In 1958, in barely a year, Pedro Ramírez Vásquez designed and built what would be his most personal project: his home and studio in Mexico City. The site he chose was in the colonia of El Pedregal de San Angel, a new residential area in the south of the capital. This development, spearheaded in the 1940s by influential architect Luis Barragán, is set apart by its foundations: a solidified lava field, its stone formed thousands of years ago in the eruption of the Xitle volcano. It was also a fitting place for a progressive architect to live and set up shop, given the profusion of simple geometric buildings featuring flat roofs and natural materials.
On one side of an elongated plot, Ramírez Vázquez constructed his office and studio, and on the other, quieter side, his home. It is here, one sunny morning, that his son Javier meets me and talks at length about his father: his illustrious career, his remarkable legacy, his personal life and the place he lived in for 55 years until his death in 2013 (on his 94th birthday). Now responsible for that house and its contents – including the vast collection of antique documents, books, architectural plans, photographs, artwork, stamps and 1968 Olympics memorabilia the architect accumulated – Javier still thinks of his father, to whom he was very close, as a ‘simple man’ at heart. ‘He was affable and affectionate. He knew how to listen and, in spite of his many responsibilities, was present in our lives whenever we needed him,’ he tells me. ‘He was also very hardworking – he would leave the house very early in the morning, but he’d always try to be home at midday to have lunch with his family.’ Ramírez Vázquez and his wife, Olga, were devoted to each other for 52 years until her death in 1999 from hepatitis E. Together they raised four children.
Javier, their third child, describes his upbringing with warmth and affection: his father, he says, was a great conversationalist and a natural teacher, ‘loved talking about books, about characters, about places’ and everything else besides. ‘It made us all motivated by the desire to know, to learn more.’
Architect, urban planner, rector, designer, writer, editor and civil servant, Pedro Ramírez Vásquez wore many hats. Considered Mexico’s most prolific 20th-century architect, he played a significant role in shaping the country’s urban landscape; he was renowned for his Modernist style, which combined elements of traditional design with the latest techniques and materials available to him. Over his seven-decade-long career, he designed some of his country’s most famous buildings, such as the Azteca Stadium in 1961, the National Museum of Anthropology in 1963 and the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in 1974. He was a huge sports fan and, as president of the organising committee for the 1968 Summer Olympics held in the capital, he oversaw the design and construction of all the games’ facilities, as well as creating the official poster and emblem. ‘He never played sports,’ said Javier, as we wander around his father’s extensive library, ‘but he loved watching them. During the Olympics he would always follow basketball games, swimming, athletics, gymnastics and volleyball competitions very closely.’
Born in Mexico City on 16 April 1919 into a working-class family – his own father had been an antique-books dealer – Ramírez Vázquez grew up in an environment that valued creativity and intellectual pursuits; from a young age, he was exposed to a wide range of artistic and cultural influences. After graduating from the National Autonomous University of Mexico in 1943, he quickly went on to design thousands of commercial, residential and public buildings – so many, in fact, that the exact figure is unclear. His innovative approach and his sense of responsibility – he was especially keen to preserve his country’s cultural heritage – established him as a leading figure in Mexican architecture. He thought his profession had a duty to promote social change and improve the lives of ordinary people. Indeed, he was partially responsible for overhauling the education system, building schools in rural areas and thus allowing millions of children access to lessons.
Since Ramírez Vázquez died, little in his house has changed. ‘I just tidied up a bit – the library was a little messy – but that’s all,’ Javier says as we enter, passing through a glazed partition wall framed with oak latticework. ‘Lattices were a constant in his designs – in fact, he used more of them than any other Mexican architect.’
We amble through the house, which wraps around a central large rectangular courtyard that was originally open to the sky in the style of traditional colonial homes. The whole was conceived as a single-storey dwelling but a second floor was added in 1978 – a necessity to house Ramírez Vázquez’s ever-expanding collection – and at the same time the courtyard was covered to protect it from the elements. Nonetheless there is still some suggestion of the great outdoors: an Aztec jaguar sculpture – an exact replica of one that resides in the National Museum of Anthropology – sits centre stage.
Volcanic stone is present throughout the house, threaded through both the floors and walls. Clad in wood and a beige carpet, the drawing and dining rooms are distinctly sparse compared with other, less formal areas, such as the family living and breakfast rooms. ‘I’m not sure why my parents clad the ceiling in wood,’ says Javier, looking up. ‘They did it in 1978, but they never liked it. I think I’ll take it down eventually...’ In contrast with her husband’s Modernist style, Olga, a devout Catholic with a more traditional aesthetic and outlook on life, filled any remaining space she could with Madonnas, annunciations and crucifixions.
‘My father was always working. He died on a Tuesday, and the Friday before that he was in the office,’ Javier says. Silent witnesses to the intense life he lived, the cupboards, drawers and shelves in his home are filled to the brim with sketches and writings, lovingly designed glass pieces and Olympic souvenirs.
Javier himself is also an architect, and I can’t help but wonder how it must feel to have such a colossal legacy weighing on his shoulders. It’s not all fun and games, he tells me, being the benefactor of such an important endowment. ‘Conserving it represents an enormous responsibility: nowadays, investigating and sharing the history of my father’s work is my main worry and burden.’
A version of this article appears in the October 2023 issue of The World of Interiors. Learn about our subscription offers
