We need to fight harder to protect the future of our past

FROM AN EXAMPLE OF CORPORATE PRIDE AND CUTTING EDGE RESEARCH—

—TO DEMOLITION BY NEGLECT AND MISINFORMATION.

The Burroughs Wellcome Building is no more.

• One of America’s most forward-looking buildings, an icon of design, and -

• the site of Nobel Prize-winning and life-saving research, and -

• a research center designed for growth - a feature so appreciated by the client that they brought the architect back (three times!) to expand the building, and -

• a building made, inside and out, to inspire and foster innovation, and -

• a design so striking that it was used as sets for film and television, and -

• a landmark of its region and state, and -

• one of architect Paul Rudolph’s largest creations -

—is gone.

Modern architecture is part of America’s cultural legacy - and buildings designed by Paul Rudolph are among some of the best examples of the our architectural achievements: Rudolph’s architecture simultaneously displays practical innovation, creative exuberance, spatial richness, and symbolic depth.

Built as Burroughs Wellcome’s US headquarters and research center (and a prominent landmark within North Carolina’s Research Triangle Park), the building was praised by the company leadership which commissioned it:

“This building is an exciting and ingenious combination of forms [in which] one discovers new and different qualities of forms and spaces . . . a splendid climate for scientific scholarship and for the exchange of ideas.” — Fred A. Coe Jr., President of Burroughs Wellcome

and was hailed by:

• architectural historians

• architectural critics

• heritage preservation organizations

• and—most meaningfully, by the people who worked there:

“. . . .all of us who recall the vibrancy of this building . . . .I count myself very fortunate to have worked there. It was an amazing structure. We were young, and life was full of hope and promise. We were all witnesses, if not direct contributors, to amazing scientific discoveries and their promotion, during an exciting time for medical research.”

“I spent 32 years with [Burroughs Wellcome]. . . At that time, if any space was conceived to bring out the creative, inspirational, thoughts—this was it, in my opinion. I loved working there. We invented and developed more pharmaceutical products in those years. . . .We were “family” but more to the point we were colleagues who were allowed to trust the expertise of each other.”

United Therapeutics - the current owner of the site - had asserted that a significant portion of the building would be restored and reused, but - despite Burroughs Wellcome’s important history and innovative design - they decided to demolish the structure without discussion. So little discussion, that local preservation groups we reached out to about the demolition permit thought it must be for an anticipated asbestos abatement. Wholesale demolition was not considered a possibility.

When supporters learned of its impending demolition, there was enough people trying to see it that security had to push an existing fence farther from it to hide the destruction from the public. People we spoke to who tried to photograph the building were threatened by security guards with trespassing and had photos deleted from their cameras.

PROTECTING THE FUTURE OF THE PAST

Burroughs Wellcome, a significant work of architecture, is now permanently, irretrievably lost. This puts a spotlight on the need to protect America’s cultural heritage—and that includes this country’s great buildings.

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation and other organizations are engaged in that fight to preserve our past.

The destruction of Burroughs Wellcome led the United States chapter of the international preservation organization Docomomo to create The Advocacy Fund:

As part of our #ModernLove campaign, and in response to the recent demolition of Burroughs Wellcome, Docomomo US is announcing the creation of a new initiative: The Advocacy Fund. Gifts to this new initiative will go directly to critical advocacy efforts and will support local and national work.

Modern Love means many things to us: it means celebrating iconic sites like the Ford Foundation Center for Social Justice that received a 2020 Modernism in America Award of Excellence; it means fighting for significant sites like the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden; and it means avoiding the loss of significant buildings like Burroughs Wellcome designed by Paul Rudolph that was demolished earlier this year because it lacked appropriate preservation protections.

With your support, Docomomo US can provide assistance to local advocates and campaigns, participate in local and national preservation review meetings including the Section 106 process, and continue to speak out on the issues that concern you the most.

If the loss of the Burroughs Wellcome building makes you angry, please consider donating to the Advocacy Fund. All gifts up to $10,000 will be matched by the Docomomo US Board of Directors!

Buildings by Rudolph—among the world’s most significant works of Modern architecture—are continually threatened with demolition or abuse. Vigilance and advocacy is needed.

We are committed to urging, advising, and campaigning for the preservation (and proper care) of PAUL RUDOLPH’s architectural legacy.

Please give to the Advocacy Fund to preserve the richness of Paul Rudolph’s contributions—and to show:

Demolition is never the answer.

FROM AN ICON OF AMERICAN DESIGN —

— TO DEMOLITION DEBRIS.

And if you see something going on at a Rudolph site—that a building may be threatened, or is not maintained, or is about to be marred by an insensitive ‘update’ - please let us know (we’re easy to contact.)

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IMAGE CREDITS:

Top photograph of the Burroughs Wellcome Building: image courtesy of the Joseph W. Molitor architectural photographs collection, located in Columbia University, Avery Architectural & Fine Arts Library, Department of Drawings & Archives; Photographs of the Burroughs Wellcome building, in the process of demolition: photography by news photojournalist Robert Willett, as they appeared in a January 12, 2021 on-line article in the Raleigh, NC based newspaper The News & Observer; Perspective-section drawing, by Paul Rudolph, through the main body of the Burroughs Wellcome building: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation

Japan's CAPSULE TOWER — Losing a National (and International) Treasure?

The Nakagin Capsule Tower in Tokyo, designed by Kisho Kurokawa, and completed in 1972—a building of national (and international) importance in the history of Modern architecture.

AN ARCHITECTURE OF OPTIMISM

Looking at it today, Tokyo’s NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER—with its streaky surfaces, hanging cables, and patina of aging—the building may seem like it emerged from a dystopian Japanese anime series, the kind which shows a future world of high-tech slums. Several times, its immanent destruction has been announced—and now it seems to be edging closer to that fate—though a final decision may not have yet been made. Indeed, it has real problems that only a well-funded restoration program could fully solve. But such a program (however costly) would be worth it:

Because this building, above all, is about OPTIMISM

Tokyo, at the end of World War II, showing the devastated city. On a plain of destruction, only a few of the more substantially-constructed buildings remained (and even those were terribly damaged.)

A CONTEXT OF DESTRUCTION, REBIRTH—AND QUESTIONING

At the end of World War II, Japan was devastated: It had lost its empire of colonies and territories; it had nearly 3,000,000 dead (military personnel and civilians), its cities and industrial infrastructure were in ruins, and it had to face a history of war-crimes, and adjust to a vastly new form of government. Perhaps most difficult of all was to submit to having a subservient position in the world.

A combination of post-war policies and actions—economic, political, and diplomatic—brought forth the “Japanese Economic Miracle,” and by the mid-1950’s the economy had exceeded pre-war levels, and with that came the beginnings of a consumer economy. But destroyed urban areas had yet to recover, and widespread quality-of-life improvement for all was a long way off.

Kenzo Tange’s metal-covered Shizuoka Press and Broadcasting Tower, of 1966, looked like its cantilevered wings could start rotating at any movement.

METABOLISM

Even with its economic renewal, no country—and especially a highly-integrated, intensely hierarchal, and sophisticated civilization as Japan had been—could go through such trauma and change without being profoundly affected—to the point where the deepest assumptions about life were ripe for questioning and reevaluation. That is the historical context in which a major Japanese architectural movement, METABOLISM, came to exist.

While its birth involved a large number of influences and architects, meetings, conversations, and changes in personnel, what resulted—by the time of the proclamation of its existence in 1960—was a movement of immense creative vitality. Since the Metabolist Manifesto spoke in forward-looking generalities, there were no rigid rules about what building or urban design had to look like.

From the METABOLIST MANIFESTO:

“Metabolism is the name of the group, in which each member proposes further designs of our coming world through his concrete designs and illustrations. We regard human society as a vital process - a continuous development from atom to nebula. The reason why we use such a biological word, metabolism, is that we believe design and technology should be a denotation of human society. We are not going to accept metabolism as a natural process, but try to encourage active metabolic development of our society through our proposals”

Like the the BAUHAUS, the architectural works of the Metabolist architects were diverse in form. But—equally like the BAUHAUS—there’s a shared family resemblance among their designs. Their buildings embraced a characteristic frequently found in future-oriented projects: a machine-like vocabulary—even sometimes looking like giant machines. Also, their buildings had a module or “systems” look—as though constructed from a kit-of-parts, with the implication that such a modular approach would allow for ongoing change and growth. Finally, perceiving the titanic challenges involved in rebuilding the country, rising population growth, and the issues of land use, urban design, infrastructure, and re-industrialization, they “thought big”—and so came up with designs of “mega-structural” scale.

Kyoto International Conference Center by Sachio Otani

Aquapolis City, for the Okinawa Ocean Expo, by Kiyonori Kikutake

The Yamanashi Broadcasting and Press Centre, by Kenzo Tange

Beyond these formal qualities, what one discerners in Metabolist designs are HOPE, a sense of NEW OPPORTUNITES, OPTIMISM, and looking to A BETTER FUTURE—often through architectural expressions of the possibilities of technology. These are not trivial or side-effects of their designs: looking at the multitude of sketches, writings, proposals, drawings, and models they produced—and they were prolific!—one senses the JOY of CREATION.

Arthur Drexler’s book, “Transformations in Modern Architecture” had a page that was devoted to the NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER. Shown when it was fresh and new—an a vision for the future of architecture.

NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER: INNOVATIVE IN CONCEPTION AND CONSTRUCTION

The NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER was designed by one of the leading Metabolist architects: Kisho Kurokawa (1934-2007). It was constructed between 1970 and 1972—and is considered one of the the prime examples of Metabolism (and one of the few of their many proposed designs to get built)

It is mixed-use, providing space for both residential and office use, and is composed of two concrete towers, to which are attached 140 self-contained prefabricated capsules. Each capsule is approximately 8 feet by 13 feet, with a circular window at one end, and each is connected to the main shafts only four high-strength steel bolts

As with such capsule-oriented designs, construction combined both on-site work (the reinforced concrete core towers and the main lines of the electrical and mechanical systems, as well as stairs and elevators) —and— off-site work (the prefabricated capsules, whose parts were fabricated and assembled in a factory.) The capsules are lightweight steel-truss boxes, clad in galvanized, rib-reinforced steel (which was coated with rust-preventative paint and finished with a sprayed-of glossy spray coat).

In our time, when factory-fabricated residential structures and hotels are an increasingly encountered fact, none of the above may seem exciting enough to gain our attention today—yet when NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER was created, the approach and technologies were new and hardly tried. Moreover, the form of the tower—which so directly expressed its modular construction—was fresh and powerful.

It was thought that the market for the apartment units would be Tokyo’s abundant population of white-collar bachelors, and each residential capsule included carefully designed, built-in kitchen appliances and cabinets (including a built-in bed, television set, and tape recorder, and a fold-out desk.) An ultra-compact bathroom unit, not much larger than the size of an airplane lavatory, uses part of the capsule space. A large, circular window—each of which originally had an inventive radial shade— is seen on-axis from the entry door.

The inside of the tower’s residential capsules were all fitted out with built-in cabinetry and equipment.

Inside a residential capsule, looking toward the circular window, showing built-in cabinetwork and bed.

An axonometric diagram, from a Japanese publication, showing the layout of a single capsule. The view is looking downward on the unit, and included in this drawing are: the single circular window (at the lower-right); the bed (the large, light rectangle under the window); the full bathroom (at upper-left): and the wall of built-in cabinets, including a fold-out desk, integral tape recorder and TV, and storage (all along the upper-right wall). Some indication of the unit’s connections to building services (power, telephone, plumbing) seems to be indicated by the pipes and conduits emerging at the top-center of the drawing. A marvel of compact, efficient (and delightful) planning, the Nakagin Capsule Tower is a monument of Modernism that is worth saving.

Included in the Museum of Modern Art’s comprehensive exhibit, Transformations in Modern Architecture and catalog, (shown above) were several other examples of the modular/capsule approach to building design.

PREDEDENTS, CONNECTIONS, AND CROSS-CURRENTS

METABOLISM—of which this building is a prime example—had connections to the thinking and works of architects (as well as movements and cultural trends) in other parts of the world. This could be seen in the major 1979 exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art, “TRANSFORMATIONS IN MODERN ARCHITECTURE” and its catalog-book (in both of which Paul Rudolph was also prominently included.) Not only did it prominently show the NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER, but it also included buildings—by other architects in France and Japan—with similar ideas and configurations.

Paul Rudolph, more than a decade before the NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER, had been thinking along these lines lines—as is shown in his 1959 project for a Trailer Apartment Tower. About this design, Rudolph said:

Rudolph’s 1959 design for a tower of prefabricated residential units, which would be mounted to a central shaft—not unlike the concept for NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER, which was built over a decade later in Japan.

“For a number of years now I have felt that one way around the housing impasse would be to utilize either mobile houses or truck vans placed in such a way that the roof of one unit provides the terrace for the one above. Of course the essence of this is to utilize existing three dimensional prefabricated units of light construction originally intended as moving units but adapted to fixed situations and transformed into architecturally acceptable living units. One approach would be to utilize vertical hollow tubes, probably rectangular in section, 40 or 50 stories in height to accommodate stairs, elevators and mechanical services and to form a support for cantilever trusses at the top. These cantilever trusses would give a ‘sky hook’ from which the three dimensional unit could be hoisted into place and plugged into its vertical mechanical core.”

In the following decades, Rudolph would continue to explore variations of this idea—part of his ongoing interest in modularity—at various scales and in a variety of projects (and you can read about those projects here. )

There are further verifiable connections and possible cross-influences: Rudolph had been aware of the basic tenets of the METABOLIST movement from its official founding. Along with fellow architects Alison and Peter Smithson and Louis Kahn (and other distinguished practitioners from around-the-world), he was present at the 1960 World Design Conference in Tokyo, where the ideas of the Metabolists were first announced. Rudolph even proposed to Arthur Drexler, then curator of the Museum of Modern Art’s Architecture and Design Department, that Kikutake’s Metabolist Marine City be included in the museum’s 1960 exhibition Visionary Architecture—the exhibition which introduced the ideas of the Metabolists to the United States.

Megastructures were a key part of METABOLIST thinking—and one could argue that the Nakagin tower is a “megastructure in miniature.” Like Paul Rudolph’s Graphic Arts Center (one of Rudolph’s megastructure designs), Kikutake’s Marine City is constructed of tower cores and plug-in residences set atop artificial landmasses—and the parallels shared by the works of the two architects are striking (and you can read more about these resonances here.)

LIFE Magazine’s December 15, 1972 Special Double Issue on the Joys of Christmas included an article showing Paul Rudolph exploring the potential of LEGO bricks to create architectural forms and configurations. Among the designs shown, for which he used the LEGO system, is a tower made of prefabricated residential units that would be mounted to vertical structural supports and service shafts—another clear manifestation of the idea that he first began to work with near the end of the 1950’s

Architectural historian Reyner Banham’s book, “Megastructure: Urban Futures Of The Recent Past” was his “first approximation” look at the history of this important international architectural movement—one to which METABOLISM contributed key thinking and iconic projects. The original edition was published in 1976, and is long out-of-print—but Monacelli Press has come out with a new edition (and, as before, Rudolph’s LOMEX project is featured on the cover.)

The streaked façade of the capsule tower.

DECADES OF USE AND SUCCESS—THEN DECLINE

Kelvin Dickinson has observed that “50 years is a dangerous age” for a building: it’s just about at that point in a building’s life when—

• mechanical and electrical systems have worn-out, and need replacement and/or updating

• significant repairs are probably needed to the building envelope

• changing demographics or business practices may have made the original use of the building seem old-fashioned and less attractive to tenants—and so the building may need to be adapted for re-use

• changing regulations can require upgrades or alterations (i.e.: for energy use; accessibility; containing toxic materials; fire safety; and earthquake or storm resistance)

And so a tough decision has to be made on whether to make the major investments needed to maintain and revivify a building -or- to demolish it and rebuild.

The NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER not only became world-famous as a work of architecture—but also had full occupancy (with a waiting-list). So it was a success, but—

But the building is approaching 50 years-of-age, and has accumulated numerous problems—ones that can’t be dismissed, and which will take large expenditures to fix. Also: it sits on land which can be more profitably utilized if a higher building is built on that site—and that always energizes the forces arguing for demolition.

Japan Forward’s recent article on the projected destiny of the NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER

CAN THE NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER BE SAVED?

The seemingly imminent destruction NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER is being protested by some residents, by the Japanese Institute of Architects, and by admirers world-wide—and there’s even a Facebook page for the SAVE NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER PROJECT

WANTED: VISION

It takes vision—being able to understand design greatness—to see the value of a work of architecture beyond immediate economic pressures.

The Facebook page for the SAVE NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER PROJECT

Of course, practical issues must be dealt with—but the motivation (to come up with creative solutions to those challenges) only emerges when there’s a clear sense that a building is worthy of the significant effort and investment needed to save it.

We’ve seen what happens when that energy does not come forth—because that’s recently happened with two of Paul Rudolph’s works: the Burroughs-Wellcome headquarters and research center in Durham North Carolina, and the Orange County Government Center in Goshen, NY: they were both demolished. These were two of the most significant buildings of Paul Rudolph’s career—high points showing how he could powerfully, beautifully, and practically integrate creative forms and space-making with corporate, scientific, and civil functions—and now they’re lost forever.

Great architecture is part of a country’s cultural heritage. The NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER is one of Japan’s national treasures (as were those Rudolph buildings for the US)—and they were as significant as each country’s most valued artworks, documents, and historic monuments.

Beyond their national significance, these are international treasures that transcend borders: they are part of the profound legacy given by great artists, architects, and thinkers and creators of all kinds.

We must not lose these gifts to us. Save the Nakagin Capsule Tower. Save Culture.

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UPDATE — END OF AN ICON OF MODERN DESIGN?

Searching for “Nakagin Capsule Tower” on Amazon yields several items which testify—as this screen-capture shows—to the esteem with in the building is held: several books, a video, and even a face-mask.

The NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER is incontrovertibly a Modern architecture landmark—one of international fame and importance. Its design has inspired several books, a video, clothing (including a face-mask)—and even atmospheric music: “Sleepless in Nakagin Capsule Tower” from the album "E S P E R”—you can hear an excerpt from the song here. [Yet another example of the fascinating relationship between architecture and music, which we explored in another article.]

The moves to remove the tower began a number of years ago. There was push-back from the tenants and from the Japanese architect’s professional association; various counter-proposals were put forth; funding to save the building was sought; the 2008 recession put a break on things—and, most recently, the Covid shut-down also created a delay in moving ahead to demolition. But all that, it seems, has not been enough to save the building. According to a July 16, 2021 article by India Block, on the Dezeen website:

. . . .owners and residents of Nakagin Capsule Tower have decided to sell their homes and divvy up the capsules after attempts to find a buyer prepared to fund the restoration failed.

A module is already on display at Japan's Museum of Modern Art Saitama and the Centre Pompidou in Paris is reportedly keen to acquire one for its collection.

The owners are now crowdfunding to renovate the remaining 139 capsules so that they can be donated to institutions, or be relocated elsewhere in Tokyo and rented out to people who want to experience staying in one.

In 2007 the collective of owners announced they would sell to a developer who planned to demolish the building and build a new apartment block in its place.

However, the developer went bust in the 2008 recession, leaving the future of the tower uncertain.

In 2018 the owners started renting out the capsules on a monthly basis to architecture enthusiasts while the search for a buyer continued, until the coronavirus pandemic shut down negotiations.

A few days later, a July 19, 2021 article by Ryan Waddoups on the SURFACE website, reports:

The tower’s fate now appears to be sealed. Despite attempts to find a buyer who would fund its restoration, building owners have decided to disassemble the tower to make way for new development. “Aging has been a major issue in recent years,” Tatsuyuki Maeda, who owns 15 capsules, told a local magazine. “I was looking for a developer who would leave the building standing while repairing it. We think that it’s difficult for the management association to take measures against aging.” 

The owners are currently crowdfunding to renovate the capsules so they can be donated to museums or relocated throughout Tokyo for short-term stays. One module is already on display at Japan’s Museum of Modern Art Saitama; the Centre Pompidou has also expressed interest in acquiring one for its permanent collection. Nicolai Ouroussoff, former architecture critic for the New York Times, wrote during one of the many demolition scares that the Nakagin Capsule Tower is “the crystallization of a far-reaching cultural ideal. Its existence also stands as a powerful reminder of paths not taken, of the possibility of worlds shaped by different sets of values.” And while losing one of the few examples of this rare architectural movement feels like an undoubtedly sad occurrence, it’s rare to see buildings physically preserved as art post-demolition. 

Although one hopes for a last-minute reprieve from a far-sighted and wealthy architecture-loving patron—such things have happened in the history of preservation—at the moment the future of the NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER looks bleak. We’ve lost numerous masterworks of Modern Architecture—the recent demolition of Paul Rudolph’s BURROUGHS WELLCOME headquarters and research center being a particularly great and painful loss. Such short-sighted destruction of our national and international cultural treasures must stop.

The Nakagin Capsule Tower in Tokyo—an icon of Modern Architecture

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation gratefully thanks all the individuals and organizations whose images are used in this non-profit scholarly and educational project.

The credits are shown when known to us, and are to the best of our knowledge, but the origin and connected rights of many images (especially vintage photos and other vintage materials) are often difficult determine. In all cases the materials are used in-good faith, and in fair use, in our non-profit, scholarly, and educational efforts. If any use, credits, or rights need to be amended or changed, please let us know.

When/If Wikimedia Commons links are provided, they are linked to the information page for that particular image. Information about the rights for the use of each of those images, as well as technical information on the images, can be found on those individual pages.

CREDITS, FROM TOP-TO-BOTTOM and LEFT-TO-RIGHT:

Capsule Tower, general view: photo by Kakidai, via Wikimedia Commons;  Capsule Tower, looking up to capsules; photo by scarletgreen, via Wikimedia Commons;  Tokyo, at the end of World War II: photo by 米軍撮影  , via Wikimedia Commons;  Shizuoka Press and Broadcasting Center in Tokyo: photo by Jonathan Savoie, via Wikimedia Commons;  Kyoto International Conference Center: photo by Daderot, via Wikimedia Commons;  Model of Aquapolis; photo via Wikimedia Commons;  Page devoted to the Nakagin Capsule Tower, from the “Transformations In Modern Architecture” book, via the Museum of Modern Art on-line archive website;  View of the Nakagin Capsule Tower: photo by marcinek, via Wikimedia Commons;  View of the Nakagin Capsule Tower: photo by yusunkwon, via Wikimedia Commons;  View of interior of a residential capsule, showing built-in cabinetwork and equipment: photo by Dick Johnson, via Wikimedia Commons;  View of interior of a residential capsule, looking toward window and bed: photo by  Chris 73, via Wikimedia Commons;  Page devoted to projects similar to the idea of the Nakagin Capsule Tower, from the “Transformations In Modern Architecture” book, via the Museum of Modern Art on-line archive website;  Paul Rudolph’s drawing of his 1959 design for a Trailer Apartment Tower, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Cover of “Megastructure” book: screen capture from the Amazon web page for the book;  View of the exterior of many capsules: photo by Michael, via Wikimedia Commons;  Japan Forward’s article about the Nakagin Capsule Tower: screen capture of their page with the article;  Save Nakagin Capsule Tower Project’s Facebook page: screen capture from Facebook; Nakakin Capsule Tower merchandise available from Amazon (books, video, facemask): screen-capture from Amazon web search; General exterior view of Nakagin Capsule Tower: photo by Jordy Meow, via Wikimedia Commons

ELIMINATING AN ICON

The Destruction of one of Rudolph's greatest Buildings: Burroughs Wellcome

FROM AN ICON OF DESIGN —

— TO DEMOLITION DEBRIS.

Paul Rudolph, over his half-century career in which he designed more than 320 projects, created buildings and interiors of landmark distinction—and none were more forward looking, more focused on the unity of form and function, and more architectonically/spatially exciting than his BURROUGHS WELLCOME headquarters and research center.

After a long fight to preserve one of his most well-known and well-loved designs, we now see that the owners have chosen destruction. An article in the North Carolina-based The News & Observer reports:

“[Dismantling]. . . has been underway internally for several months. But now the demolition has reached the point where workers are pulling the building apart and hauling away pieces by the truckload.”

Burroughs Wellcome’s main—and upliftingly inspiring—entry lobby—a powerful spatial experience that is now lost.

In previous posts we’ve reported on several facets of the Burroughs Wellcome building complex—showing its significance in multiple examples, including:

• the Nobel Prize-winning research which was done there

• it being the site of historic activist protest, which had the positive effect of leading to greater availability of life-saving treatment

• it being acknowledged, by historians and by critics and the people who worked there, as an architectural work of the greatest significance (and a wonderful environment in which to work)

• as a building where the most careful attention was applied to its design and details

• as a key early success—and the most architecturally prominent work—in the Research Triangle Park development

• as an example of the practical power of building flexibility-expandability into the building’s design and geometry

• and we’ve shown the building’s “star quality”—via the film and television productions which used the building as a site for inspiration—an indicator of its iconic design

“This building is an exciting and ingenious combination of forms [in which] one discovers new and different qualities of forms and spaces . . . a splendid climate for scientific scholarship and for the exchange of ideas.” — Fred A. Coe Jr., President of Burroughs Wellcome

“Don't mourn, organize!”

That’s an old saying among activists—encouraging them, even in defeat, to keep on fighting. The destruction of Burroughs Wellcome is a deep wound to this country’s cultural heritage—and that makes us even more committed to keep urging/advising/campaigning for the preservation (and proper care) of PAUL RUDOLPH’s architectural legacy.

Our commitment to preserving Rudolph’s work started early—

When Paul Rudolph's Micheels Residence was threatened, the challenge to its demolition went all the way to court. The owner, pushed by the promise of a quick sale to a new owner who wished to tear it down, claimed that Rudolph didn't really do the design, but was just drawing “what I told him to.” The judge—not knowing who Rudolph was—accepted the claim, and declared that if anyone wanted to save the building, they should simply “buy it.”

Stung by the lack of support and recognition of Rudolph’s legacy, Kelvin Dickinson (later President of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation) took all of the images he was in the process of digitizing from Rudolph’s personal archives and put them up on Flickr. He then created the public group: “The Art & Architecture of Paul Rudolph” as way to crowdsource images of other Rudolph projects—ones that might come down before he could visit them, or before they were seen and appreciated enough by the public in time to save them.

The Boston Government Service Center—a Paul Rudolph project of architectural and urbanistic significance—which we are currently campaigning to preserve.

The idea, begun in 2007, was powerful: his 3,000 images got 3.2 million views—and the group’s collection doubled to over 6,000 images. [These were later moved to the PRHF archives on our website, where they are paired with additional and current information: www.paulrudolphheritagefoundation.org/timeline]

And today we are still at it, adding updates and more information every day.

Sadly, the Burroughs Wellcome demolition is an update we wish we didn't have to make to our records. After so much writing and pouring over drawings of the building, it feels like losing a family member. But there are other Rudolph designs—right now—that are threatened, like the Boston Government Service Center (where, like the Micheels Residence, people are diminishing Rudolph’s role in its creation to excuse proposed demolition and/or redevelopment).

The lesson of every fight is this: If a building (especially one of Rudolph’s!) speaks to you or has meaning for you, then:

• take a photo of it

• talk about it

• write about it

• draw a sketch of it

• take your friends, students or family to see, walk around, and thru it

• and join with others—like the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation—to make sure that the building is well-cared for and saved as part of our larger cultural heritage

And if you see something going on at a Rudolph site—some sign that the building is threatened or not maintained—please let us know (we’re easy to contact). We learned about the threat to Burroughs Wellcome from a fan who lives near it and sent us photos out of concern. 

Your voice and vigilance matters

Maybe not enough today, but tomorrow it could save the next, beloved work of great architecture.

Paul Rudolph’s

IMAGE CREDITS

Perspective-section drawing, by Paul Rudolph, through the main body of the Burroughs Wellcome building: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Photographs of the Burroughs Wellcome building, in the process of demolition: photography by news photojournalist Robert Willett, as they appeared in a January 12, 2021 on-line article in the Raleigh, NC based newspaper The News & Observer; Lobby of Burroughs Wellcome building: Image courtesy of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, photograph by G. E. Kidder Smith; Boston Government Service Center: photo by Gunnar Klack, via Wikimedia Commons; Burroughs Wellcome building with flag: courtesy of the Wellcome Collection

Megastructure — The Reissue of a Modern Classic (and Rudolph's on the cover!)

The cover of the new edition of “Megastructure: Urban Futures Of The Recent Past” which has been reissued by Monacelli Press. Paul Rudolph’s LOMEX project is featured on the cover.

A CLASSIC aBOUT THE FUTURE

The original, 1976 edition of Megastructure also featured Rudolph’s perspective-section of LOMEX on the cover (but in black and white). Over the years, copies of this edition have become rare and expensive.

“Megastructure” was architectural historian Reyner Banham’s book on one of the most exciting architectural developments the post-World War II era: MEGASTRUCTURES. It was originally published in 1976, and that edition became a rare book (if you could find a copy at all, it could cost hundreds of dollars.)

The good news is that Monacelli Press has brought out a reprint of this fascinating book. Monacelli is known for publishing books on design and the arts, and doing so with superb production values—and they live up to their fine reputation with this new edition.

The original had featured Paul Rudolph’s perspective-section drawing of his LOMEX project on the cover—and the new edition retains that image, but now shows it in color. It also includes a new foreword by Todd Gannon, the head of the Architecture Section at Ohio State University’s Knowlton School, and a scholar of Reyner Banham’s work. Banham’s book was published nearly 45 years ago, and Professor Gannon’s essay provides important context.

MEGASTRUCTURES

Above: Habitat, a housing complex built for the Expo 67 World’s Fair in Montreal. Designed by Moshe Safdie, it is sometimes cited as and example of the small percentage of megastructure proposals which actually got built. Middle: A street-level corner view of the Pompidou Center, the museum-arts-exhibition center which opened in Paris in 1977. As is evident here, it embraces some of the formal language often associated with megastructures: a celebration of articulated structure, and the explicit display of the building’s mechanical systems. Bottom: The Nakagin Capsule Tower, built in Tokyo in 1972. The possibility of growth and change—one of the characteristics associated with megastructures—is implied by the building’s cellular design.

Megastructures can be capsulized as vastly scaled and ambitiously conceived architectural designs—the size of a chunk of a city (or a whole metropolis.) But megastructures are not just defined by size. History already provides us an abundance of examples of built structures which awe by their scale—from the Pyramids -to- NASA’s huge Vertical Assembly Building—but which are not megastructures.

True megastructures usually embrace multiple functions, aspiring to be (or emulate) complete cities within a single armature. They often accommodate transportation (sometimes several types), and places for living, commerce, work, education, and entertainment—all within an infrastructure of structural and mechanical systems which are elaborately developed and expressed. [And if the design incorporated flexibility, to allow it to change or grow (or both), all-the-better—for that gave it an attractive dynamic quality.]

Megastructures were a “thing”—an exciting trend—in architecture, especially in the period when Banham was most well-known: the 1960’s. Architecture and popular magazines published stories about megastructures—either imaginary designs proposed by architects to deal with real (or equally imagined) urban problems -or- less frequently there was coverage of megastructure projects that had actual clients. Models of megastructures were magnets for attention at any design exhibition, and they filled the portfolios of that era’s architecture students (who are ever fascinated with the futuristic.) As one can imagine, relatively few megastructures (even those which were actually commissioned by a real client) were built—but these daring, forward-looking designs continue to excite because of their intriguing forms and the grandeur of their visions.

REYNER BANHAM

Banham (1922-1988) was hard to miss. The architectural historian had a relatively short life, but for a couple of decades—from the 60’s to the 80’s—he seemed to be everywhere. An un-ignorable presence—tall, broad-shouldered, with a full bushy beard, and with the bright-spirited presence of a boisterous English Santa Claus—he was inserted into the architectural community’s consciousness through his continuous lecturing, teaching, traveling, and via captivating books and journal articles. Those appearances—whether in person or print—were always accompanied by a sense of wonder: one resonated to Banham’s own combination of surprise and delight at what he had discovered and the enthusiasm with which he shared it. He always produced an intellectual an aesthetic thrill for those who followed him into exploring new areas of thought, or by looking into chapters of design history that had been left untended for too long.

THE “FIRST APROXIMATION” HISTORIAN

The Ponte Vecchio in Florence—Banham quotes Paul Rudolph as citing it as an example of a megastructure.

Le Corbusier’s perspective drawing of his urban design for Algiers, a project from the early 1930’s. The architect-designed overall structure provides space and flexibility for a variety of uses and designs (and even styles) which could be built within. This project is cited by Reyner Banham as an early example of a megastructure within the Modern movement.

While the prime era of megastructure design is the 1960’s, Banham’s book points out proto-megastructures—designs from throughout architectural history that share the characteristics of megastructures. He cites design complexes like Rockefeller Center -or- Medieval/Renaissance city bridges (upon which were accommodated a multiplicity of buildings and functions) -or- Le Corbusier’s urban design project for Algiers—and one of the pleasures of Banham’s work (both in this book and his other writings) was his ability to vividly connect seemingly new ideas with older architectural works which exemplified those theories.

With his work on megastructures—research he initiated in the mid-1970’s—Banham was engaged in what he called “first approximation history.” That’s his term for when an historian first attempts to grasp the outlines (and write the history) of a very recent movement or phenomenon. There’s always danger in doing that close to the era being studied: for without the perspective and wisdom that comes from viewing things at a distance of years (or decades), no historian can, with a high level of confidence, discern what was truly significant about an event or period. Yet, Banham asserted, somebody has got to be the first take on making an estimate and assessment of what happened—and that is what he termed the “first approximation.” He specifically cited the megastructure movement (which, when he started doing the research for the 1976 book, was passing out of its high-energy phase) as a subject for which he was acting as the first approximation historian.

PAUL RUDOLPH: MASTER OF MEGASTRUCTUES

A page spread, from within the Megastructures book, in which Rudolph and his LOMEX project are discussed.

Most megastructures are visionary, and such visions—dreams of an ideal life though residing within a singular and coherent vision of a highly advanced architectural structure—will inevitably remain in the land of the imagination.

But some megastructures did get built—and Paul Rudolph is notable as an architect for the ones that he designed—several of which were constructed.

Paul Rudolph was very conscious of the possibilities that megastructures offered—as shown in this portion of an interview of Rudolph conducted by Jeffrey Cook and Heinrich Klotz (to be found in their 1973 book Conversations With Architects—which is also quoted in Banham’s book):

Cook: What is the dominant tendency in architecture since Mies?

Rudolph: After Mies, the megastructure.

Cook: Are there any models for understanding the megastructure visually? Or does it remain in the realm of ideas. . . . Did you have any examples to work from for this idea?

Rudolph: Oh gosh, a lot of people have worked on megastructure. The best model I have found is the bridge in Florence.

Cook: Ponte Vecchio.

Rudolph: The Ponte Vecchio— the shops along the pedestrian way and over it marvelous housing. The scale of supports is in keeping with the vehicular way, and then there is a working down of scale. There is nothing new. That is a megastructure, and probably the purest example in traditional architecture.

It’s also worth noting that Rudolph was in Japan in 1960, at an international conference of architects where Metabolism—that Japanese architectural movement which most fervently embraced megastructures—was born. [We wrote about this in an earlier article, here.]

Rudolph having, digested (and maybe contributed to) the megastructure concept, designing using it—and this can clearly be seen in several significant projects. This approach was most manifest in his work in the 1960’s—the richest era, worldwide, for the design of megastructures.

Some of these designs from Rudolph’s oeuvre are among his most significant built works: the UMass Dartmouth campus, the Boston Government Service Center, and the Burroughs Wellcome headquarters and research center in North Carolina. The latter, Burroughs Wellcome, was specifically designed with flexibility for expansion—and, over the course of a decade, Rudolph did create several additions to it.

Even the unbuilt projects, like LOMEX, remain icons of design—and strong evidence of that project’s power is that Banham chose LOMEX for the cover of his book.

Rudolph returned to the megastructure approach in several large designs later in his career, and none more clearly than in his 1990 Gatot Subroto project for Jakarta.

1962: Rudolph’s Boston Govt. Service Center

1963: Rudolph’s UMass Dartmouth campus

1967: Rudolph’s Graphic Arts Center for NYC

1967: Rudolph’s LOMEX project for Manhattan

1969: Rudolph’s Burroughs Wellcome in North Carolina

1990: Rudolph’s Gatot Subroto for Jakarta

We congratulate and thank Monacelli Press for bringing out this excellent, new—and much needed—edition of Reyner Banham’s Megastructures.

BOOK INFORMATION AND AVAILABILITY:

• TITLE: Megastructure: Urban Futures Of The Recent Past

• AUTHOR: Reyner Banham; with a new foreword by Todd Gannon

• PUBLISHER: Monacelli Press

• FORMAT: Hardcover; 8-1/2 x 11 inches; 232 pages; 222 illustrations

• ISBN: 9781580935401

• PUBISHER’S WEB PAGE FOR THE BOOK: here

• AMAZON PAGE: here

• BARNES & NOBLE PAGE: here

IMAGE CREDITS:

Habitat at Expo 67: Photo by ProtoplasmaKid, via Wikimedia Commons; Pompidou Center: Photo by Gabriel Fernandes, via Wikimedia Commons; Nakagin Capsule Tower: Photo by Kakidai, via Wikimedia Commons; Ponte Vecchio: Photo by Amada44, via Wikimedia Commons; Boston Government Service Center: Photo by G. E. Kidder Smith, courtesy of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology; UMass Dartmouth: Photograph by Kelvin Dickinson, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Graphic Arts Center: Photographer unknown; LOMEX: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation'; Burroughs Wellcome: Image courtesy of the Wellcome Collection; Gatot Subroto: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation