Music, Architecture — and Paul Rudolph

Paul Rudolph is primarily known as a architect—but he was also had a long-term commitment to music, and included a piano in all his own residences (at least since his 1961 High Street residence in New Haven.) Above is his piano: a Steinway “D”. It had been in Rudolph’s New Haven home, in the various versions of his NYC apartment on Beekman Place, and finally in his Quadruplex penthouse. It is now in the Rudolph-designed Modulightor Building, in the residence on the building’s upper floors (in the Living Room, as shown above.) A significantly large instrument (for a residence), it has been used by professional musicians for recitals that have taken place at the Modulightor Building.

“Music is liquid architecture”

“Architecture is frozen music”

—attributed to Goethe

A 1692 engraving of the legend of “Pythagoras at the Smithy”: It shows the moment when the ancient philosopher, passing a blacksmith shop, noticed there was a relationship between the size of each the smiths’ hammers and and the tones they produced—thus inspiring his ideas about the relationship between mathematics and music. The relationship between what we perceive (and find pleasing) and proportion has been extended to the visual arts—including in the work of architects.

Music and Architecture — they’ve been dancing together for a long time, and examples of their multiple connections abound:

• As far back as the ancient Greeks, a connection was made between musical and the visual proportions. As architectural historian Rudolf Wittkower pointed out: Leon Battista Alberti invoked Pythagoras, contending that “Nature is sure to act consistently and with a constant analogy in all her operations. . . .and that “the numbers by means of which the agreement of sounds affects our ears with delight, are the very same which please our eyes and our minds”—a notion which he saw had implications for architectural design.

• Musical terms overlap with architectural terms. If one were to ask an architect or architectural critic or historian to analyze a building’s composition, they’d probably speak in terms of: rhythm, harmony, proportion, modulation, unity, theme, recapitulation, and articulation—and indeed the term “composition” is fundamental to both disciplines. Rudolf Schwarz’s landmark book on religious architecture, The Church Incarnate, is filled with illustrations showing sequence of design themes used to create powerful sacred spaces—but they could just-as-easily be diagrams for architectural compositions.

• Aside from seeking to design a concert hall, well-known architects have declared their affinity for music with regard to specific composers or types of music—For example: Wright declared for Beethoven; and Goff stated that he was continually inspired by Debussy. Kahn and Rudolph favored Bach. In addition, Kahn liked to play the piano—and, when young, earned money at the keyboard (and both of those facts were also true for Paul Rudolph.) Thomas Gordon Smith has a love of Bach, but prefers Purcell and Scarlatti. When archiect-composer Iannis Xenakis was programming the Philips Pavilion at the 1958 Brussels World’s Fair (based on a sketch by Le Corbusier) he included the music of Varèse (as well as a composition of his own.) Peter Eisenman is an opera fan—and his favorite is Wagner. And let’s not forget that a leading architect of the Renaissance, Carlo Rainaldi, was also an accomplished composer.

• Wright was also fond of quoting Victor Hugo’s Notre-Dame de Paris (a.k.a. The Hunchback of Notre-Dame), whose most transcendent passage describes the rich architecture of medieval Paris—and culminates with a thrilling musical climax.

• Architect Edgar Tafel (1912-2011)—a former apprentice of Wright—used to be able to look at a building and intone the pattern of its design, as though he were analyzing a musical composition.

• Michael Trencher—scholar, architect, and educator—taught a design course at Pratt Institute’s School of Architecture, focused on exploring the resonance between music and architectural design.

• And, when architects are interviewed by journalists, a frequent question asked is: What music are you playing when you’re at work?

Two of Erich Mendelsohn’s musically-inspired sketches.

MUSIC AS DESIGN

Some artists and architects have gone further, creating designs that were explicitly linked to particular musical concepts, works, or composers.

Erich Mendelsohn (1887–1953) is most notable in this regard. Mendelsohn, Though he had a long and prolific career which spanned four decades and three continents, he’s most well-known today for his Einstein Tower. It is most often labeled as an example of “Expressionist” architecture, but one can readily see its formal linkage with another aspect of Mendelsohn’s creative output: his musically-inspired drawings. He created a series of sketches of musically-themed fantasy buildings—and these continue to fascinate. Here are two of those drawings—and the lower one is titled “Bach, Toccata in C Major”. [Note: Although Mendelsohn was avowedly inspired by music, he did have a practical viewpoint on how far the relationship could be pushed—e.g.: When a couple came to him and asked that he design a house for them “according to Beethoven”, Mendelsohn explained to them that architecture was “not that romantic.”]

Paul Rudolph’s parents, Eurie Stone Rudolph and Keener Rudolph, on a visit to the Wallace Residence in Athens, Alabama, which Paul Rudolph had designed in 1961. Placed within a rigorous grid of emphatically oversized columns, the swerving staircase might be considered a “scherzo” within the overall composition.

PAUL RUDOLPH’S EARLY ENGAGEMENT WITH MUSIC

Paul Rudolph was serious about music, and his engagement with it goes all-the-way-back to his childhood. Below, from the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation, is a memoir written by Rudolph’s mother, Eurie Stone Rudolph (1890-1981). In it, Mrs. Rudolph described her son’s growing-up, initial (and increasing) fascination with architecture, his education, and her later visits with him (when he was an adult) in New York, Boston, and New Haven—along with observations on her son’s practice and success. In the course of the typescript she mentions visiting the 1964-65 New York World’s Fair, so we estimate that her memoir would have been written some time during (or shortly after) the span of that fair.

Part of her text mentions young Rudolph’s devotion to the piano—and the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation archives include a program, from his youth, showing that he was the accompanist for a local concert. You can read Mrs. Rudolph’s full text here—but below are the passages in which she focuses of Rudolph and music. [Note: in transcribing this text, we have retained most of Mrs. Rudolph’s grammar, spelling, capitalization, and construction.]

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. We never had any trouble with him about his music. Often he would say he wished that his sisters would hurry and get through with their practice so he could practice. Music was play to him as well as his painting and drawing pictures.

Paul had three years in Athens College, taking piano and organ lessons, studying Art along with his other work in College.

At church they learned that he could play the organ, and as the regular Organist was not in good health, they would often call on Paul to substitute, for her. They finally decided to have Paul be the regular Organist, and paid him $20 per month. He already had three little girls that he was teaching music, as the home where he was staying had a little girl, and the mother wanted her to have music lessons, and asked if Paul would teach her. Then two other mothers wanted him to teach their little girls. So with his little music fee and his organist fee, the money situation helped him as well as us while he was in college.

RUDOLPH AT THE PIANO—BUT ALONE

“Architects On Architects” is a book-length collection of essays by 24 prominent architects, each of whom wrote about an architect or building which the experienced as a profound inspiration. Four of them selected Paul Rudolph! (coming in a close second to Le Corbusier, who was chosen by five.) Der Scutt (1934–2010) was an architect who achieved his greatest prominence as a designer of skyscrapers in the 1980’s and 1990’s—and he was one of the architects in the book who chose to write about Rudolph. Scutt had been a student in the masters program at Yale (when Rudolph was chair of the department), and he also worked for Rudolph—first in New Haven, and later in New York. His essay is partly a memoir of his time with Rudolph, and also a reflection on how Scutt sees Rudolph’s significance. The memoir is warm and appreciative, but doesn’t stint on the quirky details—and music makes an appearance in this passage:

“He never paid a Christmas bonus, and his annual Christmas message was to stomp out, usually around three o’clock in the afternoon on December 23, without a word to anyone. He would go directly to his apartment to play the piano shortly thereafter. Other times, usually on weekends, he would fill his grand living area with sounds of lyrical pleasure but almost never in front of friends or anyone. He was quite musical an accomplished at the piano. I could frequently hear the music as I walked past his apartment to the rear parking lot.”

Note: the above scenes, described by Der Scutt, were in the building that Rudolph owned in New Haven—a combined office and apartment. [More on that below.]

RUDOLPH: ALWAYS A PIANO AT HAND

In all his self-designed residences, Rudolph included a piano—indeed, it was the same Steinway piano which he carried from home-to-home over the course of three decades. This goes at least as far back as the time he resided in New Haven, while he was Chair of the School of Architecture at Yale. In each of his homes, the piano’s location was carefully integrated into the overall design.

Paul Rudolph purchased a vintage New Haven Building at 31 High Street (represented by the large square at the top of this drawing) and used its top floor for his architectural office. He added a residential apartment for himself—the main floor plan of which is shown here (the living room, dining area, kitchen, and garden.) The location of Rudolph’s Steinway piano can be seen at the center.

NEW HAVEN: 1961

When Paul Rudolph became the Chair of Yale’s School of Architecture in 1958 (a position he was to hold until 1963), he moved to the city which was the home of Yale: New Haven, Connecticut.

He wound-up his Florida office, and restarted it in his new home—he purchased a 1855 building at 31 High Street (not far from the architecture school), and altered and added to it—devoting part of the building’s existing space to his active office, and constructing an addition for his own living space.

At right is the floor plan. The large square box, at the top of the drawing, represents the existing, vintage building—and Rudolph’s newly-constructed two-level residence was grafted onto it. The plan shows the lower floor, with its exterior garden/courtyard, living, dining, and kitchen areas—-and Rudolph’s Steinway piano. Below is a view towards the piano, and to the left of it is the internal stair (which connected the more public living areas to the the private spaces above.). Behind the piano is a tall, freestanding wall: it screened the kitchen and dinette on the lower level; and a more cozy sitting area with a fireplace above. In the foreground, one can see a corner of a the Living Room’s large raised sitting platform.

The living room of Paul Rudolph’s New Haven residence: his Steinway piano takes center stage.

Above is a view of the Manhattan townhouse in which Rudolph was to reside for more than a third of his life. It fronts onto the east side of Beekman Place, and the nearest corner (at the right edge of the photo) is East 50th Street. This view is looking at the North-East corner, and the the building, 23 Beekman Place, is in the middle of the photo, one building to the left of the corner building.. Twice in New York’s history, photographs were taken of every building in the city (for tax records): between 1939 and 1941, and again in the mid-1980’s—and the above image is from the earlier set of photographs. These “tax photos” are an invaluable resource for researching New York’s architectural heritage—including the history of Paul Rudolph’s building.

NEW YORK: 1960’S

Rudolph completed his time as chair at Yale in 1963, and sold his combined home & architectural office building in New Haven and moved to New York City. But, before that, he was already renting a pied-a-terre apartment in New York—a convenience for his trips there due to his expanding practice.

He resided in a floor-through apartment which he rented at 23 Beekman Place—a short, two-block street in the eastern part of mid-town Manhattan, not far from the United Nations. Although Beekman Place was to become—and remains—one the wealthiest stretches of real estate in Manhattan, at that time the neighborhood was more mixed [as recounted in Katherine Young’s memoir: “My Old New York Neighborhoods: Greenwich Village-Beekman Place”] and prices for renting and purchase were more reasonable.

Rudolph’s 4th floor apartment went through remarkable transformations: he redesigned it three times, using it as a place to experiment—to “sketch” 3-dimensionally. There, he tried-out different ideas in the use of space and materials, as well as innovating with lighting, storage techniques, and how to get the most out of a compact area.

Rudolph’s Steinway piano—brought to New York City after having been in New Haven—had a place in these various apartment incarnations. In the last and most developed version, he built the piano into a platform in the Living Room—-sinking its legs into into the platform’s top surface, and providing a circular recess into which the piano’s player—Rudolph himself—could lower his legs and reach the pedals.

Paul Rudolph’s sketch of the plan for one of the renovations of his floor-through apartment at 23 Beekman Place. His piano (and it’s unique placement within a platform in the Living Room) can be seen at the lower-left. Drawn at a scale of 1/2” = 1’-0”, the plan is highly detailed, and includes Rudolph’s proposed locations for various kinds of lighting (which he was experimenting with at the time.) An intriguing notion, included shown here, is where Rudolph proposed guests would sleep: they’d be accommodated in the Living Room, in the slot of space between the top of the platform and the bottom of he piano—and one can see a pair of supine figures drawn-in, at the lower-left.

Paul Rudolph’s “Quadruplex” apartment, atop (and growing upward from) 23 Beekman Place in NYC (the building is one-away from the corner.) As with his other homes, it included space for Rudolph’s Steinway piano.

NEW YORK: 1976-1997

Paul Rudolph—after being a tenant in the 23 Beekman Place townhouse for a number of years—purchased the building in 1976.

He proceeded to transform it, eventually renovating the entire building to his designs—including the shared spaces (the lobby, stairs, and elevator), the river-facing façade, and the rental units in the lower floors. The most notable (and noticeable) change was within and atop the building, where he built his famous “Quadruplex” penthouse residence While the “quad” in the name refers to the apartment’s four primary floors, actually there were numerous subtle level changes—a technique Rudolph used to define, modulate, and dramatize the spaces and functions within the complex design.

As with his previous homes, Rudolph’s new residence included a space for his Steinway piano. Below is a floor plan of the Quadruplex’s third level, and you can see the piano (and its piano stool) drawn in at the upper-right corner.

[Note: after Paul Rudolph’s passing, his piano was relocated to another of Rudolph’s designs: the residential duplex within the Modulightor Building in New York [see photograph at the top of this article.]

The plan of the “Third Level” of Paul Rudolph’s “Quadruplex” penthouse in Manhattan. The piano is at the upper-right.

Paul Rudolph’s floor plan for the Jewett Arts Center at Wellesley College, a design from the mid-1950’s. As specified in the program, a variety of arts were to be accommodated: painting, theater, and music—and the large performance space can be seen within the left-hand wing of the building, situated at its’ heart.

MUSICIANS RESPOND TO PAUL RUDOLPH

We’ve written of architects’ affinity for music, and established Paul Rudolph’s own long-term musical commitment—but what about the musical world’s reaction to Paul Rudolph?

Generally musicians react to an architect as a consequence of their encounter with the products of an architect’s work: their buildings—but that’s assuming that the architect has designed any spaces specifically for music: concert halls, chamber music spaces, opera houses, recording studios, or other performance venues. Musicians often have strong feelings about the spaces in which which they play—and can be perceptive architecture critics—as in musician-musicologist Ralph Kirkpatrick’s frank comments on the design of concert halls in the Yale architecture journal Perspecta 17 (1980)

Concert halls and opera houses (like other arts buildings, such as museums) have, as Philip Johnson observed, almost functioned as secular churches in our society—and such commissions are prized by architects. To our knowledge, Rudolph was never asked to design a space solely for music—but he did incorporate the multi-functional hybrid "auditorium” into several of his projects. That would be most often true for his numerous educational commissions, starting with a performance space within his Jewett Arts Center at Wellesley College (a design of the mid-1950’s). Also, the several sacred spaces he designed—from the Tuskegee Chapel of 1960 -to- the Emory University Cannon Chapel of 1975—were sites where instrumental and/or vocal music were integral to the buildings’ use.

Though none of those are quite the same as a building designed specifically for musical performance, the musical world has responded to Rudolph—in the form of musical compositions…

COMPOSERS THAT WERE INSPIRED BY RUDOLPH

JACOB GARCHIK: “CLEAR LINE”

CLEAR LINE, an album by Jacob Garchik—which includes “Line Drawings of Paul Rudolph”—is available through several venues—including Amazon Music, here.

Jacob Garchik, a multi-instrumentalist and composer, was born in San Francisco and resides in New York. He released 4 albums, works in a variety of styles and musical roles, and been a vital part of the New York scene, playing in groups ranging from jazz -to- contemporary classical -to- Balkan brass bands. He contributed numerous arrangements and transcriptions for the world-famous Kronos Quartet, composed a film score, created arrangements for distinguished performers, and taught arranging at the Mannes School of Music.

CLEAR LINE is an album by Garchik from 2020, and according to his web page devoted to the album:

“. . . .Through nine parts Garchik explores intersections and antecedents in architecture, graphic novels, and fine art.” . . . . “Garchik’s recent obsession with architecture has led to a new way of imagining. Every building he sees makes him picture, in his mind’s eye, the three dimensional shape of each floor (i.e. Visualization of Interior Spaces) . . . . “Clear Line” serves as an audio analogy to graphic artists’ and architects’ translation of 3d space to 2d drawings. Motives reoccur through the nine parts, like seeing a panel of a graphic novel that reminds one of a familiar building.”

The album is divided into nine parts:

1. Visualization of Interior Spaces

2. Ligne Claire

3. Stacked Volumes

4. Sixth Intro

5. Sixth

6. Hergé: Vision and Blindness

7. Moebius and Mucha

8. Line Drawings of Paul Rudolph

9. Clear Line

In the wording of his titles, you can see Garchik is taking inspiration from form, design, and drawing, as well as geometry and art. Of course, we were fascinated by one of the selections: “Line Drawings of Paul Rudolph”—and you can hear a sample here.

STEVE GIAMBERDINO: “BYE-BYE, BRUTALISM !”

BYE-BYE, BRUTALISM, an album by Steve Giamberdino—which includes “Paul Rudolph (Architect)”—is available through several venues—including Amazon Music, here.

Stephen E. Giamberdino is a musician—a bassist and singer—and a composer and producer of several albums. He’s from Buffalo, NY, and continues reside and work there.

BYE-BYE, BRUTALISM is Giamberdino’s most recent album: it was both composed and produced by him, and was recorded in the latter half of 2020 and released in 2021.

Brutalism has become associated not only with architecture, but also with furniture and decoration—but perhaps it is surprising to see it invoked in music. Bye-Bye, Brutalism’s album cover features a photograph of a line of low-rise concrete buildings—ones that might be characterized as “brutalist.” Moreover, a video (which Giamberdino made in association with the album) includes views of concrete architecture.

The album embraces a broad range of styles and energy levels, a variety of which show the composer’s versatility of moods and modes. Giamberdino made the album in association with a dozen musicians (the album is, overall, credited to “Steve Giamberdino & Friends”)—and it not only uses instruments, but also embraces vocals, choral work, and narration.

The album’s offerings includes the title track, “Bye-Bye, Brutalism”—but what really intrigued us was another song on the album: “Paul Rudolph (Architect)” —and you can hear an excerpt from it here.

A FINAL NOTE. . .

“Paul Rudolph:  Inspiration, Design, And Friendship” is an essay, written by Ernst Wagner, for the 2018 birthday centennial celebration of Rudolph’s life and work—and it is included in the catalog published in association with the Rudolph centenary exhibition.

Ernst Wagner was Paul Rudolph’s friend for many years, and is the founder of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation. His essay (which you can read, in-full, here) includes a revealing moment in which music and architecture intersect:

Rudolph’s 23 Beekman “Quadruplex” was his most spatially rich—and very personal—vision of the possibilities of design: intimate and Piranesi-like, soaring and layered—an orchestration of interlocking-interwoven spaces. It was his home, and his own design laboratory, where he’d constantly experiment with new variations—a composition of rich textures and reflective materials catching the light in magical ways. No less than 17 levels could be counted which, pinwheel-like, float and lead one to the next luminous experience.

At one point, I asked Paul, “Is it not going to be too complicated?” To which he replied, “No, no, you don’t understand! Architecture is like music! Do you think that a Bach fugue is too complicated?”

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IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation (a non-profit 501(c)3 organization) 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:

Piano in the living room of the Modulightor Building: photograph by Donald Luckenbill, Image © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Pythagoras and the Smithy: vintage (1692) engraving from "Pythagorische Schmids-Fuencklein" by Johann Andreas Wolf, via Wikimedia Commons; Erich Mendelsohn sketches inspired by music or composers: vintage sketches, via Google Images;  Paul Rudolph’s parents at the Wallace Residence: Image © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Plan of Paul Rudolph’s High Street, New Haven residence: Image © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Interior of Paul Rudolph’s High Street, New Haven residence: photograph by Yugi Noga, from a print found within the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Vintage exterior view of 23 Beekman Place: “tax photo” from NYC Department of Records archives;  Paul Rudolph’s sketch plan drawing of his Beekman Place floor-through apartment: Image © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Exterior of Beekman Place Penthouse: photo by R. D. Chin, Image © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Plan of Beekman Place Penthouse, third level: Image © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Plan of Jewett Arts Center at Wellesley: Image © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  “Clear Line” album cover: from the Amazon web page for the Jason Garchik album; “Bye-Bye, Brutalism” album cover: from the Amazon web page for the Steven Giamberdino album.

Celebrating RICHARD NEUTRA

To be on the cover of TIME Magazine is to be identified as one of the most important persons in your field. While most of TIME’s covers are devoted to the dramatic news of the week or political figures, they also include people of cultural importance—even, occasionally, architects. Above is a screen-grab of a Google Image Search for “‘Time Magazine’ cover architects”—and you can see that the magazine’s editors chose some of the most influential practitioners of the 20th Century, including Le Corbusier, Wright, Fuller, Saarinen, and Johnson—and among them is RICHARD NEUTRA (second row from top, second from right). NOTE: To be chosen is a rare honor, for in the 56 years between Time’s founding in 1923 and 1979, only 14 architects appeared on their covers—no more than an average of once in four years. [There’s been academic attention to the phenomenon, like this article and this one, looking at its meaning in a larger cultural/political context.]

WE CELEBRATE THE RECENT BIRTHDAY OF ARCHITECT RICHARD NEUTRA

Richard Neutra (1892–1970) was a vital part of that generation, early in the 20th Century, which created and spread Modern Architecture in the USA. He was active for more than four decades of practice, and helped to infuse European Modernism (what would later be called the International Style) into American design—as well as extending the realm of architecture through is own creative explorations and contributions.

Neutra had a rich career, designing buildings for almost every type of client: government, educational, military, commercial, and religious—but he is probably most well known for his many residential designs, starting in the late 1920’s—and particularly in Southern California.

The Lovell “Health” House, designed by Richard Neutra

The most famous of these is his Lovell “Health” House of 1929, which is dramatically perched in the hills of Los Angeles (in the Los Feliz area).

This house—like much of Neutra’s work—embodies many of the best values of Modern design: openness, innovative use of materials, an intensely focused attention to the client’s needs, sensitive siting, an embrace of the outdoors, and an overall light touch. The Lovell House is part of the Historic American Buildings Survey, as well as being on the US National Register of Historic Places, and on the list of Los Angeles Historic-Cultural Monuments in Hollywood, (which includes the neighborhood of Los Feliz, and several other areas)—a list created by the city's Cultural Heritage Commission.

Perhaps Richard Neutra’s other most-known residential work of is the Kaufman Desert House in Palm Springs, from 1946. It was designed for the Kaufman family—the same client as Frank Lloyd Wright’s for Fallingwater. While the house has its own inherent beauty—from the qualities which Neutra put into it—it also became famous as the site of one of society-celebrity photographer Slim Aarons’ iconic photograph, “Poolside Gossip” (which was featured on the cover of one of his books, “Slim Aarons: Women.”)

The Kaufman Desert House in Palm Springs, California, a Richard Neutra design of 1946 — and…

… as it is shown in a famous photo, on the cover of “Slim Arrons: Women”, published in 2016

Richard Neutra was not only a designer, but also an author of well over a dozen books. His many writings consider aspects of architecture, and include his sensitivity to the problems of design, urbanism, our relationship to nature, and issues of siting, planning, and building. Through them all, Neutra is looking towards the human element—and how to build better and more sensitively for our needs.

“Where we have employed our technological progress, it has usually been steered towards a techno-economically motivated standardization, and a frustrating monotony. Architects must have a heart for individuality. If they produce an unidentifiable sameness, they smother the individual and his creativity in a cage of monotony.”

— Richard Neutra

The book, by Arthur Drexler and Thomas Hines, published in association with MoMA’s 1982 Richard Neutra exhibition. It can be read, in full, here.

The work of Richard Neutra has been celebrated by scholars, and in numerous publications and exhibitions.

In 1982, the Museum of Modern Art had the first large-scale exhibition that concentrated almost entirely on his residential designs: “The Architecture of Richard Neutra: From International Style to California Modern” The exhibition was curated by the head of the museum’s Department of Architecture and Design, the pathbreaking Arthur Drexler; and by Thomas Hines, the distinguished architectural historian. In association with the exhibition, MoMA also published a book by Drexler and Hines, which remains a landmark in Neutra studies. You can see installation images of the exhibition here—and gain access to the full text of the Drexler/Hines MoMA book here.

As with Paul Rudolph, Neutra’s buildings have not always been maintained with respect—and some have been sadly lost. The Cyclorama Building at Gettysburg is a prime example. In the late 1950’s, Neutra was commissioned to design a visitors center for the famous Civil War battlefield at Gettysburg. The building would be the home to a distinguished panoramic panting, “The Battle of Gettysburg” (by Paul Philippoteaux), and include an observation deck and visitors services. It was dedicated in 1962 and served a half-century of visitors—before being demolished in 2013. The proposal to demolish it was controversial, and it was not destroyed without a fight, and Dion Neutra (Richard Neutra’s son, and eventually a partner in the Neutra architectural practice) was the most energetic of the Cyclorama’s defenders.

Richard Neutra’s Cyclorama Building at Gettysburg, a visitor and education center at the famous Civil War battlefield, was opened in 1962. After serving generations of visitors, it was, sadly, demolished in 2013. Before demolition, it was documented by the Historic American Buildings Survey (you can see their comprehensive set of drawings and photos here.)

The legacy of of Richard Neutra lives on, through the NEUTRA INSTITUTE FOR SURVIVAL THROUGH DESIGN. Dr. Raymond Richard Neutra is the youngest son of Richard Neutra, and—after a career in science, medicine, and public health—Dr. Neutra is now focused on the legacy of his father and his brother Dion. He serves as the president of the Institute’s board, and is joined on the board (or the family advisory board) by members of the Neutra family, as well as other distinguished members of the community.

The NEUTRA INSTITUTE FOR SURVIVAL THROUGH DESIGN has an important vision—and two prime missions to carry out that vision and embody their values:

Vision:  Surviving in the climate crisis through well-researched design that helps humanity and the planet thrive.

Mission One:  Promoting current research and responsible design

Mission Two: Providing interpretation and stewardship of the Neutra legacy 

We Value:

Promoting and deploying climate-responsive technology and natural features to benefit humanity and the planet.

Listening, researching, and inter-disciplinary teamwork for steady improvement

Evidence-inspired solutions, and learning from our successes and failures

Designing for affordability, social justice, and unique individual needs

Designing for delight

Preserving and learning from designs of the past that exemplified these values

You can learn more about their goals, programs, and activities here.

The sign from outside of the Neutra live-work building—one of the facilities belonging to the organization which promotes research and responsible design, and the interpretation and stewardship of the Neutra legacy: THE NEUTRA INSTITUTE FOR SURVIVAL THROUGH DESIGN

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IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation (a non-profit 501(c)3 organization) 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:

Screen-grab of a Google Image Search for “‘Time Magazine’ cover architects”; Lovell House: credit and further info at Wikimedia Commons;  Kaufman Desert Home: photo by Pmeulbroek, via Wikimedia Commons; Slim Aarons book cover: via Amazon; Richard Neutra book by Arthur Drexler and Thomas Hines: via AbeBooks; Cyclorama Building at Gettysburg: photo by Jay Boucher for the Historic American Buildings Survey, accession number HABS PA-6709-8, via Wikimedia Commons;  Sign from Neutra Institute Museum of Silver Lake: excepted from a photo by Bruce Boehner, via Wikimedia Commons

RICHARD NEUTRA QUOTATION:

Quotation from: “Architects On Architecture: New Directions In America” by Paul Heyer, page 140, Walker And Company, New York, 1966

You call that "Preservation" ? — UPDATE on the plight of the Biggs Residence

Paul Rudolph’s Biggs Residence in Delray Beach, Florida. Here it is shown in a 1956 photograph, in a prime, just-completed condition, as Rudolph had conceived it. But decades of changes by subsequent owners marred Rudolph’s design—and those included insensitively installed air conditioning equipment, and visually obtrusive additions. The intention: New owners and their architect declared that they wanted to “Bring it back to the way it should look..” and “Bring it back to the original layout and then assess what their next step will be.”

And what happened: Applying for a Certificate Of Appropriateness, they said: “The addition does not change or effect any of the distinctive features, finishes or construction techniques of the historic house. The house is being preserved and restored as originally designed by Paul Rudolph without any compromise arising out of the addition proposal, except for the connector at the rear, least public view.” In a report, commissioned by Delray Beach, the city’s consulting architect says: “In my professional opinion this is a false statement.”

“The demolition of this unique site has far reaching consequences for the legacy of Paul Rudolph, the Sarasota School of Architecture, the much-prized historical character of the city, and the neighbors who now have to contend with prolonged construction.”

—Official statement by the city of Delray Beach

THE BIGGS RESIDENCE: ITS IMPORTANCE—AND THE PROPER PROCESS FOR CHANGE

The city of Delray Beach’s map showing the buildings on their Local Register of Historic Places. The Biggs Residence (number 35) is within the red oval near the map’s right-hand edge. A larger version of the map is here.

The Biggs Residence—a Paul Rudolph design of 1955—is an important part of his oeuvre. It is also a prime example of Florida’s Mid-Century Modern architecture, by that era’s (and region’s) leader of Modern American design.

The Biggs Residence has been recognized as a significant part of Florida’s cultural heritage: in 2005 the city of Delray Beach’s Historic Preservation Board recommended that it be added to the city’s Local Register of Historic Places—and that was approved by the City Commission.

Any proposed changes to a building on that Register must be fully reviewed by the city’s preservation officer and and the historic preservation board. If approved by them, the project will receive a “Certificate of Appropriateness” (COA).

BIGGS: CHANGES AND CONTINUITIES

The Biggs Residence in 20i6, showing an accumulation of changes and/or additions.

Over the decades, subsequent owners to the Biggs Residence have not completely held to Rudolph’s original design. Additions and changes have departed from the building as Paul Rudolph conceived it—and the results have often been visually obtrusive. And, of course, any distinguished building that’s reaches a half-century of age will be in need of multiple kinds of care—just like a classic car—and how each owner handles that care & repair will vary with their knowledge, sensitivity, and means. Consequently, their effects on the building will range in quality—and sometimes the accumulated impacts will be profoundly contrary to the spirit of the original design.

Yet the main part of what Rudolph created at Biggs remained—the essential raised volume of living spaces. Also, as shown in the two comparison photos below, significant aspects of its original internal character had been maintained—and that’s to be valued and praised.

LEFT: An interior view of the Biggs Residence in 1959—showing the house in its original state, as designed by Paul Rudolph. This view of the central living-dining area is towards the dining table at the end of the room, which sits near the storage wall. At the far right is the entry passage to the kitchen. In this photograph, one of room’s pair of large and prominent steel ceiling beams is clearly seen

ABOVE: As of 2016, when this photograph was taken, the house’s main living space still retained its essential character of a spacious openness in its center, as well as other Rudolph-designed features: the emphatically displayed steel structure, and the wall of storage (behind moving panels) at one end of the room

CHANGES: The POSTIVE INTENTIONS

New owners acquired the Biggs Residence in 2018, and wished to make changes. That’s not unusual, nor is it to be disparaged: as lifestyles evolve, expectations for our residences change too—so even important and classic works of architecture sometimes undergo alteration, and this happens most often after they change ownership. But when someone buys a distinguished work-of-architecture, it is hoped that they will be sympathetic to the original architect’s conception, and any changes will be discrete and respectful—and, as noted in our last article, there’s a serious body of helpful preservation knowledge about how to proceed in such cases (and a whole profession standing ready to assist in these projects.)

In 2018 the owners visited the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation at our NYC headquarters in the Paul Rudolph Modulightor Building. They told us about their plans to remove the two additions (and add a discrete new one) that would allow the original home to look as close to Rudolph’s original design in almost 37 years. They also gave us copies of drawings and research they had collected as well as shared drawings and renderings of the final design with us. We were pleased with their proposal and considered this project to be in the “safe” category. We didn’t think anything of it at the time, but this would be the last communication we had with them.

As per proper procedure, the proposed alterations to the Biggs Residence were submitted for review (and re-review with amendments). The owner’s (and their architect’s) stated goals were admirable—and their declared intentions for the proposed work included:

“Bring it back to the way it should look.”

“Bring it back to the original layout and then assess what their next step will be.”

“The addition does not change or effect any of the distinctive features, finishes or construction techniques of the historic house. The house is being preserved and restored as originally designed by Paul Rudolph without any compromise arising out of the addition proposal, except for the connector at the rear, least public view.”

CHANGES: The RESULTS

We don’t dispute the good intentions of the owners and their architects. We realize that there’s often another side (or sides) to any story, and we truly welcome further information, input, and other points-of-view. But we were distressed when a report came in that far more changes had happened on-site than had been approved—as when we saw the March 12th headline from the Palm Beach Post (see it, with the beginning of their story, at right), along with a photo like the one at the top of this article.

We weren’t the only ones to be alarmed. The city of Delray Beach was on-the-case, bringing the owners before a magistrate. As part of their investigation, the city commissioned an investigative report from an independent architect (more about that, later).

THE CITY OF DEL RAY ISSUED THE FOLLOWING STATEMENT:

Delray Beach values and protects its historic buildings. The city’s Historic Preservation staff work hand-in-hand with property owners, architects, and builders to guide them through the approval process and serve as a resource when restoring or renovating historic buildings and sites.  

The site at 212 Seabreeze Avenue, known as the Sewell C. Biggs House, was designed in 1955 by internationally renowned architect Paul Rudolph, who was part of the Sarasota School of Architecture and later Chairman of the School of Architecture at Yale University. The Sewell C. Biggs House is a historic structure listed on the Delray Beach Local Register of Historic Places. 

During August 2020, the Sewell C. Biggs House was demolished down to its metal frame. This action was not approved by the city and is a stark contrast to the original plan presented to and approved by the city’s Historic Preservation Board, which emphasized a desire to respectfully rehabilitate and restore Paul Rudolph’s original building with minimal changes. 

The decision not to inform the city effectively denied staff the ability to determine if the demolition was warranted, and the opportunity to inspect the site to assess how much of the original, historically significant, structure could have been saved. 

The demolition of this unique site has far reaching consequences for the legacy of Paul Rudolph, the Sarasota School of Architecture, the much-prized historical character of the city, and the neighbors who now have to contend with prolonged construction. 

Moving forward, the city’s goal is to work with the owners and the Historic Preservation Board to bring this historically significant building back to a state of historical integrity, as much as may be possible. The city has hired an architect with expertise in historic buildings to provide guidance to staff and help establish a path forward for the owners.

THE INVESTIGATION REPORT

A page from the report. It includes a photo, taken at the construction site in 2020, showing the remaining steel after the house’s roof and walls had been demolished.

When Delray’s Principal Planner in their Historic Preservation department sent us the above statement, they also sent along.

“. . . .the consultant report we received from Mr. Richard Heisenbottle, the architect the city hired to review the project following the demolition.”

Richard Heisenbottle’s report traces the history of the project, including: proposals and the documents submitted for review, testimony made before the Historic Preservation Board, revisions offered and reviewed, decisions made—and what he observed during a site visit.

The report compares what he owners and/or their architects stated, and what Mr. Heisenbottle assesses as to what really is the case—and some of the contrasts are stark (and you can read the full report here.)

Below are a few excerpts. First, the report’s author quotes from a promise or assertion made by the owners or their architect—and then (in parenthesis) is his assessment of the actuality of the situation.

• “The proposed work does not involve any removal of any characteristic features of the original house, such as the previously proposed plan to remove the 2nd floor and the galley kitchen, both of which will stay intact.” (This is an incorrect statement or a statement that has been violated. The work performed most definitely involved removal of characteristic features. The entirety of the perimeter walls, siding and roof framing have been removed. The galley kitchen has also been removed.)

• Distinctive features, finishes, and construction techniques or examples of craftsmanship that characterize a property shall be preserved. “The characteristic elevated steel columns and steel beam structure will be structurally rehabilitated, but otherwise preserved as is with respect to its original design. (The steel column and beam structure are the only element of the original structure being preserved. All else, wall framing, roof framing, windows, doors and siding are all being replaced and replicated.)

• The proposed work does not add new features or elements from other buildings. (The Applicant’s plan does add new features.)

• “Deteriorated historic features shall be repaired rather than replaced. Where the severity of deterioration requires replacement of a distinctive feature, the new feature shall match the old in design, color, texture and other visual qualities and, where possible materials.” The existing steel structure will be repaired and rehabilitated not replaced. The characteristic features of the historic house such as the grooved wood siding, will be restored and replaced, and if damaged beyond restoration, will be replaced with matching materials.” (None of the grooved wood siding or exterior wall studs were saved or restored, everything was replaced without providing any notification to HPB of the need for or extent demolition.)

The report offers several conclusions, some key ones being:

• Upon review and evaluation of all materials submitted to the City by the Owner in support of their Certificate of Appropriateness Application No. 2 and Building Permit Application, and as a result of my on-site inspection of the property to access its current condition, I have concluded that the owner and his general contractor have gone well beyond what was authorized in the COA and what was authorized on the approved Building Department Permit Plans.

• The extent of demolition could not have been anticipated under the approved COA submittal documents or under the proposed Construction Documents.

• In addition to non-compliance with the LDR requirements for demolition of more than 25% of a historic structure, the owner raised the structure in violation of the approved COA and without advising and receiving permission to do so from the Building Department and the HPB.

He then looks at the option for reconstructing the building. “Reconstruction” has a specific and rigorous meaning and set of standards, as defined by the U.S. Department of the Interior’s “Secretary of the Interior’s Standards for Reconstruction and Guidelines for Reconstructing Historic Buildings” (and you can read more about them here.) The report’s author reviews the standards, in preparation for his final recommendation—one which we feel needs to be contested.

AUTHENTICITY?

While we applaud the thoroughness of the report, we dispute one of its conclusions—the one wherein its author says that a—

“. . . .properly executed rehabilitation and partial reconstruction can continue to be listed as a historic resource on the Delray Beach Local Register of Historic Places.”

Our experience, and supported by a professional preservation expert we reached out to about this matter, is that no reconstruction of a building can authentically match the original. That’s because of the several real and intractable phenomena of the construction process:

• No documentation is ever complete enough to convey all aspects of a building. Even the most through records will not include all of a building’s varying connections, adjacencies of materials, details, and the incorporation of various systems both material, structural and mechanical. [What architects term the “conditions”.]

• Current building, life-safety, and energy codes; rules imposed by insurance companies; and desired upgrades due to higher quality-of-life expectations can be accommodated—but one can only make a best guess at what the original architect would have done had they been commissioned to deal with these latter-day challenges.

• When one is trying to integrate such changed standards into a yet-to-be-built building (because the original had been demolished), there is no “push-back” from the material presence of an extant building—and hence nothing to discipline the new decisions.

• Every building project—no matter how thoroughly thought-out in advance (and no matter how complete the drawings and specifications seem to be)—has gaps in its conception. Questions inevitably come-up during construction: issues whose decisions definitely will affect the look and quality of the outcome of the project. Ideally, the architect is consulted on each of these issues (either during site visits, or during frantic phone calls from the site)—and gives their solutions. Each architect will solve things in their own way, and Paul Rudolph was well known to be demanding during such site visits. How, during a “reconstruction” could his reactions to construction issues possibly be anticipated? They cant.

We acknowledge that a “reconstruction” might proceed in the most conscientious and well-intended way, carefully attempting to recreate the original Briggs Residence. But, for the above reasons, the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation will not support such a rebuilding as an authentic Rudolph design—and we will note that in our comprehensive list of the works of Paul Rudolph. The original residence will remain ‘demolished’ in our project list.

Even with all the changes and additions over the years, this photo shows that essential aspects of the Biggs Residence were still extant as of 2016—prior to the recent act of demolition.

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IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation (a non-profit 501(c)3 organization) 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 Wikimedia Commons links are provided, they are linked to the information page for that particular image. Information about the rights to use 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:

Biggs Residence in the 1950’s: photo as shown in the report, “Evaluation of COA Approval 212 Seabreeze Avenue, Delray Beach, FL 33483 RJHA Project No. 20-3494”, commissioned by the City of Delray Beach;  Biggs Residence condition after current demolition work: photo as shown in the report, “Evaluation of COA Approval 212 Seabreeze Avenue, Delray Beach, FL 33483 RJHA Project No. 20-3494”, commissioned by the City of Delray Beach;  Delray Beach Local Register of Historic Places: courtesy of City of Delray Beach;  Biggs Residence with additions in 2016: © Linda Lake / The Fite Group Luxury Homes;  Biggs Residence Living-Dining area in the 1950’s: photo by Ernest Graham, from a vintage issue of House & Home magazine, June 1959, courtesy of US Modernist Library;  Biggs Residence Living-Dining area as of 2016: © Linda Lake / The Fite Group Luxury Homes;  Biggs Residence as of 2016: © Linda Lake / The Fite Group Luxury Homes

Happy 119th Birthday to Luis Barragán !

The Torres de Satélite ("Satellite Towers",) located outside of Mexico City—one of the country’s first major monumentally sized Modern sculpture groups (whose highest tower is 170 feet.) It is the result of a combination of input from architect Luis Barragán, painter Jesús Reyes Ferreira, and sculptor Mathias Goeritz., and was inaugurated in 1958.

LUIS BARRAGAN WOULD HAVE BEEN 119 oN MARCH 9, 2012—AND TODAY WE CELEBRATE HIS BIRTHDAY!

If any architect’s work truly exemplifies Dieter Rams’ saying, “Less but Better”, it would be the Mexican architect Luis Barragán (1902–1988). Barragán’s oeuvre was known for an asceticism of form, and an utter avoidance of the casual or frivolous. Yet the buildings and spaces he created were brought to vivid life by careful composition, devoted detailing, keen juxtapositions and choices of materials, and—most famously—a florid use of color.

His work encompassed whole residential districts, artwork (like the Torres de Satélite show above), a chapel and convent, and other projects—but he is probably most well-known for individual homes he created, both for clients and for himself.

WITH BARRAGAN, MATERIAL BECOMES SPIRITUAL

Architect Luis Barragán (1902–1988)

Barragán is often classified as a “Minimalist”—but this would be an error, as the interior and exterior spaces he created are alive with a sensuous serenity. His is a body of work that aspires to embrace (and invoke) the spiritual. As Barragán himself put it:

“…the words beauty, inspiration, enchantment, magic, sorcery, charm and also serenity, silence, intimacy and amazement have disappeared at an alarming rate in publications devoted to architecture. All of them have found a loving welcome in my soul, and even if I am far from claiming to have made them complete justice in my work, they have never ceased to be my beacon.”

And:

“Any work of architecture which does not express serenity is a mistake.”

For those not familiar with Barragán’s oeuvre, here is a mosaic of images which may serve to convey the flavor—and, as important, the atmosphere—of his work:

Casa Gilardi

Fuente de los Amantes

Fountain spout and pool at Casa Barragán

Roof patio at Casa Barragán

Casa Gilardi

A close-up of the Torres de Satélite

A stair within Casa Barragán

Faro del Comercio

FAME, INFLUENCE—AND THE AFTERLIFE OF AN ARCHITECT

The book, by Emilio Ambasz, which accompanied the Museum of Modern Art’s 1976 landmark exhibit on Barragán

Luis Barragán received the Pritzker Architecture Prize in 1980 (and you can read his insight-filled acceptance speech here)—but he had not been very well-known, outside of Mexico, until the 1976 retrospective exhibition of his work at New York’s Museum of Modern Art. That exhibition was accompanied by a book, “The Architecture of Luis Barragan”—also published by the MoMA—whose complete text (by Emilio Ambasz, who curated the exhibit) and luminous photographs and informative drawings you can see here.

He was a direct influence on Louis Kahn (who received advice from him about the great open space at the heart of Kahn’s Salk Institute) and he was consulted by designers from both Mexico and other parts of the world.

Barragán—besides the inspiration which can, ongoingly, be taken from his work—has had another kind of afterlife. After he passed in 1988, his will directed that his estate be divided into different categories of materials, and allocated to several people who had been important in his life. The legacy that comprised his professional archives and copyrights went through more-than-one ownership, until this important body-of-work reached its current residence in Switzerland at the Barragan Foundation.

But that was not the end of the story. Jill Magid is an artist (working in various media), writer, and film-maker—who has had exhibitions at major venues around-the-world. She became fascinated with the numerous facets of the Barragán estate—-not the least of which include its location an ocean away from the architect’s homeland, Mexico; and (at the time Magid was doing her work) the perceived restrictions on access to the archive. Her artistic activism on this topic resulted in works in a number of forms: several exhibits, a 2016 book, and a 2018 film (both titled “The Proposal”)—and Magid’s project achieved further prominence when it was written about in a series of articles in The New Yorker.

Her project asked important questions about art, creativity, relationships, identity (both personal and national,) and artistic legacies (both their control and protection). We know that these are complex matters, and all sides can bring forth pertinent evidence and cogent arguments. Moreover, there seems to have been further developments since Magid’s exhibits, book and film came out—so we can offer no pronouncement about the important issues she raises. Nevertheless, what Magid presents is compellingly told (and includes a strikingly unorthodox proposal!) and you might find it of interest to view the film. You can see the trailer here; as well as view a more recent symposium about her project here.

BARRAGAN: AN ARCHITECT TO CELEBRATE !

Whatever the issues around the archives—and however their status may stand or change—the important thing about Luis Barragán is the amazing body-of-work which created during more than a half-century of practice. So, for this, the 199th anniversary of his natal day, we wish him a HAPPY BIRTHDAY !

A twilight view of the Torres de Satélite, a project on which Barragán collaborated.

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IMAGE CREDITS

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation gratefully thanks all the individuals and organizations whose images are used in this scholarly and educational project. If any use, credits, or rights need to be amended or changed, please let us know.

Note: When Wikimedia Commons links are provided, they are linked to the information page for that particular image. Information about the rights to use 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:

Torres de Satélite: photo by Octavio Alonso Maya Castro, via Wikimedia Commons;  Photo portrait of Luis Barragán: photo by Tomjc.55, via Wikimedia Commons;  Casa Gilardi with pool: photo by Ulises00, via Wikimedia Commons;  Fuente de los Amantes: photo by Susleriel, via Wikimedia Commons;  Fountain spout and pool at Casa Barragán: phot by Daniel Case, via Wikimedia Commons;  Roof patio at Casa Barragán: photo by  Ymblanter, via Wikimedia Commons;  Casa Gilardi interior: photo by Ulises00, via Wikimedia Commons;  A close-up of the Torres de Satélite: photo by ProtoplasmaKid, via Wikimedia Commons;  A stair within Casa Barragán: photo by  Francesco Bandarin, via Wikimedia Commons;  Faro del Comercio: photo by Cvmontuy, via Wikimedia Commons;  A twilight view of the Torres de Satélite: phot by Correogsk, via Wikimedia Commons  

The Plan's The Thing: Comparing the Plans of Master Architects (including Rudolph)

COMPARING ARCHITECTS: DIFFICULT AND DANGEROUS

Trying to compare architects (or more precisely: comparing their bodies of work) is a dangerous game—for the challenge immediately brings up a number of thorny, imponderable questions:

Balancing the factors to be judged, as listed at left, is part of the challenge.

• Where would one begin?

• What exactly is one comparing? [Technical mastery? Efficient planning? Aesthetic delight? Spatial variation? Contextual sensitivity? How much they changed the direction of architectural history? Diversity of building types? Energy efficiency? The satisfaction of their clients?. . . ]

• If one is looking for an assessment of overall excellence, judging on a multi-factorial basis (including the above items), how does one balance and weight the factors?

• For each factor, hat would one measure?

• On what scale would one measure?

• Is the notion of “measurement” meaningful in this domain?

• Who are to be the judges?'

• What values do the judges (the ones doing the comparing) bring to their decision-making?

All of these questions become ever more fraught in the context of our present culture, one whose behavior vibrates between two modes: pluralist, permissive non-judgementalism -vs- abrupt severity when making judgements. In architectural matters, we often feel sure of the rightness of our assessments (even the ones offered off-the-cuff) —yet we can crumble if ever asked to seriously and patiently address the questions of Who are we to judge? and Where do our standards originally derive from?

THE UNAVOIDABLITY OF JUDGEMENT

Philip Johnson: “We cannot Not know history” —a point which Johnson and Rudolph could both agree upon (but these long-time friends each used that lesson in very different ways.)

Paul Rudolph’s friend, Philip Johnson once scandalized the Modern architecture community by asserting:

“WE CANNOT NOT KNOW HISTORY.”

When offered, at mid-century, it seemed an outrageous claim. At that time many architects believed that (with the advent of Modernism) architecture had left history behind as something irrelevant to current practice.

[By-the-way: Johnson’s claim is one which we believe Rudolph would have agreed with—though with his own, very different ideas about what to do with such historical knowledge.]

Just as Johnson is reminding us that history is something that an honest and cultured architect cannot pretend to ever transcend, we also cannot pretend that we are exempt from making judgements—however difficult it is to try to make them.

Not only is it in our nature to offer judgement, but we are constantly called upon to do so in numerous domains and occasions, as when we are selecting collaborators, teaching, assessing what’s worth preserving, participating in juries, and prioritizing what to focus upon when working on a design (including where to allocate the budget). Most consequent of all judgements is when a client, about to enter upon a building project, makes the judgement about which architect to select for the commission. So we can make a parallel assertion to Johnson’s:

WE CANNNOT NOT MAKE JUDGEMENTS

—and, since in our education, work, and personal development, we model ourselves after the designers we admire, that inevitability of judgement applies to architects: we’ll never stop comparing them.

MAKING THE TASK A LITTLE LESS IMPOSSIBLE

Even though we’ll never stop trying to compare architects (judging their relative worth), we’ll never arrive at a broadly agreed-upon method for making “final and ultimate” assessments—and that’s owing to the fact that the scales-of-value shift in each era, as does the culture’s changing mood about what it finds interesting or crucial.

So the task is impossible—and even if it wasn’t impossible, it would be overwhelming because there are too many factors to consider. The good news is that the path is sometimes made a bit smoother for us by researchers who focus-in on a single aspect of architecture. By doing so—by showing how various architects have dealt with a specific issue—-these writers bring some clarity to the discussion. The seeming narrowness of their investigations calms the storm of mental overwhelm, and opens-up space for clearer thinking.

An excellent example is the work done by Kevin Bone and his associates, shown in the book “Lessons from Modernism,” which looked at the various ways that Modern architects—Wright, Aalto, Bo Bardi, Niemeyer, , Rudolph, and others—dealt with environmental issues, especially how they handled solar loads.

Lessons from Modernism, edited by architect and educator Kevin Bone, focused on strategies several prominent architects used when dealing with environmental concerns—especially solar loading. Two of Rudolph’s houses are analyzed in the book, and his Walker House is shown above.

Another example of this type of highly focused study are books which highlight the use of a particular architectural material (i.e.: glass, concrete, ceramics, metalwork…) and show a banquet of photos and drawings of how various architects used and detailed them. “Design With Glass” and the two-volume “Aluminum in Modern Architecture” (see image at right), both by architectural writer John Peter, are classic examples of such books from the “mid-century Modern” period—and the one he wrote about glass included Paul Rudolph’s Jewett Arts Center at Wellesley College.

COMPARING ARCHITECT’S PLANS

Hideaki Haraguchi’s book— A COMPARITIVE ANALYISIS OF 20TH-CENTURY HOUSES — is in this tradition of studies which concentrate on one aspect of architectural creation. The author focuses-in on floor plans designed by the most prominent and creative architects of the Modern period—and he shares his research and conclusions in three illuminating ways:

• Chapter essays (“Tripartite Composition”, “The English Tradition”, “Towards Universal Space”…) about the various families of approaches used in the the design of house plans—richly illustrated with many examples from each era

• An extensive timeline, from the 1400’s to the 1980’s, showing transformations in the design of residential plans—with examples of representative plans inserted within the chart

• Numerous illustrations of the houses, based of the plans: over 100 axonometric drawings

Paul Rudolph’s work is cited in the chapter in which the author analyzes how Mid-century designers began to depart from the use of the “Universal Space” concept for residential planning (an approach which had previously been favored among Modern architects.)

The book includes a fold-out timeline to show the evolution in Modern architects’ approaches to residential planning. Rather than just name the architects (or the houses), the author places small images of the each of the plans on the chart—a graphically helpful method.

GRAPHIC AND SPATIAL ANALYSIS

The author’s depiction of two levels of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Robie House—one of the numerous drawings in the book which use the axonometric drawing technique to convey spatial quality as well as the plan layout.

The author, via those 3 ways of telling the story of the changes in house design, offers rich insights into master architects’ planning philosophies, techniques, and styles—and the historical context in which they operated.

But the real glory of this study are the abundance of drawings which the Haraguchi created for the book. These drawings show the plans, but also convey a sense of the each house’s spaces by also showing the walls, columns, and window & door openings—and the author does this in through axonometric drawings.

That’s a type of drawing where it looks like the walls are being extruded upward from the plan—so it an axonometric drawing not only shows the layout of the rooms, but also tangibly suggests the type of spaces which the layout gives rise to. [Although Paul Rudolph was known as a master of perspective drawing, he sometimes also utilized the axonometric drawing technique—and we posted an article about that here.]

In addition to using this explanatory drawing technique, Haraguchi’s drawings are reproduced as white images on a black background. This not only evokes the authority of traditional architectural blueprints, but this graphic approach also adds a sense of visual drama which focuses the reader’s attention.

RUDOLPH, IN WHITE ON BLACK

Those drawings are the real treasures of this book. Using that technique, Haraguchi drew over 100 axonometric plans of house designs, by forty-five 20th Century architectural masters, including:

Wright, Hoffmann, Lutyens, Niemeyer, Taut, Sharoun, Le Corbusier, Rietveld, van Doesburg, Chareau, Mies, Breuer, Neutra, Kahn, Venturi, Eisenman, Tigerman, Botta, Rossi—and Rudolph!

Paul Rudolph is represented by houses designed across a quarter-century of his prolific career—from the 1948 Siegrist Residence -to- the 1972 Micheels Residence. The author gives emphasis to one of Rudolph’s finest designs: the Milam Residence of 1959, showing both levels of the house.

The two-page spread wherein Haraguchi explores—via axonometric drawings—three of Rudolph’s house designs. LEFT-HAND PAGE: the 1959 Milam Residence (showing both levels.) RIGHT-HAND PAGE: the 1972 Micheels Residence (shown lower-left), and the 1948 Siegrist Residence (shown upper-right.)

A closer view of the page with the Haraguchi’s drawings of Rudolph’s Milam Residence in Ponte Verda Beach, Florida. It shows the house’s two levels, and the use of axonometric drawings convey information not only abut the layout of the rooms, but also about how the walls, windows balconies (and double-height planning) shape the interior spaces.

THE POWER OF COMPARISONS

Brian Sewell was one of Britain’s most perceptive art critics (and one of the most controversial.) In this powerful video segment, about developing one’s aesthetic sense, he cites the effective use of comparison.

Comparison can be a powerful tool—especially when a scholar provides opens up the question by providing materials which allow us to intensely focus-in on an aspect of architectural design.

Brian Sewell (1931-2015), the British art critic known for his fiery opinions, as well as the depth and sensitivity of his knowledge, spoke inspiringly about the importance of comparison—what he called “a repeat experience”—for developing a deeper sense of what’s significant and beautiful. He was speaking of painting and sculpture—and the same approach can be applied to the art of architecture.

For gaining an in-depth knowledge of the approaches that were used in designing the Modern masterworks of residential architecture—how such strategies evolved, varied, an reflected larger issues and philosophies in the architecture of that century—Hideaki Haraguchi’s A Comparative Analysis of 20th-Century Houses is an indispensable resource, guide and well of insight. That he included several examples of Paul Rudolph’s work is additional evidence of the author’s wisdom.

Returning to our original theme—the difficulty of comparing architects—and the multiple obstacles entailed in such a task: this book’s concentrated examination of a single aspect of architects’ work is the sort of study that can aid—via its focus and profound clarity—in making such challenging assessments.

BOOK INFORMATION AND AVAILABILITY:

• TITLE: A Comparative Analysis of 20th-Century Houses

• AUTHOR: Hideaki Haraguchi

• PUBLISHER: In Great Britain: Academy Editions; In the US: Rizzoli International

• FORMAT: Paperback, 11-1/2” x 11-1/2”, 92 pages, hundreds of illustrations

• YEAR OF PUBLICATION: Great Britain: 1988; US: 1989

• ISBN: 0-8478-1023-2

• AMAZON PAGE: here

• ABEBOOKS PAGE: here

A broader view of the timeline in Haraguchi’s book, in which the author traces the evolution of architects’ residential planning over the course of the several centuries. Plans, representative of changing philosophies of design, are inserted into the chart—aiding the clarity of the presentation.

IMAGE CREDITS:

Balance scale: photo by Poussin jean, via Wikimedia Commons; Photo portrait of Philip Johnson: photograph by Carl Van Vechten, from the Van Vechten Collection at the Library of Congress