege­tation, the famous Bru­talist monastery does not seem like an alien pre­sence; rather, it resembles a con­crete boulder depo­sited here by raw natural forces. Its church con­fi­dently presents its com­pletely closed con­crete façade to the new­comers. It is a statement: here, inner values matter most.

“Silence”, pro­claims a sign at the ent­rance to the park-like grounds – and apart from the birds, which fill the air with a chorus of song, everyone respects the request.

On the lawn beside the church, people picnic; visitors from many dif­ferent countries wait pati­ently by the simple ent­rance gate for a guided tour; small groups of sket­ching stu­dents populate the sloping site in search of the perfect per­spective. The place absorbs tou­rists effort­lessly. As one walks around the building, a slow worm dis­ap­pears into the grass while a lizard basks undis­turbed on a con­crete flight of steps. A medi­tative atmo­sphere pre­vails, quickly making one forget the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

It is easy to imagine what the monastery must have felt like at its peak, when almost one hundred monks and novices pursued their studies here. In 1953, the Domi­nican Order com­mis­sioned Le Cor­busier to design the complex of church, com­munal spaces and sleeping cells because the respon­sible priest, Father Marie-Alain Cou­turier, greatly admired his work. The fact that Le Cor­busier was an avowed atheist evi­dently troubled Cou­turier very little. On the con­trary, he was of the con­viction: “Better a genius without faith than a believer without talent”. In keeping with this revo­lu­tionary attitude, he did not want a tra­di­tional monastery for his fellow brethren but sought a con­tem­porary way of living the faith. When the architect asked what exactly a convent was, Cou­turier is said to have replied: “Simply create a silent dwelling for one hundred bodies and one hundred hearts.”

What Le Cor­busier and his team made of that brief remains just as impressive today as it was on the day it opened. The decision to position the complex at the very edge of the 54-hectare parkland and woodland creates a striking duality between the intense green of nature and the pre­sence of con­crete.

All func­tions are con­cen­trated within a compact structure orga­nised around a cour­tyard – a reinter­pre­tation of the tra­di­tional monastery with its cloister. Posi­tioned on a slope and raised on Corbusier’s cha­rac­te­ristic pilotis and fea­turing basic geo­metric forms such as pyramids, cubes and ellipses, the building gene­rates a multitude of visual rela­ti­onships as one moves around and beneath it. For archi­tecture enthu­siasts, it is a feast of sym­metry, rhythm and per­spective.

Alt­hough not all interior spaces are acces­sible to visitors, the entire outdoor area is open to the public. One is the­r­efore free to embark on an archi­tec­tural explo­ration to one’s heart’s content. Like a con­s­truction kit, every function is clearly legible. The one hundred monks’ cells, with their distinctive bal­conies, define the eastern, sou­thern and western ele­va­tions. They are com­ple­mented by com­munal spaces reco­g­nisable by their rhyth­mi­cally struc­tured glazed façades. These clearly bear the influence of the musician Iannis Xenakis, one of Le Corbusier’s col­la­bo­rators. The church closes the U‑shaped com­po­sition to the north. Within the cour­tyard, this formal clarity gives way to sculp­tu­rally placed volumes housing ancillary rooms, as well as the church’s expressive light shafts and a small chapel with a pyra­midal roof that imme­diately draws the eye.

The interior, however, presents a sur­pri­singly dif­ferent picture. While the use of colour is barely per­cep­tible from the exterior, vibrant primary colours on the Mon­drian-inspired windows facing the cour­tyard and on the doors form a central design element. Even the surface-mounted pipes are colour-coded according to their function – a prag­matism that runs throughout the entire building. Anyone dre­aming today of low-tech con­s­truction will find inspi­ration in many thoughtful details. The glazed windows, for example, cannot be opened; yet all rooms can be effec­tively cross-ven­ti­lated through narrow, excep­tio­nally tall ven­ti­lation flaps in both the outer and inner façades.

The coloured doors are painted black around the handles so that they do not quickly become unsightly through use. Likewise, a section of floor beneath a candle has been dar­kened because wax ine­vi­tably drips there from time to time. Solar shading, too, is resolved entirely through archi­tec­tural means.

It feels like looking out from a castle through lighting slits that frame the view of the land­scape, or through what Le Cor­busier called “con­crete flowers” – ope­nings that admit light while blo­cking direct views and sun­light by means of a pro­truding slanted con­crete slab. The framed bal­conies regulate solar gain in the monks’ cells.

The atmo­spheric high­light is undoub­tedly the church. Fol­lowing Le Corbusier’s death in 1965, his body was laid out here for one night so that the monks could keep vigil. More than almost any other space in the monastery, it embodies the idea of inward con­cen­tration. The building remains entirely closed to the outside world; light enters solely through roof­lights and narrow ope­nings. As a result, the atmo­sphere changes according to the time of day and the hours of prayer. In the main space, the slender light slits, painted in colour on the inside, seem to glow from within. The crypt feels con­siderably more intimate. Its expressive ellip­tical roof­lights stand out in intense red, white and blue against the dark-painted ceiling and par­tially yellow walls – a powerful visual expe­rience.

Ever­y­thing appears ori­ginal and almost newly built, which speaks volumes for the quality of the res­to­ration of this UNESCO World Heritage Site com­pleted just over a decade ago. The man respon­sible for this project was French con­ser­vation architect Didier Repellin of RL&Associés. Unlike many icons of post-war modernism, the work at La Tourette focused less on spec­ta­cular inter­ven­tions than on meti­culous pre­ven­tative mea­sures. Façades and interior walls were cleaned, the elec­trical systems renewed, the delicate con­crete struc­tures pro­tected against oxi­dation, and the glazing replaced with shat­ter­proof glass that – despite remaining single-glazed – signi­fi­cantly improved insu­lation. The project also included water­pro­ofing the roof ter­races and deve­loping a fire-safety concept that inte­grates as dis­creetly as pos­sible into the archi­tecture. The work is not yet fully com­plete: most recently, the atrium again underwent res­to­ration, while the next task will be the repair of the distinctive pyra­midion – the small chapel.

In this way, the monastery con­tinues to live on, even though only nine monks reside there today. When new voca­tions declined in the early 1970s, the monastic com­munity gra­dually opened the complex to guests by offering over­night stays, seminars and cul­tural events. The monastic structure accom­mo­dates this change of use effort­lessly. The location itself is also ideally suited to con­cen­tration and slowing down. This “hotel” is perfect for archi­tecture enthu­siasts seeking peace and quiet. No spa. No fitness centre. Just oneself, nature and archi­tecture. In the evening, one retires to one’s cell and reflects on the essence of archi­tecture, mini­malism and con­sumption. A bed, a table, a wardrobe, a wash­basin and a balcony – what more is really needed?

Couvent Sainte-Marie de La Tourette
760, route de La Tourette, 69210 Éveux, Frank­reich

The interior spaces may only be visited by over­night guests or as part of a guided tour (in French and English). The ninety-minute tour costs €10, with reduced admission at €6.
Over­night stays in the monastery’s Modulor-format cells are available from Monday evening to Sunday morning and cost €62 per night, including breakfast in the monastery’s ori­ginal refectory.

Online boo­kings and further infor­mation: www.couventdelatourette.fr

Text: Dr. Bri­gitte Schultz

Pho­to­graphy (all): Dr. Bri­gitte Schultz. Photos 8 / 11 / 12 © F.L.C. / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2026