Earliest Known Paul Rudolph Drawing?

It can probably never be precisely known what were Paul Rudolph’s earliest and final drawings. but this pair can be viewed as “representative bookends” of a career with an intense focus on drawing. LEFT: a pencil still-life, possibly done at the beginning of his architectural education. ABOVE: a perspective of the Wireless Road project for Thailand, made during Rudolph’s final decade of work.

THE FASCINATION OF BEGINNINGS

Narrative—our attraction to stories (both telling and hearing them)—seems to be hardwired into our neural pathways, and there fewer more powerful openings in our language than “Let me tell you a story…” -or- “Once upon a time…” -and of course-- “In the beginning…”. We’re entranced by beginnings, starting points, creation myths, and every major figure in our lives and culture—grandparents, presidents, Olympic stars—comes with an origin story. Superhero origin stories—whether it be Superman’s escapeg from an exploding planet or Spiderman’s fateful bug bite—have been told and retold (and re-re-retold), and yet we still enjoy seeing new versions of them.

A key part of origin stories are tales of the heroic figure’s earliest acts—the first times they show evidence of the skills, strength, talents, and integrity which will flourish through their later careers. Whether it be the young Washington and the cherry tree, or the apprentice Leonardo da Vinci’s painting so beautifully that he intimidated his master, these stories and early works are like the opening notes of the symphony of their lives.

A hero’s origin story which is known world-wide: a small capsule, taking the Kryptonian child that would become Superman, approaches Earth [as shown in the first episode of the 1952 Superman TV series.]

Le Corbusier’s only formal training in design was during his school courses in applied arts in association with watchmaking. This watchcase is perhaps his earliest known design work.

A work by Andrea del Verrocchio, in which his young apprentice, Leonardo, painted the angel at the far-left—done with such intimidating mastery that Verrocchio allegedly never again painted in color.

Architects also have their origin stories, and tales of their early actions receive the focus of historians and writers [Peter Blake’s “The Masterbuilders” includes covering those early years of Wright, Mies, and Le Corbusier.] While the first works of Mies and Wright may be lost (or look unpromising), we do have a fascinating early design by Le Corbusier—for an engraved watch case—and it hints at his lifelong focus on nature and geometry.

What about Paul Rudolph—his beginnings and first works? We’ll look at that here.

A VIRTUOSO OF ARCHITECTURAL DRAWING

Paul Rudolph is known for his drawings—ones that combine precision of vision with dramatic effect.—especially his perspective sections. Two of his most famous drawings are the section through the Yale Art & Architecture Building, and his view of the proposed Lower Manhattan Expressway (“LOMEX”) project.

Paul Rudolph’s section-perspective drawing through the Yale Art & Architecture Building (which has been red-dedicated as Rudolph Hall). The drawing gives a dramatic sense of the interpenetrating levels and the functions of the building’s complex of spaces. [It is worth going to the project page devoted to this building, where you can see an enlarged version of this drawing.]

Rudolph’s section-perspective through the LOMEX project. This drawing not only conveys the architectural drama of the architecture Rudolph proposed, and the multiple-functions of the Manhattan-crossing mega-structure, but it also situates the project within the cityscape. [It is worth going to the project page devoted to this building, where you can see an enlarged version of this drawing.]

Rudolph’s drawings have been celebrated in exhibitions, articles, and websites—and every book about him has highlighted both his virtuoso graphic skill as well as the way drawing was integral to his design process.

Two volumes which focus on Paul Rudolph’s drawings:
ABOVE: “Paul Rudolph: Architectural Drawings” is a large-format volume published during his lifetime and with his direct involvement. It includes an essay, by Rudolph, in which he speaks about his drawing process.
RIGHT: Published by Moleskine in association with Princeton Architectural Press, “Paul Rudolph: Inspiration and Process in Architecture” includes examples of Rudolph’s presentation drawings—but also highlights his sketches, displaying the architect in the process of exploration-creation, on-the-way to his finished designs.

AN EARLY INTEREST IN THE ARTS

Young Rudolph, working with another student on a design-oriented project.

Two of our recent articles focused on Paul Rudolph’s involvement in the fine arts: one on music, and the other on visual arts (especially painting). We quoted a letter from his mother, Erie Stone Rudolph, attesting to his early interest in both:

“He always liked to paint pictures too, as well as he liked to play the piano. Had always loved Music, and would be drawing a model house or painting a picture, then suddenly get up from that work to and go to the piano and practice. . . .Music was play to him as well as his painting and drawing pictures. . . . .Music, Art and Architecture were his three delights.”

Auburn Polytechnic Institute [now Auburn University] was where Paul Rudolph received his first formal architectural education (this was prior to Rudolph’s later time at Harvard, studying with Gropius). In an earlier article, we profiled what we believe may be his earliest architectural project—not just a school assignment, but one which was intended for actual construction: a gateway for the Auburn campus, which was to be a gift from members of the senior class. Rudolph’s drawing of the proposed design was published in a February, 1938 issue of the school’s newspaper, The Plainsman.

What may be Paul Rudolph’s earliest architectural project intended for construction: a gateway for the Auburn campus. Rudolph’s rendering was published in a 1938 issue of school’s newspaper, The Plainsman. The gate piers (and associated walling) appear to be composed of of brick with stone trim—choices which would correspond the the materials used in other buildings on the Auburn campus. Unfortunately, due to funding issues, the gates were never built.

RUDOLPH’S EDUCATION AT aUBURN: LIFE CLASS DRAWING

The archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation has one of Rudolph’s “report cards” from his time studying architecture at Auburn (which the school sent to Paul Rudolph’s father). It is for the first semester of the 1939-40 academic year, and gives an insight into what Rudolph was taking-in during this phase of his education. One of the classes listed on the report is “Life Class” (for which Rudolph received a good grade: a 90).

In arts education, “life class” is the term often used for class sessions devoted to “drawing from life”. In the era of architectural education when Paul Rudolph was a student, such “life classes”, to teach drawing, were a frequent part of other architecture school programs—so it is a reasonable conclusion that the “life class” which Rudolph attended was focused on freehand drawing, with the subjects being either live models or inanimate objects.

PAUL RUDOLPH’S EARLIEST DRAWING?

One of the most interesting objects in the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation’s collection is a drawing, signed by Rudolph—but it is not of any architectural subject. It depicts a small statue on an ornate base—and it might well be from one of the “life class” sessions which was part of Rudolph’s education at Auburn.

A signed, framed drawing in the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation—possibly the earliest extant original work by Rudolph.

The drawing by Rudolph. To the right is a 12” architect’s scale ruler, which gives a sense of the artwork’s size.

The drawing, including its wood frame, is 15-7/8” high x 11-1/2” wide, and the medium appears to be pencil on a lightly textured paper. The paper itself is cream colored, but it is not known whether if it was originally that color, or if the cream coloration is due to oxidation over the years. If it was done at Auburn, that would place the drawing’s creation at approx. 80 years ago—an abundant amount of time for paper to “turn”. There is a water stain across the top of the drawing—but, fortunately, it is largely clear of the drawn image.

The frame seems to be of the same vintage as the drawing. The face of the frame is 1/2” wide, and the frame itself is painted wood. Wood frames, like this, were inexpensively available at “five-and-dime” variety stores (such as Woolworth’s and Kress)—-and the Rudolph family’s modest means would suggest such a source—but it is also a non-standard size, so it is possible that the frame was custom made at a local framing shop.

Rudolph’s education at Auburn was based on classical / Beaux-Arts ideals and methods—and the subjects that would have been chosen for life class (other than live models, if any) would have been corresponding classical sculpture (like figural statues), and architectural elements (like scroll ornaments and column capitals). If this drawing was done for school, its classical character—probably depicting a Greco-Roman water nymph (an “undine”) would fit well with the other subjects he’d be called-upon to render. But, as Rudolph loved to make art (as his mother tells us), this could have been a self-chosen subject—and table-top sculptures like this (stylized classical visions in the Deco mode) were widely available, and could have graced Rudolph’s own home.

A closer view of the prime image of the drawing: a still-life of a sculpture, probably of a an idealized or mythical figure. The intimacy of the drawing suggests that the object, from which Rudolph was drawing, was of table-top size.

A closer view of the upper part of the drawing, focusing on the figure. Its stylized classical form, as well as simplified shape of the scarf (or water wave) behind the figure, may be due to the era-of-manufacture of the object that Rudolph was drawing. Decorative objects, of this subject, scale, character, were a widespread product of the Art Deco era—and were made at a variety of price points, such that they were affordable even for a middle-class home (or a school with limited budget).

A detail of the bottom of the drawing, showing the base of the statuette. It was possibly sculpted to evoke classical acanthus leaves—or, if this the statue was of a water sprite (like the mythical undine), to depict waves.

Paul Rudolph’s signature, in pencil, is at the lower-right corner of the drawing. While his signature changed somewhat over the decades, its basic character was consistent.

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:

Paul Rudolph drawings: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Clippings from Auburn University’s The Plainsman, and Rudolph’s grade report: from the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Covers of two books on Paul Rudolph’s drawings, from the Amazon for those books; Le Corbusier watch case: vintage image; Krypton capsule approaching Earth: still from the first episode of 1950’s TV series, “The Adventures of Superman”; Andrea del Verrocchio’s painting (circa 1472-1475), “The Baptism of Christ”: from the Yorck Project - DIRECTMEDIA, via Wikimedia Commons.

Rudolph's "Vocabulary” of Form—at BURROUGHS WELLCOME and Beyond

The Burroughs Welcome building, using a vocabulary of forms which combine a mountain-like profile (reflecting the context of the North Carolina terrain where it is located); along with growing cells (possibly communicating the nature of the biological research conducted within). Image courtesy of the Joseph W. Molitor architectural photographs collection, located in Columbia University, Avery Architectural & Fine Arts Library, Department of Drawings & Archives

AN ARCHITECT’S “VOCABULARY” OF FORM

Architectural historians and critics sometimes speak of an architect’s “vocabulary”—by which the don’t mean the words a designer chooses when talking or writing about their work. Rather: they primarily mean the set of forms—-volumes, shapes, geometries—with which the architect usually works, and to which they most often turn when dealing with architectural challenges. Like an individual’s most frequently used vocabulary of words, these forms are the terms which an individual architect characteristically utilizes for design solutions.

Biomorphic forms are part of the design “vocabulary” of the architect of this design: the Saldarini House by Vittorio Giorgini. Photo by MPThompsonCO1, via Wikimedia Commons.

For example, if one reviews an architect’s work, and curvaceously shaped and organically linked spaces seem to be the designer’s most often used set of shapes, then one can say their design “vocabulary” is composed primarily of organic (or biomorphic) forms of great plasticity. The work of architect Vittorio Giorgini, like the house he designed in Italy shown at right, would be an instance. Giorgini, though he could design in a variety of modes, most often seems to have used a vocabulary of organic forms.

A similar claim about “vocabulary” could be made if an architect’s work had a preponderance of rectilinear/grid-like forms, like Mies -or- alternatively, if the architect used lines that seemed to continually fracture and angle with the surprise and grace of the later work of Rudolph Steiner.

N.B.: It’s important to note that an architect’s formal “vocabulary” is a little different from an architect’s “style” (though they do overlap.) Architectural theorist Michael Brill defined style as the observable problem-solving “tendencies” of an architect. When a particular architect is confronted with a design problem, and they almost always react a particular way (that they show a tendency to approach design challenges with a frequently used solution or technique)—that would be a significant aspect of their style. Thus, if an architect always used symmetry for solving design problems, (or conversely, like Paul Rudolph, almost never used it!) that’s a facet of their style. Of if an architect, when dealing with a planning problem, often disperses the spaces over the site (or, conversely, compacts them densely,) such a tendency would be part of that architect’s “style.”

WHEN AND ARCHITECT’S VOCABULARY IS HARD TO DEFINE

We have to acknowledge that—with some architects more than others—it’s hard to define their architectural “vocabulary.” Indeed, it would be dishonest (and dishonoring) to rigidly circumscribe those designers who are amazing creative spirits, whose vocabulary has ranged over the whole universe of form—and that would certainly be true for Rudolph.

Paul Rudolph’s perspective rendering and plan for a Manager’s Office for the Parking Authority. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation

In a recent post—BURROUGHS WELLCOME: GEOMETRY AND RUDOLPH’S DESIGN—we focused upon geometry (and especially crystalline forms) as a possible design source or inspiration in Paul Rudolph’s work.

But that hardly defines Paul Rudolph, whose extensive work (produced over a half-century career) engaged with the greatest range of forms. A small (but telling) counter-example, to the use of crystal forms, would be this regrettably unbuilt design from 1961: a Manager’s Office for the Parking Authority for New Haven. Certainly, if one knows Rudolph’s work, one can sense that it fits well into his oeuvre. Yet it has almost nothing to do with any kind of crystalline geometry—indeed, it seems to be on the opposite end of the range of forms.

BUT AN ARCHTIECT’S VOCABULARY IS A LEGITIMATE AREA OF INQUIRY—EVEN FOR THE MOST CREATIVE DESIGNERS

Even with the caveat above—reminding of us to avoid pigeonholing architects by a too-limited view of their architectural “vocabulary”—it still can be illuminating to look for patterns that repeat in their work, as well as similar forms in the works of their contemporaries (so that the possibility of creative '“cross-pollination” can be discerned.)

There are forms which come up, repeatedly in Rudolph’s work, which have a “family resemblance"—and the form we’ll focus upon here is the most powerful to be found in nature: the Mountain.

“BUILDINGS LIKE MOUNTAINS”

Hugh Ferris (1889-1962) was the the architectural profession’s favorite renderer from the 1920’s to mid-century. He was the “go to” visualizer, whose charcoal perspective drawings were utilized by numerous (and famous) architects of the era—especially during the building boom of the teens and 1920’s, a time when hundreds of skyscrapers and ambitious projects were being proposed (and many erected) across the US.

In the early 192o’s he was called upon to create a set of renderings that would show the volumes which could arise under the proposed NYC regulations for building zoning/height/volume/floor area. The images he produced make clear that even a by-the-book adherence to the rules was no barrier to creating architectural work of profoundest power.

Although these drawings were done by Ferriss for practical, illustrative purposes, what interests us here is the mountain-like quality radiated by these images.

In another inspired drawing, captioned by Ferriss “Buildings Like Mountains,” he conveyed a sense of solidity and elemental, dramatic power—a spirit which architects could bring to their designs. His vision is of a building which seems in the process of birth, emerging from the rock of a towering mountain range.

Hugh Ferriss’ drawing, “Buildings Like Mountains.” Courtesy of Columbia University, Avery Architectural & Fine Arts Library, Department of Drawings & Archives

This is design power—and most architects embrace the dramatic possibilities of such architectonic power.

MOUNTAINS THAT ARE BULDINGS

Our earlier post, on crystalline/hexagonal form, included looking at Frank Lloyd Wright—one of the architects Rudolph supremely admired (perhaps the most of all), and Wright’s use of those geometries.

One example serves to show Frank Lloyd Wright’s work in this vein (and also that his mastery—both geometric and architectural—extended to the end of his seven active decades as a designer.) The below-left photo is of the Beth Sholom Synagogue in Elkins Park, PA, a Wright project from the 1950’s. Below-right is a model of the building, lit from within like a glowing crystal. [That’s not an illusory effect, as most of the roof of the building is made of a translucent material—so not only did this allow abundant light in during the day, but at night it sends out a glow.]

But look at the scale of the thing (which one can estimate from the size of the doors)! The building comes across as a human-constructed mountain, rising and receding with serene majesty and power, almost aloof from pedestrian concerns—or as Jane Austen put it:

“What Are Men To Rocks And Mountains?”

RUDOLPH AT BURROUGHS WELLCOME

For the Burroughs Wellcome Building, Paul Rudolph explicitly referenced the North Carolina context, and how it led him to a mountain-like (or hill-like) form. He wrote:

“This complex climbs up and down a beautiful ridge in the green hills of North Carolina and is architecturally an extension of its site.”

And one can see that shape in his drawings:

Paul Rudolph’s section drawing through the central body of the Burroughs Wellcome headquarters and research center, in North Carolina’s Research Triangle Park. This image—a “presentation drawing” meant to dramatically and convincingly convey the architect’s idea—cuts through the famous entry lobby. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation

Rudolph’s construction-section drawing through the central body of the Burroughs Wellcome building, cut at almost the same spot as the drawing to the left (and it also includes part of the building’s entry lobby.) It is reproduced here at nearly the same scale as the left’s presentation drawing, so they can be easily compared. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation

THE MOUNTAIN (AND HILLS) IN RUDOLPH’S dESIGN VOCABULARY

Paul Rudolph explored and used and abundance of forms—his design “vocabulary” was expansive and embracing of all possibilities (including some he invented).

But there are patterns. We don’t know if we’re the first to look at his extensive oeuvre for mountain-like (or hill-like) forms, but if one looks, they’re there—and in abundance. For example, his proposal for St. Boniface in Florida has the various church structures emerging from the ground, as through pushed-up by geological forces. Below is a selection of projects with such forms, from across Rudolph’s entire career.

St. Boniface Episcopal Church

Beth-El Synagogue

Rudolph’s sketch for the LOMEX project—creating a mountain range?

Apartment Hotel in Jerusalem

Morgan Annex

Knott Residence

East Northport Synagogue Addition

Central Suffolk Office Park

Maris Stella University Chapel

Niagara Falls Central Library

Television Station, Amarillo, Texas The form here is particularly mountain-like, and we have written a whole article about this fascinating building, here.

YOU CAN HELP SAVE BURROUGHS WELLCOME !

The Burroughs Wellcome building is threated with imminent demolition.

It’s loss would be a disaster—a titanic waste of our nation’s cultural heritage. Remember:

When a great building is destroyed, there are no second chances.

NOW— THERE ARE TWO THINGS YOU CAN DO:

• Sign the petition to save Burroughs Wellcome— Please sign it here.

• We can keep you up-to-date with bulletins about the latest developments. To get them, please join our foundation’s mailing list: you’ll get all the updates, (as well as other Rudolphian news.)—you can sign-up at the bottom of this page

Even the currently empty lobby of Burroughs Wellcome still has the awe-inducing grandeur of a geological formation of mountain-range scale. Such a special work of architecture—a part of our national heritage—should not be lost. Photograph courtesy of © PJ McDonnell, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation Archives

PHOTO CREDITS for the two images of the Wright temple, and the eleven examples of mountain-like forms in the work of Paul Rudolph, shown in the above post: Beth Sholom Synagogue, exterior view: photo by Smallbones, via Wikimedia Commons; Beth Sholom Synagogue, model: photo by Ricardo Tulio Gandelman, via Wikimedia Commons; Saint Boniface Episcopal Church: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Beth-El Synagogue: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; LOMEX: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Apartment Hotel in Jersalem: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Morgan Annex: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Knott Residence: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; East Northport Synagogue Addition: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Central Suffolk Office Park: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Maris Stella University Chapel: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Niagara Falls Central Library: Photograph by Kelvin Dickinson, archives of The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Television station, Amarillo, Texas: Photo © Ben Koush