Iuliu Iancu / Jules Janco: Restoring an Architectural Legacy (part I)
Late last year, our editorial office in Bucharest received a surprising email, signed by Amit Janco, whose grandfather had been the architect Iuliu Iancu / Jules Janco (1896-1985), the younger – and lesser known – brother of Marcel Iancu / Janco. After studying in Zürich, during the Interwar period the two worked together, as associated architects, on numerous projects in Bucharest and all over the country. In 1941, Iuliu would flee to Israel and, later, emigrate to Canada, and the traces of his activity in Romania, spanning almost two decades, seem to have been buried in various archives, history remembering almost exclusively the figure of Marcel Iancu. Intrigued by this absence – both administrative and symbolic – Amit came to Romania to search the archives, trying to trace the history of her grandfather, architect Iuliu Iancu, and his involvement in projects that we know today as being designed by Marcel Iancu alone. How the two really collaborated, how they distributed individual tasks and attributions and, especially, why Iuliu Iancu’s signature is missing from the documents – these are just a few of the simple, but acute questions around which Amit’s ongoing research gravitates. This article explores these questions and their possible answers, as well as the career of architect Iuliu Iancu. It is scheduled to be published in three parts (I. the architect’s study period and early career; II. the projects he worked on in Romania during the Interwar period, together with Marcel Iancu; III. the second half of his life, after the 1940s, in Israel and Canada).
Text: Amit Janco; Photos: Iuliu Iancu Fonds. Courtesy of Jewish Public Library Archives, Montreal (donated by Dan Janco and family); Romanian version: here
While growing up in Montreal, visits to my Romanian-born grandparents meant feasting on vinete, salată de boeuf and richly textured pastries while surrounded by many framed black-and-white photographs of buildings from their homeland: In one room, the faded image of an elongated building with walls of windows and rounded ends nestled into the mountainside; and beside it, a tight shot of a starkly modernist apartment block, void of all ornamentation; on yet another wall, exterior and interior shots of private homes featuring straight angles, circular windows, sliding glass doors, and stairs that curved skyward. Although I didn’t realize it until long after his death, each one of those glossy sheets portrayed a selection of all that Arhitect Jules Janco (aka Iuliu Iancu) built.
As far back as I can remember, I grew up hearing stories from my grandfather about a sprawling pool-and-beach resort in the middle of Bucharest called Strandul Kiseleff; about a sanatorium called Bucegi (the word sanatorium conjuring up images of sick people sunbathing and walking in the woods); and about their own homes on Paleologu and in Predeal. Jules’ tales about a faraway land that he left long ago seemed so fanciful, and his native culture and language felt so foreign to me, I never thought to delve into the tiny precious details of his architectural accomplishments. I also never imagined that I would one day visit Romania myself.
Long after my grandfather’s death in 1985 and the revolution of 1989 that toppled Communism, and long after a couple of family trips to Romania in the early 2000s, did questions begin to surface about Jules’ early life and architectural career. Recalling an interview that I recorded with him in 1981, I dug up the audio cassettes and transcribed his words. All of which compelled me to return once again to Romania on an architectural adventure, where I was eager to excavate, unearth and explore the unknown parts of Iuliu’s career.
An Absence
Little did I know how challenging it would be to do research in Romania, an odyssey that was littered with bumps and obstacles: I don’t read or speak the language, and at the outset I didn’t know anyone in the country (the large web of my Romanian ancestors and descendants having dispersed long ago). Not knowing where to begin, I soon realized that a general lack of knowledge and interest about Jules meant that I would be traipsing down uncharted territory on my own.
Here is what I had understood: Iuliu’s name was rarely if ever mentioned in academic texts, websites and articles on Modernist architecture; what I found instead were spotty references in a text or footnote – as if an afterthought. It soon dawned on me that, among the many archival files containing drawings and permits of projects that I knew that Iuliu had worked on, only Marcel’s name and signature figured – as if his younger brother had never existed. But from the stories that Jules told, from the photographs displayed on their walls and from documents that he held onto over many decades of upheaval and migrations, it seemed inconceivable that his own contributions could have been almost entirely wiped out. Another challenge was making sense of their respective efforts and expertise throughout the years of their joint practice – first on Strada Caimatei as Marcel si Iuliu Iancu, Arhitecti, then Birou de Studii Moderne on Paleologu. Identifying their respective contributions and reconciling other inconsistencies would be an arduous task. So many enigmas, so few answers.
Where else to start but at the very beginning?
Beginnings. Youth. Bucharest – Zurich
Iuliu Iancu (Jules Janco), born on October 24, 1896, was the second son of Herman Iancu and Rachel Juster’s four children. His siblings were Marcel, Georges and Lucia (Medi). Marcel was a prolific artist and writer, still today a celebrated figure in Romania, Israel and beyond; he also worked as an architect. Much less known is that Jules was an accomplished architect and visionary in his own right; contributing significantly to the architectural landscapes of Romania’s interwar period, then to the development of public edifices and private villas in British Mandate Palestine / Israel (pre- and post-independence), and finally to Montreal’s mid-century skyline.
Growing up in Bucharest’s upper-class society at the turn of the 20th century, Iuliu enjoyed an idyllic childhood on Strada Gandului (now Iuliu Valaori). The house was grand, with a lush garden, a waterfall and a courtyard where he rode around on his bicycle. His father sent him to Switzerland to study architecture, along with Marcel, even as World War I raged on in the rest of Europe. The Eidgenössische Technische Hochschule (ETH) provided a calm refuge where Iuliu could pursue his studies in peace, and still explore all that Zurich and its surroundings had to offer.
Despite a heavy study load, Iuliu led a busy social life: He was an avid opera-lover and theater fan; performing in three plays with the Berliner Rhinehart Theater. He joined the Boston Club, signing up for dance lessons. And as an ardent tennis player, Jules even competed in an international tournament in Zurich. Although he was eliminated in an early round, he was thrilled when invited to referee the game.
In his youth, Iuliu’s interest in antiques was sparked, leading him to amass a carefully-curated collection of memorabilia; stamps, coins, trinkets from his travels, atlases and books — on architecture, literature, music, and poetry. With a wide-ranging thirst for knowledge, he became well-versed in politics, business, art, architecture, music and Zionism. Being reared in a family that placed great value on travel also inspired Jules to craft his own adventures by rail, car and motorcycle so that in his free time, he explored towns and mountains in Switzerland, Italy, France, Austria and beyond.
During their stay in Zurich, Iuliu and Marcel would attend performances at Zurich’s pre-eminent concert venue, the Tönnhalle; or play billiards at the Odéon. The Meirei café was another meeting place, where they would gather with Tristan Tzara, Hugo Ball and Emmy Hennings — planting seeds for the emergence of Dadaism. For the inaugural evening of Dada at Cabaret Voltaire in February of 1916, Jules recounts how he fashioned costumes for the performers: “Hugo Ball recited his poem clad in the costume designed by Marcel, but done by myself. It was fun to do it and even more to undo it!” In later years, Jules would fondly recall this period of his life, pulsating with boundless energy, conviviality and astounding creative output.
France: Launching an Architectural Career
The end of World War I coincided with the completion of Jules’ architecture studies in Switzerland. Armed with a certificate and the confidence of a young man ready to carve out his career, he set his sights on Paris — with its allure of cabarets, museums, grand boulevards, operas, fine food, women and wine. But, after many months of searching for work without success (the only exception being one, short-lived stint with an employer who was mostly absent), Jules’ only offer of suitable employment came from the far reaches of northern France: “Although I didn’t intend to work in France in other places than Paris, it may be very possible to change my will…”
But departing Paris was not an easy decision for Jules, a young man utterly enchanted by the city’s delights:
“Juste pour me rapeller, j’ai devant mes yeux, la Place de la Concorde, avec le Ritz et le Ministère, la Place de l’Etoile, la Place des Vosges, les Jardins des Tuileries, le Louvre avec ses batiments en partie date de quinze cent. Les Invalides. La Sorbonne. Le Palais de Justice avec la Conciergierie, et la St Chapelle. Le Luxembourg. Le Musée Carnavalet. Notre Dame. Montmartre. Les boulevards. Le Bois de Boulogne. Fontainbleau. Versailles et tant d’autres merveilles. J’étais beaucoup de fois a Paris, mais j’ai jamais changer d’idée qu’il peut exister une autre ville dans ce monde qui pourrait égaler la ville lumiere. Et maintenant, apres vous avoir evoquer les temps merveilleux passer a Paris, j’ouvre le nouveau chapitre de ma vie, les années passer dans le nord de la France, travaillant pour la reconstruction du pays.”
Indeed, by the fall of 1920, after a preliminary visit and meeting, Jules accepted a position in a temporary camp that had been erected beyond the village of Croix du Bac. There, he joined the sparsely staffed office of Theodore Comte, and helped to orchestrate post-war reconstruction efforts in the region.
Ultimately, what Jules initially considered an undesirable relocation, far from the glitter and charms of Paris, materialized into one of the most rewarding phases of his early career. In Croix du Bac, Jules’ assignments included rebuilding homes and other damaged structures.
“We, the architects, had to move to investigate what was destroyed, make plans for the reconstruction, submit the plans to the French authorities, who will get the money from the Germans. Our company extended its work on more than half of the north departement, and all our jobs were to be presented to the French authorities, if I remember well, till the month of August 1922 or 1923.”
Among the many projects assigned to the architectural staff in Croix du Bac was the village church, which unexpectedly led Jules to assume another important role: