Even Miami's favorite modernist icon, Morris Lapidus, dabbled in tropical brutalism, which is best demonstrated in his 1969 design for the South Shore Community Center on Miami Beach, a building at the center of a hot debate about preservation over the past few years. In fact, Lapidus experimented with tropical brutalism to change his reputation from the modernist bourgeois of the Fontainebleau Miami Beach, leaning into brutalist principles to deliver a design that supported the social patterns of its users — senior citizens who needed function and practicality over ornate details that attracted Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack to congregate.
Unsurprisingly, Lapidus was onto something, but he wasn't the only designer who saw the vision of concrete in Miami's hot and humid climes. A year prior, Cuban immigrant Hilario Candela erected the famed Miami Marine Stadium, which has been a prime subject of restoration and preservation in recent years. Concrete testing, surveying, matching, and restoration have been a massive component of this undertaking, along with the removal of 200 coats of spray paint.
In its essence, brutalism has a narrative capability. It's exciting in its austerity, a blank canvas to be personalized. It has a present, a past, and a future, regardless of how old or new it is. Speaking at the recently held Docomomo U.S. National Symposium in Miami, Brazilian architect Carlos Eduardo Comas points out that as vegetation grows around brutalist buildings, it's also a dystopian image indicating how quickly nature can reclaim the built environment. He also added that tropical brutalism can be many things, “barbaric, civilized, clean, bare, lively, industrial, form over function...or both.”
Dystopian anecdotes aside, tropical brutalism has inherent benefits that make it ideal for Miami:
Natural Ventilation
While many buildings in Miami are forced to crank air conditioning to combat record-high temperatures, tropical brutalism designs maximize airflow and cross breeze, which can significantly lower temperatures, literally by design. The free-flowing wind on the event level of 1111 is a quintessential example of this.Shade Contribution
So many high-rises, so little shade. While surrounding landscaping and vegetation can take time to grow in, one immediate benefit of tropical-brutalism-style overhangs is the boost in shade. When the overhangs extend over balconies, courtyards, and other indoor/outdoor living spaces, the impact is significant as they minimize sun and radiation exposure.Sustainable Adaptations
While brutalism, in essence, isn't sustainable — it takes a lot of water and sand to create it, and concrete can damage topsoil while increasing carbon dioxide — it lends itself as a blank canvas to sustainable additions. For example, solar panels are an easy fit on flat brutalist roofs, rainwater collection devices can be easily integrated, and vegetation preservation that sits as a juxtaposition alongside concrete builds nicely on tropical brutalism foundations.However, the maintenance of concrete is critical. For many, concrete has been seen as a “forever” material, but as South Florida tragically learned in 2021, even forever materials cannot last without maintenance and proper formulation. Concrete structures on the waterfront — or, in the Marine Stadium's case, in the water — are susceptible to degradation over the years from the elements, namely wind, soil, and salt. For this reason, concrete should be periodically assessed and tested for safety. When effectively maintained, concrete can stand the test of time.
In fact, we have examples to look to for tropical brutalism done right. Veronica Castillo, an architect from Puerto Rico, shared a case study at the Docomomo U.S. National Symposium in Miami on two structures that have lasted for decades on the island. Built in 1963, the Santa Monica condo tower's design is straight out of the tropical brutalism textbook, with generous overhangs, natural ventilation, efficiency in space, exposed concrete, and local materials. Oh, and it has withstood four Category 5 hurricanes and remains a testament to the durability of concrete when maintained. Second, Castillo shared the Carmelite Convent, built in 1969, that meets the same criteria, except the austere structure is flanked by lush greenery that has flourished over the decades under the careful care of its resident nuns. The nuns added solar panels, too.
Looking into the future, Miami has already invested much of its land in concrete, and destroying concrete structures poses another set of environmental problems. Adapting buildings for reuse, like the often-mentioned 1111 garage, which was built on the existing SunTrust Bank foundation, is a way to minimize environmental impacts, retrofit and bring efficiency to aged buildings, and extend the lifeline of structures in Miami and beyond.
