While many structures from the Soviet era fell into disrepair or were destroyed, Armenia actively preserved many of Israelyan's works. This preservation effort was likely successful because his design approach served not only a specific historical moment but also told a larger, more enduring story about Armenian identity and culture. Long before contemporary concepts like sustainability or critical regionalism became popular in architectural discourse, Israelyan understood a fundamental truth: buildings gain meaning and endurance when they genuinely reflect the specific identity and characteristics of their place.
Israelyan's journey to becoming one of Armenia's most significant architects began in 1936, when he moved to Yerevan, Armenia's capital city, after completing his architectural studies at the State Academy of Arts of Georgia. He later continued his education at the Leningrad Institute of Communal Building and the Ilya Repin Leningrad Institute for Painting, Sculpture and Architecture. His arrival in Yerevan coincided with the passing of Aleksandr Tamanian, the visionary architect responsible for creating the master plan of Yerevan and a key figure in shaping modern Armenian architecture.
Tamanian's architectural philosophy, which emphasized neoclassical forms blended harmoniously with local traditions, profoundly influenced the young Israelyan. At the time, Israelyan began working within the same architectural circles and state-run institutions where Tamanian had been a leading figure. This early exposure to Tamanian's work and philosophy established the foundation for Israelyan's own architectural approach.
Israelyan can be regarded as a philosophical successor to Tamanian, whose influence helped him establish the fundamental principles of his design philosophy: creating buildings that spoke the authentic language of Armenia itself. This language manifested through several key elements that became hallmarks of his work. He consistently used tuff and basalt stones quarried from local sources, creating a direct material connection to the Armenian landscape. His spatial layouts frequently echoed the forms and proportions of medieval Armenian churches and fortresses, linking contemporary buildings to centuries of architectural tradition. Additionally, he incorporated carved symbols that referenced national myths and shared historical experiences, particularly the collective memory of the Armenian genocide.
For Israelyan, building in Armenia was more than a professional practice; it was a love letter to his country and its people. The memory of the Armenian genocide profoundly shaped his mindset, driving him to help restore and reinforce Armenian cultural identity through architecture. His buildings served as physical manifestations of cultural continuity and resilience.
To develop this distinctive architectural language, Israelyan conducted extensive and methodical research into his country's cultural symbols and traditions. One of his most important sources of inspiration was the khachkar, the intricately carved cross-stones that are iconic elements of Armenian cultural heritage. Beginning in the 1940s, Israelyan embarked on extensive fieldwork, literally walking across the country to document and sketch these vernacular forms. This hands-on research approach informed his design practice, helping him reinterpret historical forms for contemporary functions by abstracting their essential language and scaling them for modern use.
As a result of this careful study, his structures often took traditional elements and scaled them up dramatically for use in civic and memorial projects, creating a powerful dialogue between past and present. The Mother Armenia Monument pedestal in Yerevan serves as an excellent example of this cultural influence and architectural adaptability. Originally constructed in 1950 to support a statue of Stalin, the impressive three-story base was designed as a secular basilica, deliberately borrowing the architectural vocabulary of local religious structures.
In 1962, due to Soviet-wide policy changes and a broader effort to shift away from totalitarian imagery, the statue of Stalin was removed from the monument. However, the pedestal remained and was successfully repurposed to hold the statue of Mother Armenia, a national figure representing strength and cultural continuity. The monument's successful second life was made possible precisely because its architectural language was already authentically Armenian, rather than purely Soviet in character.
While working under Soviet rule, Israelyan's buildings successfully met the official requirements for monumental public works, yet they maintained a distinctly national character that resonated with the Armenian people. This kind of architectural adaptability suggests that buildings which genuinely reflect the culture and materials of their place are more likely to survive and remain relevant through various social, political, and environmental changes.
In this sense, Israelyan's approach anticipates many of the ideas associated with critical regionalism, a architectural theory that emerged in the 1980s. Although the term was coined decades after Israelyan's most significant works, his architecture demonstrates many of critical regionalism's core principles: resisting architectural placelessness, seeking a thoughtful balance between universal modernist principles and particular local conditions, and favoring buildings that respond to both contemporary needs and local realities.
The Sardarapat Memorial Complex, inaugurated in 1968, represents perhaps the finest example of Israelyan's architectural principles and their enduring power. This monument commemorates a crucial 1918 battle in which Armenian forces successfully halted a Turkish advance, preventing what could have been the complete destruction of the Armenian people. Like many of his works, this Soviet-era monument successfully overcame its political context to become a beloved symbol of Armenian resilience and identity.
Constructed entirely from red tuff stone, the complex creates a powerful visual and emotional experience. The design includes two magnificent winged oxen positioned at the entrance, a soaring bell tower that can be seen from great distances, and monumental eagles positioned along the perimeter. Each of these elements references Armenian mythology and national symbolism, creating layers of meaning that speak to visitors on multiple levels.
Israelyan's influence extended beyond Armenia's borders through projects like his contribution to the design of St. Vartan Cathedral in New York City. Working in collaboration with Walker O. Cain of the New York architectural firm Steinman, Cain & White, Israelyan helped create a building that demonstrates how authentic Armenian architectural language—including distinctive domes, detailed stone work, and symbolic forms—enables immediate recognition of cultural identity, even in a diaspora context thousands of miles from Armenia.
In both the Sardarapat Memorial and St. Vartan Cathedral, the architecture functions not merely as symbolic representation but as experiential space that draws users into a narrative connecting physical space with cultural memory. Visitors don't simply observe these buildings; they experience them as part of a larger story about Armenian identity, survival, and continuity.
Israelyan's architectural approach offers several valuable lessons for contemporary architects and urban planners. First, his emphasis on local materials, forms, and symbols demonstrates how drawing from place-specific resources can ensure both community resonance and long-term relevance. Buildings that speak the language of their location tend to age more gracefully and maintain their significance over time.
Second, his work illustrates architecture's remarkable capacity for adaptation and change. Buildings designed with embedded cultural meaning can exhibit resilience in the face of political upheaval, offering lasting value through their representation of communities and deeply embedded cultural traditions rather than through overt political messaging that may become obsolete.
Third, Israelyan's projects show how public buildings and memorials can achieve monumentality while still connecting meaningfully with human scale experience. His buildings are impressive and awe-inspiring, yet they remain accessible and emotionally engaging for individual visitors.
Finally, his work demonstrates how buildings can serve as custodians of collective memory. When designed with proper intention and cultural grounding, buildings can narrate and preserve important stories, moving beyond mere functional requirements to hold and transmit cultural memory across generations.
Some critics might argue that this type of culturally embedded design requires intensive manual labor and traditional craftsmanship, potentially increasing construction costs significantly. While this concern has some validity, emerging technologies such as robotic fabrication and advanced digital modeling are creating new possibilities for cost-effectively reintroducing degrees of craftsmanship and cultural specificity into contemporary construction.
Traditional symbolic elements can now be reimagined through sophisticated software, producing prefabricated details that reconnect buildings to their cultural place without necessarily reverting to historical construction methods. Projects such as the ongoing restoration of Ottawa's Parliament building in Canada serve as valuable case studies for developing strategies to scale up these culturally sensitive processes and potentially transform this approach into widespread architectural practice.
The contemporary relevance of Israelyan's approach is being explored at the 2025 Venice Architecture Biennale, where the Armenian Pavilion presents an exhibition titled "Microarchitecture Through AI: Making New Memories with Ancient Monuments." This innovative exhibition uses a generative artificial intelligence model trained on the Armenian Heritage Scanning Project developed by TUMO, which represents a comprehensive digital archive of Armenian architectural sites.
The AI system analyzes and abstracts historical architectural forms, generating new interpretations that can then be translated into physical form by carving them into traditional tuff stone. This approach considers artificial intelligence not merely as a tool for replication, but as a creative medium that can prompt variation, introduce productive anomalies, and generate new architectural narratives while remaining grounded in cultural tradition.
Israelyan's architectural legacy remains profoundly relevant not just as historical heritage, but as an active design strategy for contemporary practice. His work demonstrates how architecture can effectively serve both present needs and future aspirations when it remains genuinely rooted in cultural identity and place-based understanding. His buildings endure not only because they were structurally sound and well-built, but also because they were culturally grounded in ways that continue to resonate with people across generations.
Perhaps most importantly, Israelyan's work suggests that architecture does not need to choose between embracing modernity and honoring tradition. Instead, the most successful and enduring buildings operate in productive dialogue with both contemporary needs and historical continuity, creating spaces that are simultaneously of their time and timeless in their cultural significance.
