Because of the sloping ground, the building has four entrances, on different levels. While the basement contains HVAC, level I, entered via the historic housing on rue Charles-Nègre, contains the library for children to age 6, and a 108-seat auditorium, carved into the hillside. On level II, which has two lateral entrances on place Vercueil (one public and the other for staff), there is a double-height temporary-exhibition space, as well as a smaller gallery dedicated to local photography pioneer Charles Nègre (1820–80), for whom the project is named. The main public entrance and lobby are on level III—which is aligned with the reservoir roof, now place du Rouachier, landscaped by Marseille office Stoa—and are connected to the green space by a footbridge. Levels IV and V, which jut far out over the reservoir, contain the two principal library floors, with a small terrace and cafeteria up top at the rear. Gutted in order to integrate it into the project, the historic housing contains both public spaces, seamlessly joined to those in the new structure, and backstage activities, while staff offices are stacked up in the southern corner.

Given both French know-how and the region’s earthquake regulations, concrete was the obvious construction material. “Historically, Grasse’s public buildings were in stone,” points out Serres, “which contrasts with the colored stucco facades of the typically Provençal housing. Not only are we following that cue, we have a compact structure with high thermal inertia that’s ideal for the climate here.” As well as striking a strong spatial note, the cantilevering vaults (see sidebar, below), inspired by Louis Kahn and José Luis Sert, help to attenuate the relatively low ceiling heights engendered by the dense program. Three vertical shafts on the top three levels further enrich the spatial experience, and bring daylight from above. In addition to stair and elevator cores, there is a structurally separate tower to the southeast that contains the main vertical route—monumental stairs linking levels I to III, and a long hairpin ramp connecting levels III to V. “In our libraries and museums, we try to slow down time,” explains Beaudouin. “Places of contemplation, they require a temporality different from the hustle and bustle outside. The ramp is part of the promenade architecturale, prolonging the journey in both time and space.”

Since libraries need daylight, the new structure’s envelope is entirely glass. But, because of the region’s strong sun and the proximity to neighboring apartments, it is hidden behind a grill of white prefabricated concrete colonnettes, which would stretch five miles if placed end to end. Fixed to steel for seismic stiffening, and spaced just 2 inches apart to deter pigeons, the colonnettes catch the light when viewed from inside, thanks to their curvature and striation, reminiscent of both bamboo and classical fluting. Outside, they appear graphically striking and opaque by day, but at night the building glows from within. On the place du Rouachier, below the central and widest vault, the glazing has been left exposed, providing an urban connection between outside and in and contributing to the promenade architecturale: shown what happens inside, you are encouraged to try to get there. Mean­while, at the rear, a rectangular turret, signaling the library’s presence when viewed from the surrounding hillsides, recalls the medieval towers that once bristled above Grasse.

At the time of writing, the Charles Nègre Library and Cultural Center was a few weeks from opening, though staff had organized outreach visits. “Initial reactions among the local population are often very negative,” says director Valérie Molins. “Remarks such as, ‘Oh, it’s not very Provençal’ or ‘There’s too much concrete’ or ‘It’s an eyesore!’ Once we explain the building, people generally leave with a far more positive view.” Children, she says, have no such aesthetic qualms, seeing only the good side: three times larger than the old facility, its collection doubled in size, the new library offers video games and computer terminals unavailable before. While it remains to be seen whether locals will reject it as an alien, elitist landing, this sophisticated project ticks all the boxes for architecture aficionados, who will immediately recognize the care that went into its making, from the staggered casting of the concrete panels—another borrowing from Kahn, and a labor of love for both architects and contractor—to Serres’s Mendes da Rocha–inspired railings and oak desks specially designed to hide monitor backs. Indeed, no effort has been spared to hide technical mess and clutter. At once simple and complex, heavy and light, solid and diaphanous, this monastically elegant building finds potential in constraint and poetry in paradox.