Originally Posted by
Washington Post
"The center of gravity of the museum had to be in the Cour Napoleon," Pei said. "That's where the public had to come. But what do you do when you arrive? Do you enter into an underground space, a kind of subway concourse? No. You need to be welcomed by some kind of great space. So you've got to have something of our period. That space must have volume, 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.'"
Pei's solution was a 70-foot glass pyramid capable, in theory, of ingesting 15,000 visitors an hour. He based its proportions on the classic Egyptian pyramid at Giza and surrounded it with a trio of baby "pyramidons" and three triangular reflecting pools with fountains.
Pei offered his "luminous structure-symbol" as an ingenious way to avoid upstaging the Louvre. No solid addition imaginable could gracefully blend with the time-darkened old palace, he reasoned, but a translucent pyramid, frankly of its own time, would repectfully defer to the heavy presence of the sorrounding building by reflecting this tawny stone.
The pyramid is the geometric shape that encloses the greatest area within the smallest possible volume, so it would stand as unobtrusively as possible. It was, Pei assured them, "a natural solution." There was one more pleasing twist: the ancient form made of high-tech material would be at once much older and much newer than the Louvre.
This was not Pei's first pyramid. He had already used a cluster of glass pyramids to light an underground corridor connecting Washington's national Gallary with his modern addition Before that he had drafted a truncated glass pyramid for an abortive design for the Kennedy Libray in Cambridge, Massachusetts. "It would be very embarrassing," observed the architectural historian Robert Clark of Princeton, "if the French government found out that what they had was really a warmed-over JFK memorial."
Nonetheless, Pei's pyramid fit the strict geometric spirit of Le Notre. It would align with other abstract landmarks - the Arc de Triomphe and the obelisk in the Place de la Concorde - ornamenting the splended vista that sweeps from the Louvre through the Luileries and continues up the Champs-Elysees in one unbroken line to the Place de l'Etoile and, by implication, to the setting sun in the west.
Moreover, the pyramid appears through French history: in seventeenth-century topiaries, in the tip of the obelisk that stands in the Place de la Concorde and in the visionary gatewys, factories and crematoriums conjured up by eighteenth-century architects Etienne-Louis Boullee and Claude-Nicolas Ledoux. There is, in fact, a Place des Pyramides just off the Louvre's northern flank.
When Olivier Bernier asked if he had drawn inspiration from Ledoux's unbuilt designer, Pei looked at him "with great indignation," Bernier recalled "and he said, `That had nothing to do with it!'" Pei curously disavowed any debt to historical precedent. He selected the pyramid, he insisted, by sheer analysis. (Michael T. Cannell, "I.M. Pei: Mandarin of Modernism", 1995)