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Portrait of the architect, by Catherine Hubert
RAJ Magazine, September 2015

(Translated from the original French by Google)

Call me Hugo.
When we met Pierre-Richard Villedrouin at his building on Rue Vilatte for a conversation about architecture, he told us, "You should see my foreman; he’s been working with me since he was fifteen." He would be better suited to speak to you about architecture and what the profession entails, he added, looking at us inquiringly. The man before us is a singular figure pursuing a solitary path, having chosen to work alone rather than set up a firm with partners.

An IntroductionHe spent his career building for his family and his parents. His best client was Jean-Claude Duvalier, who understood back then that delayed payments lead to construction delays.

Villedrouin is Having FunPierre Richard shares a close bond with his subconscious, and syncretism plays a major role in his life.  Just as Mexico has its Quetzalcóatl, he has Damballah in 

works and Legba in his soul. A masterpiece he is rightly proud of is the entrance to his home: a "Legba-esque" gate. When asked about it, his reply is spot-on: "Do you know *calam decalam*? It’s male masturbation. My gate is a large horizontal member over which a piece of ironwork slides back and forth. It took time for Legba to accept it, and thus my gate was born." It took him six years of reflection to create this exceptional piece. "Here, we have the poetry of an esoteric dimension, whereas in other countries it’s all about the 'square-square' and the 'digital-digital,'" Pierre Richard explains.
 

Unconventional Architecture
Mexico—where Pierre Richard studied—was a major source of inspiration, shaping his identity. His professor, Félix Candela, was the first to influence him. A Spanish immigrant who had fled his country during the Franco dictatorship, Candela employed double-curved concrete structures, which offered greater strength than flat slabs—applying the principle of the egg and pressure. It was not about futurism, but rather an interpretation of nature, which he regarded as the ultimate teacher. Then there was Pier Luigi Nervi, the "tamer and charmer" of reinforced concrete. An Italian active in the 1920s, Nervi used ferrocement (reinforced concrete created by spraying onto a wire mesh); Pierre Richard adopted this material for his own structures. Prefabricated molds were used, eliminating the need for traditional formwork when constructing roofs. His inspiration came from a painting hanging on the wall of his home. For Pierre Richard, structures represent the nerves, tendons, and skeleton of architecture. His approach involves engaging directly with materials and getting to know them intimately. He builds with concrete rather than steel, as concrete is a fundamental resource in Haiti. He took his first steps in the field under the mentorship of his father, Emile Villedrouin, a civil engineer. "He was no ordinary man; he proved his worth. The Belvédère and the Casa Coupole building on Rue Vilatte speak for themselves," he acknowledges. Pierre Richard views his work as the product of the environments in which he operates and the materials available to him; in Mexico, he created "Mexican" architecture, while in the U.S., he produced "American" designs.
Where others merely work, Pierre Richard seems to be having fun.
One look at his architecture sparks immediate reactions: "How complex—it must cost a fortune." He explains: "Why? Because they aren't straight lines? Because they aren't right angles like everyone else does? So, if you don't do that, are you having fun? Well, yes—I am having fun, if that's the case."
A friend actually calls him Hugo. "I'm not a writer, but I think that, in a way, I'm a poet in wh
at I do."

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If architecture is an art...
Haiti is represented by more than just its painters, writers, and musicians. Yet, for Pierre Richard, architecture doesn't really exist here. He draws a comparison with the U.S.: "Architects draw and create plans. Then a whole host of engineers takes over for the actual execution—foundations, concrete, steel, plastic... blah, blah, blah! Not to mention the greatest architect of all: the computer!" Pierre Richard continues: "Everyone here just fends for themselves. Everyone’s an engineer or an architect—they’re just winging it. It’s a total free-for-all!" (Laughter)

Self-Portrait
He has nothing to be ashamed of regarding his life. He reflects more deeply: "I have huge weaknesses. I am extremely emotional. In a way, that prevents me from being manipulative. I acknowledge my faults. My shortcomings, too. I am stubborn. I believe in certain things that, to me, are logical. I identify with what I have done; I do not blush at it. I do not want others to follow my path. That would be a mere imitation. Here, I found my own way."
As a child, Pierre Richard—like the Little Prince—wanted to draw airplanes rather than clouds. Later, his cousin, an aeronautical engineer, would show him what went on behind the scenes. Pursuing that path meant committing to a collaborative effort. Following the departure of Paul Eugène Magloire, this "hothead"—as he likes to call himself—left for Mexico in 1957; there, the Autonomous University welcomed him and shaped the man he has become today. Ccoscco (later Hispanicized as Cuzco), Quetzalcóatl, Damballah, Legba—they all live within him. He is steeped in them. He also introduced us to his final majestic work: the Basilica of the Miraculous Medal. He devoted three and a half years of his life to it. From the outset, the Congregation of Saint Vincent de Paul had set the tone: "God will provide." Today, we know the truth: "God is deaf." The project was never built, yet it remains alive. Many architects today swear only by computers; as for Pierre Richard, his compass, pencil, eraser, set square, and ruler are his weapons.

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