Marcel Broodthaers, the influential Belgian poet, painter, photographer, and filmmaker who died in 1976 at just 52 years old, created a body of work that extended far beyond the surrealist paintings and mussel-themed art installations that brought him international recognition in the 1960s. Throughout his career, he became increasingly disillusioned with what he termed "Brusselization" (or Bruxellisation) – the ruthless modernization of his native city – and emerged as a passionate advocate for more humanistic urban design.

Broodthaers witnessed firsthand the drastic urban transformations that completely reshaped Brussels during his lifetime. During his youth, the city underwent massive reconstruction projects, including the construction of the North-South railway connection, the remodeling of the ring road, and most controversially, the systematic demolition of iconic Art Nouveau masterpieces like Victor Horta's celebrated Maison du Peuple. The most devastating change was the so-called "Manhattan Project" in the city's northern quarter, which displaced approximately 15,000 residents to make way for high-rise business developments. These sweeping changes positioned Broodthaers as an uncompromising critic of modernist architecture and its complete detachment from human experience.

A recent exhibition at architecture museum CIVA, titled "Marcel Broodthaers – The Architect is Absent," which closed in June, demonstrated how these urban transformations profoundly influenced his artistic career. The exhibition's title referenced a phrase that Broodthaers coined in 1967, fundamentally questioning architecture's functionalist principles and its social role. The phrase suggests that without rigid architectural control, a more humane and poetic living environment might naturally emerge. This revolutionary idea connects to his larger body of work, in which he repeatedly challenged the rigid definitions of artistic media while questioning the complex relationships between image and meaning, form and function, and reality and representation.

The exhibition's key piece was "Monument Public," a direct reference to the Martini Tower, which was built in 1957 and demolished in 2002. Other significant highlights included his magazine cover photograph of the doomed Maison du Peuple, taken as a protest against its demolition, poignant images capturing the essence of the Marolles district, and numerous articles sharply criticizing dehumanizing modernism. Broodthaers even rejected the widespread optimism surrounding Expo 1958, famously stating that its centerpiece, the Atomium, "speaks more to our imagination than to our sense of reason."

Broodthaers led a tumultuous and often difficult life. Struggling as a poet for many years, he wrote at age 40: "For some time, I had been no good at anything." This profound sense of failure and disillusionment – deeply shaped by writer Charles Baudelaire's melancholic reflections on urban renewal in mid-19th century Paris – ultimately fueled his transition into the visual arts, where he could more effectively explore the complex tensions between art and language, materiality and ephemerality.

His artistic practice was often playful yet deeply subversive and challenging. One of his best-known works, "Pense-Bête" (1964), consisted of a stack of his unsold poetry books completely encased in plaster, rendering them permanently unreadable. This powerful act of self-erasure served as both an elegy for his failed literary career and an ironic statement on the commercial value of art, marking the beginning of his groundbreaking conceptual explorations. He went on to create fictional institutions, such as the "Musée d'Art Moderne, Département des Aigles," a sophisticated critique of museum culture that deliberately blurred the boundaries between real and imagined spaces.

The Centre International Rogier, designed by Jacques Cuisinier and Serge Lebrun between 1957-1958 and known as Brussels' first true skyscraper, perfectly embodied the dramatic shift that Broodthaers so frequently criticized. Known popularly as the "Martini Tower" due to its rooftop bar and prominent neon Martini sign, it represented both the promise of modern life with its integrated shops, hotel, and parking facilities, and the concerning trend toward privatization of public space. Broodthaers viewed it as an iconic, frequently reproduced building that had become a powerful symbol of growing commercialism in urban life. His skepticism toward modernity extended far beyond architecture alone, encompassing the entire economic and political framework that underpinned these changes.

Beyond his criticism of Brussels' development, Broodthaers also attacked the rigid sterility of Le Corbusier's famous housing blocks, writing in 1963 that these massive complexes bred "deadly boredom" and contributed to social unrest. His prescient concerns remain remarkably relevant today, as urban landscapes worldwide continue to grapple with persistent issues of gentrification, social alienation, and the systematic erasure of historical memory.

Despite his general mistrust of modern technology and architectural trends, Broodthaers collaborated with architect Constantin Brodzki on the futuristic CBR building in Watermael-Boitsfort, a striking tower featuring distinctive oval, tinted orange glass set into concrete. In a 1970 interview, Broodthaers poetically likened the building, which now houses the co-working space and café Fosbury & Sons, to "a fishbowl."

According to CIVA exhibition curator Stefaan Vervoort, Broodthaers's humanism manifested itself in several distinct ways: his consistent emphasis on handcrafted artistic expression over mechanized industrial production, his deliberate use of familiar everyday materials in his work, and his unwavering focus on preserving history and cultural memory. Broodthaers viewed traditional objects and materials as vital carriers of cultural memory, in stark contrast to what he saw as the disposable, "amnesiac" nature of modern materials like plastic.

Although Broodthaers did not directly influence practicing architects, his unique artistic approach allowed him far more freedom to fundamentally challenge architectural norms and conventions, Vervoort explains. His evocative photographs of Brussels – capturing iconic structures like the Palace of Justice, intimate scenes from the Marolles district, and the doomed Maison du Peuple – clearly reflect his passionate desire to preserve historical memory against unchecked modernization.

His photographs from Expo 58, including striking images of the Congo Pavilion, were strategically paired with articles that sharply criticized the exploitation of workers and the empty promises of scientific progress. One of the exhibition's most compelling pieces was a 1957 photograph by photographer Julien Coulommier showing Broodthaers – for once, genuinely smiling – at a construction site in Heysel. This rare, fleeting moment of apparent optimism contrasts sharply with the broader critical themes of his work, underscoring his profoundly complex relationship with progress and modernity.

Given his apparent occasional enjoyment of building and construction, could Broodthaers have eventually become an architect if he had lived longer? "No, absolutely not," says Vervoort definitively. "Broodthaers never seemed genuinely interested in offering practical solutions; rather, he consistently sought to expose contradictions, challenge established conventions, and provoke serious thought. He would have continued critically mimicking the architectural profession, creating architectural plans, models, and theoretical projects within the sphere of visual arts, including detailed plans, maquettes, or conceptual projects," Vervoort concludes.