I. M. Pei, who created designs for some of the world’s most revered museums—including the iconic pyramid for the Louvre in Paris and the East Building of the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C.—has died at 102, according to the New York Times. A spokesperson for his firm, Pei Cobb Freed & Partners, confirmed the news.
Pei was one of the world’s most celebrated architects. His designs frequently played on the ways in which viewers perceive built spaces, placing less of an emphasis on a structure’s formal properties than on its overall effect. “An individual building, the style in which it is going to be designed and built, is not that important,” Pei once said. “The important thing, really, is the community. How does it affect life?”
In addition to his Louvre and National Gallery of Art commissions, Pei worked on the designs for a number of arts institutions. He designed the Musée d’Art Moderne Grand-Duc Jean in Luxembourg and the Museum of Islamic Art in Doha, Qatar. Among his less conventional institutional projects was one for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland, which came in 1995.
But, in spite of a six-decade career filled with memorable works, Pei’s most famous design remains his pyramid for the Louvre. In 1981, when Pei began working with French president François Mitterand on the project, most Parisians agreed that the Louvre had grown stale and that its building was in need of revision. Pei designed a group of galleries centered around the museum’s Cour Napoléon area. But Pei realized that the entrance needed to announce itself—visitors could not simply arrive via a subterranean passageway. “You need to be welcomed by some kind of great space,” Pei told the Times in 1985. “So, you’ve got to have something of our period. That space must have volume and it must have light and it must have a surface identification. You have to be able to look at it and say, ‘Ah, this is the entrance.’ ”
Like many architectural revamps in Paris, Pei’s pyramid was reviled by the public and experts alike. Le Figaro, a French newspaper, reported news of Pei’s design with a single-word headline: “Megalomania.” When the pyramid was unveiled before Paris’s Committee on Historical Monuments in 1984, the structure was treated so harshly, Pei once recalled, that his translator was apprehensive about explaining to him what was said.
Today, these reactions are almost unfathomable. Pei’s pyramid, which was completed in 1989, transformed an 18th-century structure, removing from it the sense of stodginess that had pervaded the museum for decades. One of the most Instagrammed sites in Paris, his architectural intervention at the Louvre is associated as equally with the museum as are the Mona Lisa and other masterworks in its rich holdings.
The Louvre pyramid is an emblematic Pei work, in the sense that it dramatically stands apart from its surroundings and accentuates its own angularity. Many of his buildings feature sharp edges and diagonal forms, and exude elegance. Their radicalism can be easy to forget when standing in front of them.
Another of his many celebrated designs was for the East Building of the National Gallery of Art. To design the building, which was completed in 1978, Pei considered the NGA’s history. The West Building, which is dedicated to historical displays, is balanced and symmetrical, its facade done in the mode of Neoclassical architecture. The East Building was meant to act as a showcase for modern art, and Pei knew it required something more off-kilter, especially given that it was set to be on a trapezoidal plot of land.
He started by taking a sketch of a trapezoid and striking it through with diagonal line to produce two triangles. The resulting building is oriented around isosceles triangles, and in front of the building are several glass pyramids. (These, unlike the one at the Louvre, are not equilateral.) In the airy atrium, Pei designed large planters where ficus trees could appear, and he chose marble for the walls and floors, lending the structure heaviness.
Pei’s contributions to architecture extended beyond the museum world, however, and he was often praised for his engineering feats. In 1990 Pei debuted one of his largest projects—the 70-story Bank of China building in Hong Kong, which rises 1,209 feet into the air. When it first opened, it was the tallest building in Asia. Because the tower us so tall, Pei had to come up with a way of resisting high-velocity winds. To do so, Pei created a system of concrete and steel—one reliant on far less of the latter material than other skyscrapers of its kind. When it was first unveiled, the work was greeted with controversy—the X-shaped marks on its facade recalled, for some, the symbols used to mark when someone had been executed in China.
Pei, who was born in Guangzhou, China, often designed structures in his home country, in the process alluding to forms and styles that had historically been associated with art-making there. For the Suzhou Museum, for example, Pei oversaw a redesign in which he referred to traditional architectural plans in the city, which often involve buildings featuring a series of gardens and courts. For Pei, it was essential that the museum not resemble a Western institution. “In China,” he once said, “architecture and the garden are one. A Western building is a building, and a garden is a garden. They’re related in spirit. But they are one in China.”
Throughout his career, Pei was favored among institutions that needed their buildings to have a placid authority. Two of his greatest works were libraries—one for the Kennedy Library in Boston and the Cleo Rogers Memorial Library in Columbus, Indiana. (The latter was memorably featured in the 2017 film Columbus, a lo-fi romance set against the backdrop of the city’s modernist architecture.) Both enable their inhabitants airy, contemplative spaces that feel highly ordered. This sensibility can also be found his design for Dallas’s city hall, which, from one side, resembles an upside-down triangle and, from the other, an inverted ziggurat.
Pei was born in 1917 in China. When Pei went to college in America, at the University of Pennsylvania, he was educated in Beaux-Arts style architecture. It was not until he studied engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge that he began to explore modernist architecture. When the Bauhaus architect Le Corbusier visited MIT in 1935, Pei spent two days with him. Pei once called that period “the most important days in my architectural education.”
Around this time, amid the growing threat of oppression by the Nazis, a wave of European modernists came to America. When Pei enrolled in Harvard University’s Graduate School of Design during the 1940s, he was taught by some of the best of these émigrés, among them Marcel Breuer and Walter Gropius. Following a brief stint in the middle of his studies spent working for the National Defense Research Committee during World War II, Pei graduated in 1946 with a renewed sense for formalism and functionalism.
After graduating, Pei worked for the firm Webb and Knapp. In 1955, he split from that firm and formed his own, I. M. Pei & Associates. His current firm is called Pei Cobb Freed & Partners and is based in New York.
Pei’s designs earned him a spread of accolades, including the world’s most important architecture award, the Pritzker Prize, in 1983. He received the Japan Art Association’s Praemium Imperiale prize in 1993 and the Cooper-Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum’s lifetime achievement award in 2003.
With six decades of architecture under his belt, Pei embarked on some of his most experimental architecture projects during the late years of his career. His Museum of Islamic Art in Doha, situated on a manmade island accessible via a bridge and inaugurated in 2008, is often recognized as one of his late-career achievements. It is prized for its pile-up of squarish shapes, and it references Arab styles without seeming in any way traditional or conservative, thanks to its enormous windows and its imposing form.
For Pei, the anachronistic look—neither complete of this moment nor of the past—was its point. “Contemporary architects tend to impose modernity on something,” he told the Times in 2008. “There is a certain concern for history but it’s not very deep. I understand that time has changed, we have evolved. But I don’t want to forget the beginning. A lasting architecture has to have roots.”