The Power of Portraits and the Importance of Knowing Who Took Them

Paul Rudolph, shown in his Quadruplex Residence in New York City. This portrait is by Jeff Corwin. and is part of his American Architects series, which he photographed during 1986-1987. Rudolph is at a stairway which he created for the North-West corner of the apartment: an intriguing design of folded metal plates which flow upwards.

A PARTNERSHIP: ARCHITECTURE & PHOTOGRAPHY

The opening article of our two-part series on “RUDOLPH AND HIS ARCHITECTURAL PHOTOGRAPHERS”. You can see Part One HERE, and Part Two HERE.

Recently, we looked into the relationship of photography and architecture—and the multiple powers of architectural photographs:

• To preserve images of buildings that have been lost

• To influence the design of subsequent architecture. The influence of the handful of photographs of the [demolished] Barcelona Pavilion is an example.

• To share the experience of architecture that one is not likely to see in-person

• To create cultural landmarks of what constitutes a style, era, or region

• To make reputations of architects as creative professionals

• To build-a-case for preserving a great work of architecture

[You can read more about this—and see how Paul Rudolph’s work has been handled by a range of distinguished photographers—in our article: “RUDOLPH AND HIS ARCHITECTURAL PHOTOGRAPHERS”—parts one and two; as well the influence of photographs, in this article on preservation.]

THE ARCHITECTURAL PORTRAIT: iMAGE AND INSIGHT

Portraits—whether they are made with photography -or- paint—can be considered in several ways, but the most interesting perspectives are the oppositional ones:

How the subject wanted to be portrayed: the outward image they seek to present to the world. An example would be the many photographs of Frank Lloyd Wright by Pedro Guerrero—images showing Wright at his heroic best.

—and (or versus)—

Other things the portrait tells us about the subject, conveying more subtle aspects of the person’s life. [This can sometimes include aspects of their life/personality that weren’t intended to be shown.]

THE OUTWARD IMAGE

The function (and potency) of portraiture-as-publicity is attested throughout history, from the Sphinx -to- the covers of Vanity Fair and People (and hundreds of similarly celebrity-focused magazines, world-wide.)

Both the subject and the artist are complicit in telling a story—sometimes quite intentional in its goals of conveying the person depicted as heroic, dedicated, soulful, sacrificing, or any of the other virtues.

Jacques-Louis David’s 1812 painting, “The Emperor Napoleon in His Study at the Tuileries”—besides being a work-of-art—is a perfect example of the portrait-as-propaganda. It shows Bonaparte as he wanted to be seen— He’s shown a bit wrinkled: and that’s because he’s working hard for his people (and working late: the clock shows it’s 4:13 AM, and the candles have burned low). And he’s not just focused on military glory— at the moment, he’s put aside his sword and taken up the pen: he’s shown working on issues of governance (the manuscript for the Code Napoléon—the civil code that is still the basis of French law—is on the desk.)

Napoleon liked this portrait very much: it conveyed some of the positive qualities that he desired to be seen manifesting.

THE INWARD IMAGE

Many creators claim that whatever’s worth knowing about them is in their work, and delving into their personal lives is useless (and often unwelcome.) But - if you find someone’s work compelling - that stricture is never satisfying, and we do seek to get-to-know the life of the maker, including their inner lives and commitments. Deeper evidence of those lives can be found not just in letters and interviews with their associates, but in visual evidence like portraits.

The American Architects page, from Jeff Corwin’s website, showing 28 of his photographic portraits of distinguished practitioners—including two of Paul Rudolph.

Jeff Corwin is a photographer with a portfolio that includes both commissioned and artistic work. For over four decades he’s been making and taking photographs around-the-world, and of many different subjects, from industry -to- landscapes -to- military affairs—and part of his oeuvre is portraits.

During 1986-1987 he created a series of portraits of American Architects—capturing some of the most prominent practitioners of the era. Among them were Lautner, Weese, Tigerman, Goldberg—and Paul Rudolph.

One of his photographs of Rudolph is at the top of this article: it shows him in the midst of his “Quadruplex” apartment in New York City. But let’s look at the other photograph taken by Jeff Corwin, during the same session (shown below).

Jeff Corwin’s photographic portrait of Paul Rudolph, taken in the living room of Rudolph’s “Quadruplex” in New York.

What can we see in this image? A man in his late 60’s with a sharp eye. Like David’s portrait of Napoleon, we see a man who is continually working (even at home)—and, like Bonaparte, Rudolph too is a bit rumpled from his labor. At his feet are drawings [and after all, What is Rudolph without drawings?!] They’re accompanied by pencils, and the glasses which he wore as he got older—the circular ones that have become the trademark of architects from Corbusier -to- Pei. In the background is a lamp which he designed: its’ geometric form reflects the Bauhaus purity professed by his teacher at Harvard, Gropius (and the lamp was fabricated by Modulightor - the lighting company which Rudolph founded). Rudolph liked art, however he could never afford to purchase works by famous figures of the artworld. So he filled his environment with relatively lower-cost objects which he found on his travels, and you can see them here: on the wall, the floor, and the window sill. Most telling is his expression: it’s the look of a man who’s been interrupted in his work—and he’s too committed to be happy about it. Even the setting is evidence of his creative thinking. Rudolph is shown against a background of the windows which he placed on the South side of his living room—but these are no ordinary windows. These are “lot line” windows—the type which building regulations permit to be placed at the edge of a building, when it is directly adjacent to a neighbor’s property. The size of these windows is tightly regulated - but Rudolph groups them in order to gain as large a view as possible - a creative trick to get around building code restrictions. At the lower right, we see a step—an indication of the multiple-levels which Rudolph often utilized in his designs, and which are found throughout his penthouse.

One photograph—but, in that single image, many clues of the subject are revealed.

AN AUTHOR IDENTIFIED AND NOW CREDIT IS DUE

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation is thankful to Mr. Corwin who reached out to us and generously gave us permission to use his photographs for our efforts to preserve and educate the public about Rudolph’s work.

The key word is “permission”—and too often the rights of photographers and other creators are ignored. These two photographs are a case-in-point.

The Library of Congress’ page for the above photograph—and we’re glad to see that a proper credit for the photographer, Jeff Corwin, has now been added.

When Mr. Corwin emailed us offering permission to use his images, we replied that we knew of them but had not known who took the photographs.

They are both included on the Library of Congress’ website, but were not credited to the photographer - and were at one point downloadable under the (mistaken) belief that everything available at the Library of Congress is in the public domain.

When Rudolph passed away, he left his papers in the care of the Library of Congress. The staff probably found unlabeled prints of these photographs - likely after a request by a researcher - and scanned them and added them to the website. Mr. Corwin found his portraits on social media (without credit or permission), and he started looking into this. He then found the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation and wrote to us that he thought we could use his work in our efforts. We are glad that he did so, as it allows us to identify, thank, and highlight his work.

We sent him links to the photos at the Library of Congress and suggested he reach out to them. Now, they have amended their pages for those images so that the work is properly credited and no longer downloadable - a needed correction that is proper for them to have made.

There are lessons from this:

1. Social media and the ease of downloading and sharing images can make attribution difficult over time if the credit is not included when the image is shared. Key information (the name of creators, when a work was made, the circumstances of its creation) often gets separated from the work itself - and that leads to gaps in the record (and problems in attribution and credit). Institutions sometimes - if not intentionally - perpetuate this problem, by not having/including proper credits.

2. Not everything at the Library of Congress is in the public domain and considered free to use. While the Library Congress uses language like ‘Most of the works in the Library of Congress Paul Rudolph Archive have no known copyright restrictions.” it leaves the final responsibility up to the user. Fair use is one thing, commercial use is very different.

3. Creators can be most gracious in allowing the use of their work but that starts with showing a respect for their rights, and asking for permission. When known, the creators must be identified - and, if possible, links should be given to their website, or contact information, or other relevant sources

4. Institutions can make corrections about credit or use, when approached and given full information.

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation appreciates Jeff Corwin for giving us permission to use his photos and we are glad he helped identify his original work.

---

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:

Paul Rudolph at stairway: photograph by Jeff Corwin, use courtesy of the photographer, © Jeff Corwin; Paul Rudolph’s Burroughs Wellcome headquarters building, photograph by G. E. Kidder Smith, courtesy of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology; ’“The Emperor Napoleon in His Study at the Tuileries” by Jacques-Louis David, in the collection of the National Gallery of Art, via Wikimedia Commons; Paul Rudolph in front of his living room’s window: photograph by Jeff Corwin, use courtesy of the photographer, © Jeff Corwin

UPDATE: Still an uncertain future for Rudolph's HURLEY BUILDING in Boston

The Hurley Building—a key part of the Boston Government Service Center complex, designed by Paul Rudolph—as seen from the courtyard. In the below aerial view drawing, also by Rudolph, it is on the left part of the site (enclosed in the oval.)

The future of the BOSTON GOVERNMENT SERVICE CENTER—one of Paul Rudolph’s largest and most multifaceted public buildings—remains uncertain.

The Boston Government Service Center, as shown in Paul Rudolph’s aerial view drawing. The threatened Hurley Building is approximately enclosed by the red oval.

THE SITUATION—aS IT’S DEVELOPED

On of the strategies of those who want to demolish all or part of the Boston Government Service Center’s Hurley Building is to spread the idea that Rudolph was not the prime designer of the complex (including Hurley)—a myth we’ve addressed here.

Shown above is a model of the Boston Government Service Center complex, with the Hurley Building closest to the front-left of the picture (the model also includes Rudolphs design for the unbuilt office tower, rising in the center.) In the background can be seen architectural drawings: an elevation and numerous floor plans. Around the model are key players in the creation of the complex—and Paul Rudolph is standing at far right.

ORIGIN:

• The Boston Government Service Center occupies a large triangular-shaped site in downtown Boston’s “Government Center” area [whose other most well-known modern building is the Boston City Hall.]

• The entire block was designed under the strong leadership of Paul Rudolph.

• Rudolph not only created the complex’s overall plan (the “parti”), but also: the design of each section closely following his direction, vision, and set of architetural standards which he defined. [We’ve addressed the nature of Rudolph’s involvement in our article here.]

• The client was the state of Massachusetts. Approximately 2/3 of the complex was built as Rudolph envisioned it, and those buildings house a variety of vital civic/state functions.

DO NEW PLANS LEAD TO DEMOLITION?

• DCAMM: the state of Massachusetts’ Division of Capital Asset Management and Maintenance) has proposed developing and upgrading the site.

• A key part of their plan is handing-off an integral part of the complex—the HURLEY BUILDING—to a developer.

• That could potentially mean the destruction of all-or-part of HURLEY—a building which is a significant part of the overall complex.

• There have been various reports and meetings (as well as interdepartmental discussions) to present and review the state’s plans—and we’ve published several articles on the the situation, including ones examining and questioning this development project (like this one, which looked at the alternatives the state’s been considering.)

• Several critical letters, statements, and reports have come out: protesting the assumption that demolition is the only path to a positive future for this complex.

• We had the impression that all the feedback DCAMM had received had led to a positive development: they seemed to have become receptive to including preservation as a central tenet of the project.

ABOVE & BELOW: the Report and Appendices, recently issued by DCAMM (the state of Massachusetts’ Division of Capital Asset Management and Maintenance), giving a clearer picture of their intentions for the project. Preservation of the Hurley Building does not seem to be a central tenant of the project.

AND NOW: THE RELEASE OF KEY DOCUMENTS

In February, the department advocating the project, DCAMM, moved the project further along,: issuing its report to the state’s Asset Management Board. Their report summarizes the entire project: it shares the history and statistics they gathered, their planning processes, options considered, costs, goals, anticipated revenues and benefits, private sector participation, responses they’ve gotten (and their responses to them), how the project would be administered, and proposed steps & schedule for implementation—including laws and regulations they want waived. [You can see the full report HERE.]

The most interesting part accompanied their report: a set of Appendices which includes copies of their previous proposals/reports, information on the historical-architectural importance of the building complex, and—most fascinating of all: the feedback they’ve received in the form of letters, surveys, public hearings and meetings, and discussions. The “inputters” are from a wide range of stakeholders: neighbors, agencies, professionals, historians, community groups, historians, consultants, and the preservation community. Key documents include:

• statements from the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation

• the MASSACHUSETTS HISTORICAL COMMISSION’S report on the importance of the building (and their back-and-forth correspondence with DCAMM)

• the BOSTON LANDMARK COMMISSSION’S report on the importance of the building

• DOCOMOMO’s report and assessment

The feedback is mixed: While the above four entities fully document and defend the significance of the Boston Government Service Center buildings (and this is further supported by input from other groups and individuals), not all the feedback was positive: a number of the area’s residents and other groups would be happy to see the building replaced—though there doesn’t seem to be consensus on just what form the replacement should take, or what features it should incorporate. [You can see the full Appendices HERE.]

BUT WHAT DOES IT uLTIMATELY SAY?

The report pretty much sticks to what all of DCAMM’s previous reports have said: they want to go ahead with the development project, and there will be benefits for everybody (i.e.: revenues and cost reductions, efficiencies in the consolidation of government office space, better energy use, greater pedestrian friendliness in-and-around the complex, an improved neighborhood…)—which we acknowledge are all worthy goals.

To do this: They will need to engage a developer, and that “partner” will take over all-or-part of the Hurley building. None of this is necessarily problematic, but the danger lies in the terms under which their development partner will be required to work—-and specifically: how (and how much) of the Hurley Building will be preserved?

THE WEAK SPOT (THE DANGER): NO CLEAR COMMITTMENT TO PRESERVATION

Based on previous communication from DCAMM, we believed they had arrived to include preservation as a central tenet of the project. But—

Reading through their new report, we find only weak indications their intentions in that direction.

Here’s a quote from the report:

“While the majority of commenters advocated building preservation, there were several strong opinions expressed in favor of building demolition. DCAMM intends to express a preference in the RFP for redevelopment schemes that pursue adaptive reuse of the existing building – that is, schemes that retain some or all of the existing building, but include new improvements to modernize what is retained, and address some of the urban design challenges that many of the building’s detractors find so problematic. Given that the site is eligible for listing in the state and local registers of historic places, and that MHC has indicated that it expects DCAMM to prioritize preservation, this compromise is recommended.”

When you hear that “DCAMM intends to express a preference. . . .for redevelopment schemes that pursue adaptive reuse of the existing building – that is, schemes that retain some or all of the existing building, but. . . .” does that give you confidence?

And when they say “. . . .MHC [the Massachusetts Historical Commission] has indicated that it expects DCAMM to prioritize preservation, this compromise is recommended.” it seems to lead one to think that the responsibility for setting the rules on how the project proceeds is the responsibility of the MHC—whereas DCAMM is directing the project.

And look at another:

“. . . .The complex as a whole is admired by fans of Brutalist architecture for its distinct features and its monumental scale, which is in keeping with the dominant role government played in that Urban Renewal era. DCAMM is in consultation with the Massachusetts Historical Commission and preservation advocates on an adaptive reuse approach that respects the significance of the site while allowing for much-needed improvements. Including the “Open Space Improvement Area” in the disposition site is part of that work.”

Note the language of the above segments: It characterizes those who see value in the building as “fans” [just fans?]; and also places the origin of its form in a past era (making it no longer relevant?). It mentions “consultation with the Massachusetts Historical Commission and preservation advocates”—but there’s no clear, strong commitment to actually acting on the recommendations of those focused on the preservation of our cultural-historical heritage.

Finally, an indication of the attitude to the Hurley Building is the way they refer to it, calling it “the asset.” That may possibly be a technical term in the world of real estate and development—but here again language is important in shaping the way we think: this term drives the listener into valuing this architectural work at only the most basic material/financial level.

One of the two site-specific murals, by Constantino Nivola, in the lobby of the Hurley Building. One can get an idea of the overall scale of the mural from the person seen at the bottom of this view.

AND WHAT OF THE ART?

Many have expressed concern about the Hurley Building’s site-specific murals, by the internationally recognized artist, Constantino Nivola. There are two of them in the lobby: they are expansive, colorful, and rich with symbolism.

In their report, DCAMM says that they have:

“. . . .commissioned an art conservation study to enhance understanding of the significance of these murals, and considerations for restoration / relocation, if required. DCAMM intends to make the results of this study available to potential bidders who may find such information useful.”

Does that sound like much of a commitment to preserving them?

TAKE ACTION:

• Sign the petition: “Save the Boston Government Service Center” — sign it HERE - and share it with your friends and all who appreciate great architecture.

• 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.)—and you can sign-up at the bottom of this page.

A corner of the Hurley Building, as seen in Ned Daly’s film, “The Closer You Look”

---

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 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:

Hurley Building, corner as seen from the courtyard:  Image courtesy of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, photograph by G. E. Kidder Smith;  Aerial View axonometric drawing of the Boston Government Service Center: by Paul Rudolph, © The estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Model of the Boston Government Service Center, surrounded by key players in the creation of the complex: vintage news photo by Max Kotfila, Library of Congress, LoC Control Number 2020630066;  Cover page of the Report on the Charles F. Hurley Building Development Project: published by  DCAMM: the commonwealth of Massachusetts’ Division of Capital Asset Management and Maintenance;  Cover page of the Appendix to the Report on the Charles F. Hurley Building Development Project: published by  DCAMM: the commonwealth of Massachusetts’ Division of Capital Asset Management and Maintenance;  Nivola mural, in the lobby of the Hurley Building: photograph by Kelvin Dickinson, © The estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Exterior corner of the Hurley Building: a still from the film “The Closer You Look” by director Ned Daly—and for more information on the film, also see our article here.

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.

---

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

What's “REAL”? (and What’s RIGHT) In Preservation: Restoration? Recreation? Reproduction? Renovation? Rehabilitation. . ?

Mies van der Rohe’s Barcelona Pavilion—one of THE key icons and exemplars of Modern Architecture—was built for a 1929 international exposition in Spain. It lasted only briefly, and—for decades thereafter—it was only known via its floor famous plan, a detail drawing of a column, and a handful of photographs (of which this view is the one most repeatedly reproduced.)

Mies died in 1969, and—nearly two decades after he had passed—a reconstruction of the Barcelona Pavilion was completed on the same site as the original. It has provided interesting experiences for architects (who never had a chance to visit the short-lived original)—but whether it should ever have been re-built remains a question within the architectural community.

"Never demolish, never remove or replace, always add, transform, and reuse!"

"Demolishing is a decision of easiness and short term. It is a waste of many things—a waste of energy, a waste of material, and a waste of history. Moreover, it has a very negative social impact. For us, it is an act of violence."

— Anne Lacaton and Jean-Philippe Vassal, winners of the 2021 Pritzker Prize in Architecture

A CASE THAT RAISES QUESTIONS

The Barcelona Pavilion, designed by Mies van der Rohe, was built for an exposition in 1929—a “world’s fair” wherein 20 countries participated, and in which there were also exhibits on industry, science, art, history, crafts, science, and agriculture. The fair lasted for less than a year, and the structure which represented Germany—the Barcelona Pavilion—was demolished along with the rest of the fair’s buildings (as is usually done with such fairs).

The Barcelona Pavilion’s “cruciform column”: this plan-detail of it was one of the few original Mies drawings available—and has been the focus of attention for nearly a century.

After Paul Rudolph visited the Barcelona Pavilion, he made a series of fascinating analytical drawings—one of which is shown above—and all of which you can see here (where you can also read Rudolph’s thoughts about his moving experience of the building.)

Mies’ design became famous: an “icon”—an ontological distillation of a key thrust of architectural Modernism. Mies’ building lasted for only about 8 months, yet it continues to penetrate and have hegemony over architectural imaginations to this day. It did that via a handful of photographs and a couple of drawings—and it’s a testament to the power of the Mies’ concept that the Barcelona Pavilion has remained relevant for nearly a century, even on such thin evidence.

Later in Mies’ life, he was asked about rebuilding the Barcelona Pavilion, and he’s reported to have thought that it wasn’t a bad idea, and—-as the original construction drawings had been lost—he mentioned that his office could cooperate by making drawings for it. But, during Mies life (1886-1969), nothing came of the project.

In the mid-1980’s that changed: between 1983 and 1986 the building had been permanently rebuilt—and on the same site it had originally stood.

Very few of the people who’d be the most interested in the building—the architectural community—had a chance to visit the Barcelona Pavilion when it was briefly extant (and obviously none after its destruction). So the rebuilding has been celebrated, as it has allowed one to finally experience, in person, what they’d read about, studied, obsessed over, and dreamt of. [Paul Rudolph made a visit, which he found highly moving—and which you can read all about, here.]

Even though the reappearance, “in the flesh”, of the Barcelona Pavilion has benefits, its rebuilding has also been not without controversy—and it has brought forth serious questions:

1. Could a truly accurate rebuilding be done without the original architect’s direct involvement? [Which was clearly not possible in this case, as Mies had passed years before the rebuilding project even started.]

2. Even if Mies had been involved, would he have made changes in the a rebuilt design?—and how would that affect its authenticity. [Paul Rudolph observed that many things he saw at the site were not architecturally “resolved”—and that, Rudolph thought, was part of its magic. That imperfection may be “par for the course” with a rapidly planned and constructed, temporary exposition building—-but the temptation to “fix” such things, later, might have been too much for anyone (especially Mies) to resist.]

3. An important part of the experience of the Barcelona Pavilion was the effect caused by the materials used: slabs of natural stone—including some personally selected by Mies. These had been destroyed or dispersed, when the building was demolished in 1930. [How could one know that the newly chosen materials truly matched the originals in tone, grain, color, and texture?]

4. How much documentation was actually available, in order to do an accurate rebuilding? [In this case, while valiant attempts were made to sift for all documents and archeological evidence, there was still a significant gap between whatever original information was found, and what had to be extrapolated.]

5. Are there things that are better left in the realm of the imagination, and which should not be materialized (even when we have the power to do so)? [Philip Johnson—THE long-time associate, expert, and evangelist for Mies—said of the rebuilding project: “The problem before us is should a dream be realized or not? We have made such a myth of that building. Shouldn’t it be left in the sacred vault of the memory bank?”]

These questions remain—-and they are pertinent today, as we are, more-and-more, presented with new building projects which, allegedly, intend to rebuild, recreate, reproduce, or restore something that has been lost.

One problem is that the the thinking and language around these questions has become elastic, slippery, and with elusive meaning or intent. There is a lack of rigor in preservation—-not in the professional field, per se (about which we have immense admiration—-more about that below), but in the way that claims of preservation have been made which seem questionable. Making the situation even more difficult is that all this exists in a troublesome (and troubling) larger cultural context…

A REALITY / TRUST DEFICIT

A chart from the Pew Research Center’s study of Public Trust in Government: 1958-2019 The overall downward trend, from 1964 to the present, is evident. [Note that the largest and steepest drop was in the wake of the mid-1970’s Watergate scandal.] Whether such mistrust is deserved (and how one might ever determine such a titanic question) is another issue—nevertheless, the general direction of public sentiment is quite clear.

At the end of the 20th century, a symposium was held in New York on the topic of “Authenticity”. Topics ranged from the ubiquity (and intense popularity) of un-authorized “knock-off” copies of fashion items (like Gucci handbags) -to- the legitimacy of sampling in music; and—perhaps to spur new thinking about the question of “realness”—the event’s organizers had arranged for a drag queen to be the day’s host. It’s no secret that what can (and cannot) be trusted to be real, to be authentic, seems to be increasingly fluid — i.e.: the ongoing excitement about developments products for virtual reality (and their increasing consumer availability); that polls show trust in government has been on a nearly 60-year downward trend; our present (and elongating) moment when business, schooling, and socializing is done via screens; and everybody seems to have their own (and mutually exclusive) set of “facts.”

In the context of this, is it any wonder that we’re sensitive to such questions as:

• What’s real ?

• What’s authentic ?

• What’s “Original” (and what’s “Original Intent”) ?

• What has integrity ?

And these questions of integrity, of what is original, of what is authentic—the kind of truthfulness that might be found in architecture —comes up starkly in the domain of architectural preservation.

Ayn Rand’s architect hero, Howard Roark (at right) at a moment-of-truth: considering whether to compromise on the integrity of his design.

INTEGRITY aND ARCHITECTURE

Perhaps you’ve come across a building (or part of a building) which has been newly constructed—and the sponsors claim that their project is historically renovated, or that it is an authentic recreation, or that it is true to the spirit of the original architect, or that it is rehabilitated to match the original construction (or they characterize the work with similar such language.)

Do such claims have a solid basis? Or are they part of the “Creeping Surrealism” noted earlier?

Clearly, there shouldn’t be blanket verdicts on this (and one must judge on a case-by-case basis) — But, these days, one could hardly be overcautious when considering such claims, for, as Ayn Rand put it so starkly:

“A building has integrity, just as a man and just as seldom."

And that integrity (or lack thereof) can apply to preservation projects—ones which claim to be done with care, and rigor. But there’s also good news: there is a body-of-knowledge—and a profession to apply it—where such rigor can be found.

PRESERVATION—a pROFESSIONAL APPROACH

Fortunately, there is a well-developed discipline of Preservation—by which we mean the field that is historically and scientifically rigorous, professionally ethical, and which has a well-developed set of supporting institutions. activities, and tools. Some of those include:

• standards-setting organizations

• schools

• certifications

• professional groups, conferences, and ways of identifying and honoring distinguished work in the field

• journals

• publications

• databases

• government and public engagement

For example: One can see the wealth of preservation knowledge that’s been developed by looking at its publications. We asked Barbara A. Campagna, FAIA, LEED AP BD+C—a leading professional in this field, with in-depth experience in preservation—about this. We asked for the names of some of the key journals of the field—ones in which the profession of preservation shares its growing body of information and practical wisdom—and she mentioned: the Association for Preservation Technology’s APT Bulletin, the Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, and DOCOMOMO International’s DOCOMOMO Journal—all of which are peer reviewed.

PRESERVATION LANGUAGE FOR CLEAR THINKING

The profession has as worked-out an extensive vocabulary—terms which can help bring clarity to any proposed project.

For example: The National Parks Service refers to “Four Approaches to the Treatment of Historic Properties”—and offers a concise glossary of the key terms:

• Preservation focuses on the maintenance and repair of existing historic materials and retention of a property's form as it has evolved over time.

• Rehabilitation acknowledges the need to alter or add to a historic property to meet continuing or changing uses while retaining the property's historic character.

• Restoration depicts a property at a particular period of time in its history, while removing evidence of other periods.

• Reconstruction re-creates vanished or non-surviving portions of a property for interpretive purposes.

Each of the highlighted words above has their own separate set of standards (and clicking on them will bring you to the the relevant pages where that’s gone into.) The National Parks Service also offers training and an extensive set of publications which cover many areas, including general preservation strategy as well as in-depth technical information—and you can access them here.

But they is just one of numerous preservation organizations (both national and local) which also offer advice, data, and a great range of assistance—the National Trust for Historic Preservation being another major resource.

CASE STUDIES sHOWING A POSITIVE DIRECTION

There are several projects, within Rudolph’s oeuvre, where renovation was done with responsibility and care. Notable is that these were done well after Rudolph’s passing—so they show that it is possible to do such work (including bringing a building up to later standards) well, and still be loyal to the original architect’s vision.

HEALY GUEST HOUSE (THE “COOCOON” HOUSE)

The Healy Guest House (1950) in Sarasota, Florida, is a waterside vacation residence designed near the beginning of Paul Rudolph’s career. Known for its catenary roof, inventive structure, and fresh form, the design—combined with Rudolph’s virtuoso drawing technique—was to help initiate Rudolph’s fame as one of America’s most creative young architects. Much published and studied over the decades, the City of Sarasota has added it to its list of Locally Historically Designated Properties in 1985.

In 2018, the house was leased to the Sarasota Architecture Foundation. They did a number of important renovation projects at the house, and—according to David Zaccardelli, the SAF board member overseeing the process—they “. . . .replaced the front door; restored the louvers, stripping them to natural grain wood; painted the exterior; and restored the front and rear porch, including the originally designed metal bench on the porch overlooking Bayou Louise. We also repaired the driveway and walkway pavers and installed new screens.” Following the renovations, the SAF contracted a local interior designer to furnish the residence in period-appropriate 1950’s-style furniture—and then reopened it for public tours.

Paul Rudolph’s perspective rendering of the Healy Guest House—which shows its iconic catenary curve roof.

The guest house, a Florida vacation structure built for the Healy family, sits along the water in Sarasota.

JEWETT ARTS CENTER AT WELLESLEY COLLEGE

The Mary Cooper Jewett Arts Center (1955-1958) was a breakthrough for Rudolph: it was his first major non-residential project to get built (and indeed, his latter career would include numerous buildings for education.). A complex program had to be accommodated—but, just as important: Rudolph sought to design a Modern building that would be sympathetic with the Wellesley’s existing vintage buildings. Those had been done in a “Collegiate Gothic” mode—a traditional style which had been popular approach for the design of campuses. Rudolph had no interest in reproducing the exact forms and details of the older buildings, but he did seek to resonate with them—and so he used shapes, proportions, glazing, and structure in ways that would fit well into the existing campus.

After about a half-century of use, the building needed a variety of repairs, and the college commissioned a comprehensive study of its condition. Significant work was judged to be needed for the windows: Rudolph had framed the glazing in wood, and by the mid 2010’s the window assemblies were in need of replacement. Several options were considered, but the best one—rebuilding the windows to match Rudolph’s design, but using a hardier wood, and carefully integrating double-glazing—was seen to be too expensive for the available budget. In 2019, the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation participated in discussions about the renovation plans, and encouraged the preservation team to hold to Rudolph’s vision—and suggested a funding and scheduling approach that would allow the university to do the renovations correctly (and be able to afford to do so.)

Paul Rudolph’s Jewett Arts Center, at Wellesley College. To resonate with campus’ other buildings (which had been designed in the Collegiate Gothic style), the new building was detailed to include coupled columns, pointed skylights, modulated metal screening, and a carefully articulated wood-framed window system.

One of Paul Rudolph’s details of the building’s exterior. This is a plan-detail, showing a concrete column (In a 4-lobed shape, which evokes the campus’ vintage Gothic-style building details), and a corner of the wood-framed glazing system. When constructed, the building was single-glazed (which was standard for the time).

YALE ART & ARCHITECTURE BUILDING

Paul Rudolph’s most famous work, the Yale Art & Architecture Building (1958-1964, rededicated as “Rudolph Hall” in 2008) had—after a major fire, years of patchy repairs and partial/unsympathetic renovations, and four decades of hard use by students—fallen into sorry shape. Yale even considered demolishing it, but a variety of causes (including significant support from Sid. R. Bass) brought forth a respectful and comprehensive renovation. The work included a focus on major systems (HVAC, lighting) and materials (particularly the condition of the exterior concrete and the glazing): they were upgraded, brought up to code, fixed, and—most important as the guiding principle—done in a way that maintained the forms and spirit of Rudolph’s vision for the school.

Although Paul Rudolph is famous for his perspective drawings, he also sometimes chose other graphic forms—like axonometric or isometric projections (the latter of which is used here, in his drawing of the Yale building.)

Windows—their form, details, and framing—are a part of every architects palette—and Paul Rudolph varied how they were handed in his design at Yale. Here they’re shown the process of replacement during the renovation.

PRESERVATION: THE ONGOING CHALLENGE

Sometimes preservation is straightforward—but more often there are difficulties—technical, budgetary, and philosophical. The ancient Greek riddle of the Ship of Theseus provides a paradigmatic example of the latter:

That legendary hero, Theseus, upon finishing his adventures and long journey, returned to Athens by ship. Honoring him, the ship was kept in the harbor for hundreds of years—held sacred as a memorial to this great and most heroic warrior. But, over centuries, the ship’s parts needed to be replaced: first a few planks, then a mast, a beam, some decking…. By end of many years, every part of the ship had—piece-by-piece—been replaced. It happened slowly—so gradually that it had hardly been noticed—but what ultimately stood in the harbor was a ship made entirely of new materials, none of which had been present in Theseus’ time. So the questions arose: Could this really be considered Theseus’ ship? Did it have a claim on authenticity? The form of the ship was the same, and the replacements were done slowly, over long years—and each time with meticulous care and good faith—but was it the same ship?

Had Theseus’ ship been preserved? That’s the essence of the question—one that’s been puzzled over for two millennia. The model can applied to many things: How much of the human body can be replaced, and still be considered human (or the same person)? How much can the staff of a design firm turn-over, before the fundamental nature of the entity is lost? How many members of a group can be replaced, and it still be the “same” band (or sports team)?

And what about when preserving a buildings? How much can be changed, and still be an authentic work of the original architect?

These issues are pertinent to the legacy of Paul Rudolph!

• How much of a Paul Rudolph building can be changed or replaced, and it still really be a Paul Rudolph design?

• Can one demolish a Rudolph building and re-build it later (with all or substantially new materials)—and claim that it is still a real work of Paul Rudolph?

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation is pledged to protecting Rudolph’s legacy—including a focus on preservation. We are alive to these questions—and we aspire to bring integrity, knowledge, and rigor into all the cases which come to our attention. WE ARE WATCHING.

WHAT YOU CAN DO

• If you know of any Paul Rudolph buildings that might be threatened—please contact us at: office@paulrudolphheritagefoundation.org

• If you are thinking of renovating or changing a Paul Rudolph design, please feel truly welcome to talk to us: we’ll be happy to share our knowledge and experience.

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

The Ship of Theseus, a famous and ancient riddle (and philosophical problem) with ongoing relevance for preservation—including for Paul Rudolph buildings.

---

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 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:

Barcelona Pavilion, 1929: vintage photo;  Barcelona Pavilion, rebuilt in the 1980’s: Ashley Pomeroy via Wikimedia Commons;  Mies’ Barcelona Pavilion cruciform column detail: vintage drawing;  Paul Rudolph analytical drawing of the Barcelona Pavilion: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Chart of trust in government: Pew Research Center;  Drawing of Healy Guest House: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Photograph of Healy Guest House: courtesy of the Sarasota Architectural Foundation;  Photograph of Jewett Arts Center: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Detail of column and glazing system at Jewett Arts Center: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Isometric drawing of the Yale Art & Architecture Building: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Photograph of glazing renovation at the Yale Art & Architecture Building: Hoffmann Architects, Inc., via Wikimedia Commons;  Mosaic of ancient Greek ship: Dennis Jarvis, via Wikimedia Commons

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to great architects ALBERT KAHN & ERICH MENDELSOHN !

Albert Kahn’s Shipfitter’s Shop, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

Erich Mendelshohn’s Einstein Tower, in Potsdam

SUNDAY, MARCH 21, 2021 WAS THE 152nd BIRTHDAY OF ALBERT KAHN—AND THE 134th BIRTHDAY OF ERICH MENDELSOHN—AND WE CELEBRATE THESE GREAT FIGURES OF MODERN DESIGN

ALBERT KAHN, Architect (1869-1942)

ALBERT KAHN

Can there be too many “Kahns” in Architecture? Not by our accounting! There’s Louis Kahn and Eli Jacques Kahn, and even Kahn & Jacobs (Eli Jacques Kahn’s successor firm, which did some quite interesting work)—all distinguished practitioners and creators. And there’s at least one more significant “Kahn” to add to the list, making a triad of excellence and achievement: Albert Kahn (March 21, 1869 - December 8, 1942).

Kahn’s oeuvre was gargantuan, as was his organization (ultimately growing to hundreds of staff, when he had to handle the creation of numerous war plants for World War II). He and his firm designed and almost unimaginable number buildings, with—to give you an idea of the scale of his oeuvre—more than 1,000 commissions for Ford alone.

Although most appreciated for his industrial structures, his nearly half-century of practice also included a significant number of buildings of other kinds: corporate offices, religious buildings, apartment houses, private homes, civic buildings, performance spaces, memorials, college buildings for a broad range of disciplines (especially at the University of Michigan), banks, and other building types (even an impressive monumental lighthouse!) And though it is Kahn’s “industrial aesthetic” which attracted the eyes of Modern architects, he worked in many other modes—and particularly showed mastery of the classical and deco styles. Indeed, George Nelson (who was a design journalist before launching his own industrial design career) noted the great irony that Kahn considered his traditionally-styled work to be his “real” architecture.

ABOVE: Albert Kahn’s Shipfitter’s Shop, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. BELOW: Albert Kahn’s Chrysler Corporation Tank Arsenal Plant–Press Shop

[Nelson’s report on that aspect of Albert Kahn’s attitude to architecture is an occasion to point-out something important: While Kahn and his team’s process of designing industrial structures sometimes produced buildings of intensely striking form—ones that continue to be profoundly appealing to the Modern architectural “eye”—that was not their creators’ central goal. Kahn and his designers certainly had an aesthetic sense, but they were primarily problem-solvers. If a building could achieve a pleasing form, they might well have been glad—but such aesthetic results would be largely secondary to a preponderantly engineering-oriented mode of design and planning.]

While immensely successful, Albert Kahn was probably not widely known and appreciated beyond the prime region of his architectural work (Michigan), or outside of the clientele for which he designed buildings in his great specialty: large-scale industrial structures (which might be more geographically dispersed). Moreover, didn’t help his renown that architectural journals published industrial buildings only rather intermittently. That didn’t change until World War II, when professional magazines—joining in the spirit of the war effort—started showing buildings which highlighted the country’s productive capacity. That included the work of the Kahn firm—but he never rose to the level of fame of the architectural superstars of his era.

There was, however, a way in which Kahn’s industrial oeuvre (or at least his type of work) became the subject of the Modern movement’s affection—and that was because it was consistent with that community’s aesthetic and conceptual agendas and preferences. The demonstrably functional forms and spaces which Kahn designed were precisely in-line with Modernist thinking about creating “machines for living”—and Kahn’s buildings’ pared-down architectural palette appealed to their purist aesthetics.

THE IDEALIZATION OF ENGINEERING

One of the sources from which this admiration came from was the ideology of functionalism. Albert Kahn’s buildings looked more like the product of an engineering approach to design (as was, in large part, the case), without any malignant interventions from fussy traditionalist architectural values—or so the European Modernists imagined. The functionalists had great praise for the figure of the Engineer and his products—at least as those manifesto writers conceived him to be: one whose actions and decisions come from crystalline thinking, a creator of logical solutions, and one who would be dismissive of all that was not contributing to the function of factually-determined measures. In Le Corbusier’s view:

“The Engineer, inspired by the law of Economy and governed by mathematical calculation, puts us in accord with universal law. He achieves harmony.”

Among those Modern architects of the “Heroic” period of the 20’s and 30’s, this notion of how architectural problems were to be solved was expressed in its most distilled form by Hannes Meyer (the head of the Bauhaus who succeeded Gropius) in his stark formula:

Architecture = Function x Economy

THE AESTHETIC OF ENGINEERING

ABOVE: A US grain elevator, prominently pictured in Le Corbusier’s 1923 book, “Vers une Architecture.” Its clean, cylindrical geometries would have appealed to Modernists’ eyes—especially Corbusier, with his orientation to Purism. BELOW: The east tower of NYC’s George Washington Bridge—Mies’ candidate for the most beautiful building in New York.

The other reason that Albert Kahn’s work would have pleased the leaders of the Modern movement is the allure of the industrial—which is not just functionalist, but is also part aesthetic.

Industrial buildings (and similarly production-oriented structures) stand in strong contrast to “Buildings that look like buildings” (to use Robert Venturi’s phrase). Factories, water towers, processing facilities, chemical plants, storage tanks, great turbines (and the halls within which they’re made, like the famous AEG Turbine Factory by Behrens), and assemblages of titanic piping and ducts: they have a directness and power—and that gives them an attractive freshness to the eyes of designers who were seeking escape from the weight of centuries of accumulated architectural styles (and also an escape from those styles’ associations with a culture that was felt to be unjust, failed, and ossified.)

Thus the leaders of the Modern movements showed an appreciation for buildings which eschew ornament, which exhibit strong geometries, which celebrate their structural elements, and which are bold in form. Le Corbusier pointed to American grain elevators as platonic examples of what to aim for, writing:

“Thus we have the American grain elevators and factories, the magnificent FIRST FRUITS of a new age. THE AMERICAN ENGINEERS OVERWHELM WITH THEIR CALCULATIONS OUR EXPIRING ARCHITECTURE.”

And Mies van der Rohe, when asked what he thought was the most beautiful building in New York City, cited the George Washington Bridge—a complex of unadorned steel girders, which opened in the Northern part of Manhattan in 1931 (Othmar Ammann, chief engineer).

MIES NEEDS KAHN

Below is the interior of one of the factories which Kahn and his team designed: the Glenn Martin aircraft assembly plant, built in Maryland in 1937. The space, the spans, and the business-like organization of many layers of functional elements is indeed impressive. But….

But look at the below collage—for it is by this image that Albert Kahn’s reputation reached its apotheosis among architects.

It is, of course, one of the most famous images produced by Mies van der Rohe: his vision for a concert hall—created by him in 1942, and depicted using the medium of collage. The background is the same Albert Kahn-designed industrial building as in the photo above. Mies could certainly design buildings and structures that sit solidly (and immovably) upon the ground—-but there’s another, equally powerful motif that can be seen in his work: an urge towards weightlessness, a desire to have the power to make architectural elements levitate. That’s hard to pull-0ff in the real world—but it didn’t stop generations of architects (Mies, Kiesler, numerous Constructivists…) from creating dramatic visions of such possibilities. Here, in Mies concert hall design, the planes which define the musical performance space (and which assist in its acoustics) float or are suspended. It’s a alluring vision of purity, elegance, and even magic—-and it could only be set within a space big-enough to accommodate such architectural ambition. Such a space would need to have strong, long, open spans—a space of the kind which Albert Kahn designed!

Albert Kahn’s oeuvre was large, as was his organization (ultimately growing to hundreds of staff, when he had to handle the creation of war plants for World War II). He and his firm designed multiple-hundreds of buildings, with—to give you an idea of the scale if his work—more than 1,000 commissions for Ford alone.

Below is a selection of his work. As you can see, other than the large interior spaces (so appreciated by Mies), Albert Kahn’s work could appeal to Modernist architectural taste in other ways: the forms, materials, and detailing of his buildings had the boldness, sparseness, engineering feel—all creating an aura of directness and powerful, pure freshness which they sought. Even now, his firm continues onward: Albert Kahn Associates offers their expertise in “. . . .architecture, engineering, interior design, program management, and master planning, and spans through commissioning, business and management needs, strategic facilities planning, value and sustainability analysis.”

Below is a sampling of Albert Kahn’s work—and one can be continually nourished by these examples of design which is simultaneously meticulous in its’ planning and construction method, and yet bold in vision and resultant forms. For these gifts to us—expressions of architectural power emerging from rigorous problem-solving—we are eternally grateful.

Albert Kahn, We Wish You A HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Chrysler-Dodge Half-Ton Truck Plant–Export Building, Detroit

Shipfitter’s Shop Building, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

Willow Run Bomber Plant-Assembly & Engineering, Detroit

Detail of Chrysler DeSoto Plant–Press Shop, Detroit

Chrysler-Dodge Half-Ton Truck Plant–Assembly Building, Detroit

Chrysler Tank Plant, Warren, Michigan

ERICH MENDELSOHN, Architect (1887–1953)

ERICH MENDELSOHN

ERICH MENDELSOHN (21 March 1887 – 15 September 1953) had a long career which spanned three continents. Often, due to changes in the national and international situations of the countries in which he resided, he moved his home repeatedly: from Germany-to-England-to-Israel-to-America—and started (and restarted) his architectural practice in each of these locations.

A very successful architect, Mendelsohn’s practice encompassed residences, factories, scientific/medical centers, and buildings for recreational, religious, and, academic uses—and, during his time in Germany, he was also prolific as a designer of department stores.

Schocken Department Store, Stuttgart, Germany—showing how strongly (and with what vivacity) it contrasts with the city’s older, traditionally-styled buildings.

Those stores—most done for the Schocken department store chain—were high-profile designs, as they were strikingly Modern (often with prominent areas of curved glazing) and stood in lively contrast to the traditionally styled neighborhoods in which they were set.

But Mendelsohn’s designs were not limited to the zippy-curvy forms (some even verging on Deco/Streamline) with which he has been so strongly identified. Some of his work was gravely rectilinear—and that design tendency seems to have become ever stronger in the latter phases of his career. [Though his ability to use emphatic, non-orthographic forms was never blotted out—especially in his later work on religious buildings.]

The single work-of-architecture for which he is most famous is not geometric at all. Labeled as “Expressionist,” it relies neither on the right angles nor on the circles (or segments of circles) with which he composed most of his other works. Instead, it comes-off as a sculpture of freely-flowing curves (though symmetrically allocated). We are, of course, referring to Mendelsohn’s Einstein Tower (“Einsteinturm”) in Potsdam, Germany.

This building—which seems to grow and flow with the organic pulse of a living creature—was made for rigorous scientific research in physics. The earliest conceptions for it dated to 1917, and it was completed and ready-for-operation in 1924. It was constructed to house a solar telescope, with the intention of using the facility’s scientific instrumentation to help prove -or- invalidate Einstein’s theory of relativity. [Einstein didn’t work there, but he supported the project, and characterized the building as “organic.”] It is still in use as a solar observatory.

Below is a sampling of Erich Mendelsohn’s work—and we are continually nourished by such exemplars of vivid design. For these gifts to us—life-filled expressions of architectural creativity!—we are eternally grateful.

Erich Mendelsohn, we wish you a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

The De La Warr Pavilion, at Bexhill on Sea, England; designed in collaboration with Serge Chermayeff.

Mossehaus in Berlin

Park Synagogue, Cleveland Heights, Ohio

Schocken Department Store, Chemnitz, Germany

Krasnoe Znamya factory-Power Plant, Russia

Petersdorff department store in Wroclaw, Poland

Haus des Deutschen Metallarbeiterverbandes, Berlin

A poetic portrait of the Einstein Tower in Potsdam, Germany, with a bow sundial in the foreground.

---

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 in our non-profit scholarly and educational efforts. 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:

Shipfitter's Shop interior: HABS photo, within the collection of the Library of Congress, via Wikimedia Commons;  Einstein Tower: © Astrophysikalisches Institut Potsdam, via Wikimedia Commons;  Albert Kahn photo portrait: Fair Use, via Wikimedia Commons;  Shipfitter's Shop interior: HABS photo, within the collection of the Library of Congress, via Wikimedia Commons;  Chrysler Corporation Tank Arsenal Plant–Press Shop: vintage photo, source unknown (see general notes above); Vers une Architecture: page from vintage book, published in 1923, (see general notes above); George Washington Bridge: photo by Beyond My Ken, via Wikimedia Commons; Glenn Martin plant interior: vintage photo, source unknown (see general notes above);  Mies van der Rohe collage: vintage image, source unknown (see general notes above);  Chrysler-Dodge Half-Ton Truck Plant–Export Building, Detroit: vintage photo, source unknown (see general notes above);  Shipfitter’s Shop Building, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii: HABS photo, within the collection of the Library of Congress, via Wikimedia Commons;  Willow Run Bomber Plant-Assembly & Engineering, Detroit: vintage photo, source unknown (see general notes above);  Chrysler-Dodge Half-Ton Truck Plant–Assembly Building, Detroit: vintage photo, source unknown (see general notes above);  Chrysler Tank Plant, Warren, Michigan: vintage photo, source unknown (see general notes above);  Erich Mendelsohn photo portrait: photographer unknown, via Wikimedia Commons;  Schocken Department Store, Stuttgart, Germany: photo by Manfred Niermann, via Wikimedia Commons;  The De La Warr Pavilion, Bexhill on Sea, England: photo by Dr-Mx, via Wikimedia Commons;  Mossehaus in Berlin: photo by Fred Romero, via Wikimedia Commons;  Park Synagogue, Cleveland Heights, Ohio: photo by stu_spivack, via Wikimedia Commons;  Schocken Department Store, Chemnitz, Germany: photo by Altsachse, via Wikimedia Commons;  Krasnoe Znamya factory-Power Plant, Russia: via Wikimedia Commons; phot by Rones, via Wikimedia Commons;  Petersdorff department store in Wroclaw, Poland: photo by Volens nolens kraplak, via Wikimedia Commons;  Haus des Deutschen Metallarbeiterverbandes, Berlin: photo by Alex1011, via Wikimedia Commons;  Einstein Tower: photograph by DrNRNowaczyk, via Wikimedia Commons

Rudolph's BIGGS RESIDENCE: Demolition (but No Permission?)

The Biggs Residence—a Rudolph design of 1955-1956, in Delray Beach, Florida—has just now been demolished. It is pictured here from the time it received a Merit Award in the 1959 Homes for Better Living Awards sponsored by the AIA.

AN ACCELERATING RATE OF DESTRUCTION

The Burroughs Wellcome headquarters building and research center, in Durham, North Carolina—one of Paul Rudolph’s most iconic designs, and a structure of historic importance—has been turned into demolition debris.

In the last several years, it seems like we’ve experienced an acceleration in the destruction and threats to our architectural heritage—and this has hit the works of Paul Rudolph especially hard. Several important Rudolph buildings are now threatened, or have been outright destroyed or removed—and they are some of Paul Rudolph’s profoundest, key works:

• Burroughs Wellcome: DEMOLISHED

• Walker Guest House: REMOVED—taken apart, and moved to an unknown location

• Orange County Government Center: DEMOLISHED—partially, with the balance changed beyond recognition

• Niagara Falls Main Library: THREATENED

• Boston Government Service Center: THREATENED

• Milam and Rudolph Residences: SOLD -or- ON THE MARKET—with no assurances that new owners won’t demolish or change them beyond recognition

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation advocates for the preservation and proper maintenance of buildings designed by Rudolph—and is available to consult with owners about sensitive adaptive reuse, renovation, and redevelopment of Rudolph buildings (especially as an alternative to demolition!)

But, vigilant as we are, sometimes we’re taken aback by news of a precipitous demolition or marring of one of Rudolph’s great designs.

THE LATEST DESTRUCTION OF A RUDOLPH BUILDING

The opening of Mike Diamond’s article about the demolition of the Biggs Residence, which appeared in the March 12, 2021 issue of the Palm Beach Post.

We’re shocked that yet another of Paul Rudolph’s fine works of architecture has been demolished—and, if the news report is accurate, it’s been allegedly done without even a permit.

The Biggs Residence is a Rudolph-designed residence in Delray Beach, Florida, from 1955-1956. Over the years, the subsequent owner or owners have not been kind to it: there have been numerous and highly conspicuous changes and additions which cannot be called sympathetic to Paul Rudolph’s original design. New owners have, in the last few years, been planning to remove the offending changes and accumulated construction—and have been lauded for their good intentions. Repairs and restorations were to be done, as well as alterations and additions that were to be sympathetic to the building (and be resonant with Paul Rudolph’s approach to planning and construction.) Plans were filed, and the owner’s architect—an award winning firm—produced a well-composed “justification statement” which offers some interesting and convincing thinking about how they intended to proceed with the project, their design strategies and solutions, and how they were to have the property “rehabilitated.”

But—

But, according to March 12th article in the Palm Beach Post, much more has actually happened at the site. Their reporter, Mike Diamond, reports that the current owners “. . . .were found to have violated the city’s building code by demolishing the house without a permit from the city’s Historic Preservation Board.”

This site photo shows that, as of the moment it was taken, some of the Biggs Residence’s structural steel was still in place—but most of the rest of the house (exterior and interior walls, windows, ceilings, finishes, cabinetry, fittings…) has been demolished and removed.

The article further says that the owners “. . . .must obtain an after-the-fact demolition permit. . . . They also face steep fines for committing and ‘irreversible’ violation of the city’s building code.” The owners are disagreeing, and claiming that the city misinterpreted their documents and, in the article’s words, their lawyer claims that “. . . .the city should have realized that the approvals for renovation could have resulted in the house being demolished based on its deteriorating condition….”

That is a claim which an attorney for the city and a city planner both dispute.

SERIOUS QUESTIONS

Perhaps there were good reasons for the owners to proceed this way—but there are serious questions:

• What were their compelling reasons?

• What were the building’s actual conditions, which led them to decide for demolition?

• What alternatives were considered?

• Could there have been other approaches?

• What did the architect think of this decision to demolish?

No doubt, there will be further developments in this case, and we will be following it.

PAUL RUDOLPH’S DESIGN AT tHE BIGGS RESIDENCE: PURITY OF CONCEPT

The Biggs Residence was—and now, unfortunately, we’ll have to speak of it in the past tense—an important part of Paul Rudolph’s oeuvre. There he continued exploring several design themes he’d been working on, ever since he’d returned from service in World War II and restarted practice in Florida—and at Biggs, perhaps, he brought one of those themes to its most perfect realization.

Rudolph’s perspective rendering for the Biggs Residence—a drawing which shows his original platonic intent: a pure “rectangular prism” floating above the ground.

Illustrations from Le Corbusier’s manifesto, “Vers une Architecture” (“Towards An Architecture”), in which he speaks of the compelling beauty of pure forms.

As you can see from Rudolph’s perspective rendering (above-left), his conception was quite “platonic”: he was intent on creating a pure form, “floating” above the earth, and tethered to it as lightly as possible—in this case, by an open staircase and a few slender uprights. Even the service block (presumably to contain or screen the boiler, and maybe an auto,) sheltering below, was fully detached from the prime living volume. Such a conception (and goal) comes out of one of the root obsessions of the Modern movement in architecture: a kind of purism which is animated by a love of geometric forms, and which eschews all that might obscure that purity. Le Corbusier, in his foundational book, “Vers une Architecture” (“Towards An Architecture”) puts it boldly:

“Architecture is the masterly, correct and magnificent play of masses brought together in light. Our eyes are made to see forms in light; light and shade reveal these forms; cubes, cones, spheres, cylinders or pyramids are the great primary forms which light reveals to advantage; the image of these is distinct and tangible within us without ambiguity. It is for this reason that these are beautiful forms, the most beautiful forms. Everybody is agreed to that, the child, the savage and the metaphysician.”

Of course, interest in (and obsession with) such “pure” geometric forms goes back to the ancients (i.e.: the term “platonic”), and even in the 18th century—a time when classical architecture was dominant, including its full ornamental armamentarium—architects like Claude-Nicolas Ledoux and Étienne-Louis Boullée produced visionary drawings of architectural projects that embraced such purity (with perhaps the most famous being Ledoux’s design for a spherical villa.)

Claude-Nicolas Ledoux’s view of a spherical country house. He fully developed the design, including plans and sections.

Paul Rudolph, born during Modernism’s heroic years. was educated by the founder of the Bauhaus himself, Walter Gropius (who was head of the architecture program at Harvard while Rudolph was a student there). He could not have helped being immersed, taught, and saturated in such aesthetic ideals—and he brought them into his work.

Looking at Rudolph’s oeuvre, we can see that he tried this platonic approach to residential design prior to Biggs: with the Walker Residence project of 1951—but that remained unbuilt; and the Leavengood Residence of 1950—but that building had a more complex program, and thus many more appurtenances outside of the house’s main body (and it also had visually firmer connections to the ground.) So Leavengood did not approach the platonic ideal anywhere as closely as Biggs.

THE AESTHETICS (AND DRAMATICS) OF STRUCTURE

An view of the interior of the Galerie des Machines, one of the exhibition buildings erected for the 1889 world’s fair in Paris. The architects (headed by Ferdinand Dutert) and the engineers (headed by Victor Contamin) dramatically showed the potentials of steel and iron—both as spanning structure and as an expressive medium. The size of the building can be judged from the figures in the distance.

In the initial decades of Rudolph’s career—given the simplicity of the programs for which he was asked to design, and the often limited budgets—structure was one of the few ways that he could explore the potentials of architectural design, and he fully used it as an expressive tool. Whether by doubling vertical members (as he did at the 1951 Maehlman Guest House and the 1952 Walker Guest House), or by using a dramatic suspended catenary roof system (as at the 1950 Healy (“Cocoon”) Guest House), or anticipating the utilization of curved plywood for structural roof arches (as at the 1951 Knott Residence project), Rudolph was always looking at ways to transcend structure’s function, and raise it to the poetics of design.

Certainly, this expressive use of structure has always been a concern of architects, from Gothic cathedral builders to the creators of the titanic structures of iron and steel which emerged during the 19th Century (especially in France, England, and the US).

The “masters” of modernism—having abandoned expressive styles, modes, and motifs available to previous generations—often turned to using structural systems as an important part of their architectural palette, and they did so in inventive ways. Mies van der Rohe’s Farnsworth House ((1945-1951) is an icon of Modern architecture and residential design—and one of the most notable aspects of his design is the relationship he set-up between the planes of the floor and roof, and the building’s vertical steel columns. The columns are, or course, supporting elements—yet Mies plays with their role, having them visually slide past the floor and roof’s perimeter steel members. This confers a partially floating quality to those planes—possibly one of Mies’ prime goals. [It’s also notable that Philip Johnson, at his Glass House (1947-1949), took yet another direction with these relationships. He placed the vertical steel structural members inside the house’s volume, and integrating them with the frames which held the walls of glass—and thus absorbed the structure into the design of the building’s envelope.]

The eyes of the architectural world were on Mies’ design (and Johnsons!)—and Rudolph would have known them well. At Biggs, in contrast to Mies or Johnson, Rudolph chose to pull the perimeter structural frame noticeably inward from the outer edge house’s main floor volume above. Thus, instead of experiencing the building as a pair of planes (as with Mies), Biggs main living area is perceived as a separate volume (reinforcing its “platonic-ness”), only resting upon the structure. Moreover, instead of placing the beams in an overlapping relationship (as Mies did), he intersects them boldly—and they appear to be penetrating through each other.

LEFT: The Farnsworth House (1945-1951) by Mies van der Rohe. Its vertical steel columns visually “pass by” the floor’s and roof’s horizontal structural steel “C” members. ABOVE: In contrast to the Farnsworth House, the Biggs' steel columns and beams appear to pass through each other.

Not only can this be seen on Biggs’ exterior, but it is experienced on the inside as well: the large ceiling beams, which dramatically span the living room, also have the same interpenetrating relationship to the interior’s steel columns.

Those column-beam relationships did not exhaust Rudolph’s exploration of structure at Biggs. He had one more occasion in which he used exterior steel elements in an intriguing way: When the perimeter beams met at the outside corners, instead of butting them (as would be done in standard steel construction), he mitered them at the corners. [You can see this in an exterior photo below.] In this way, the upper and lower flanges of the steel beams were not just there for their structural role, but—via this mitering connection—their visual power as a pair of parallel planes was revealed.

THE PRACTICALITIES OF COMFORT AND CONVENIENCE

Even with such geometric ideals, structural intrigues, and the other fascinations in which creative architects like Rudolph engage, he was also a very practical designer—and sensitive to his client’s needs. At the point when he received the Biggs commission, he had nearly three dozen constructed projects “under his belt.” So, whatever his interest in building pure forms, his planning of the Biggs Residence included features which the owners would find gracious and practical.

The main (upper) floor contained:

• two bedrooms (well separated, providing for excellent spatial and acoustic privacy, and each with a significant amount of closets and its own bath)

• a central living/dining area (with large amounts of windows for good cross-ventilation—and the ability to catch breezes from the house’s raised design)

• a kitchen adjacent to the dining area (with a wise balance of openness and enclosure)

• a broad “storage wall” in the central area—a feature of American post-World War II residential design, pioneered by George Nelson

Paul Rudolph’s floor plan of the upper (main volume) level of the Biggs Residence, exhibiting his practical and gracious sense of planning.

The ground floor was also well thought out, and included:

• An exterior sitting area (well shaded from the Florida sun)

• A covered parking area (also shielding the car from solar overheating, as well as Florida’s occasional heavy rains)

• The entry and stairs (up to the main level)

• Additional storage or mechanical space (always useful)

The Biggs living room, in which some segments of the house’s structural steel can be seen—especially the pair of long beams which span the living space.

Another view of the living area—this time, 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 steel ceiling beams is strongly emphasized.

Raising the body of the building liberates space at the ground level, which is left open for shaded outdoor seating and parking. Structural steel—for the columns, and the inset perimeter and intermediary beams—is exposed, and the connections are composed and detailed with care.

FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS (AND WHAT YOU CAN DO)

We’ll keep looking into the Biggs case, and let you know how this develops.

If you have any information on this situation—or know of any other Paul Rudolph buildings that might be threatened—please contact us at: office@paulrudolphheritagefoundation.org

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

---

IMAGE CREDITS

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

The credits are shown when known, and are to the best of our knowledge. 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:

Biggs exterior view: photo by Ernest Graham, from a vintage issue of House & Home magazine, June 1959, courtesy of US Modernist Library;  Section-perspective drawing of Burroughs Wellcome building: by Paul Rudolph, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Demolition photo of Burroughs Wellcome building: photography by news photojournalist Robert Willett, as they appeared in a January 12, 2021 on-line article in the Raleigh, NC based newspaper The News & Observer;  Perspective rendering of Biggs Residence: drawing by Paul Rudolph, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Mies’ Farnsworth House column-beam relationship: photo by Benjamin Lipsman, via Wikimedia Commons;  Plan of Biggs Residence: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Photographs of interiors and exterior of Biggs Residence: photo by Ernest Graham, from a vintage issue of House & Home magazine, June 1959, courtesy of US Modernist Library;  Photograph of Paul Rudolph: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation

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.

---

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

Happy 99th Birthday to REYNER BANHAM - Tuesday, March 2, 2021

If architects that have passed—from Palladio -to- John Soane -to- Paul Rudolph—can have their own Facebook pages, then why not architectural historians too?! And so it is for one of the late 20th century’s most articulate, wide-ranging, and ebullient historians of design: REYNER BANHAM—whose page you can see here (and from which the above is a screen capture, showing his famously bushy and unmissable beard!)

CELEBRATING A GREAT ARCHITECTURAL HISTORIAN’S BIRTHDAY: tUESDAY, MARCH 2, 2021

REYNER BANHAM (March 2, 1922 – March 19, 1988) had a relatively short life, but he packed a lot into his brief span of 66 years. From the 1950’s to the 1980’s, he was an un-ignorable presence: tall, broad-shouldered, with a full bushy beard, and with the bright-spirited presence of a boisterous English Santa Claus. He was part of the architectural community’s consciousness via his continuous lecturing, teaching, traveling, captivating journal articles—and especially his books (of which he authored or collaborated on at least 20.)

Below is a mosaic of some of his many volumes. Among them is the one which initially brought him renown: Theory and Design in the First Machine Age; the one in which he opened our eyes to the wonders of a hitherto much-decried (at least by many architects) part of the US: Los Angeles: the Architecture of Four Ecologies; a book in which he explored the evolution and integration of mechanical systems into architectural design: The Architecture of the Well Tempered Environment; and a guidebook on which he collaborated, about significant buildings in Buffalo (a book which includes several Paul Rudolph projects): Buffalo Architecture: A Guide

Banham’s lively incarnations—whether in print or in person—always evoked a sense of wonder: he was able to convey his delight at what he had discovered, and yet did so without losing an historian’s rigor. For those who followed him, exploring areas of design history that been frozen into an “accepted” interpretation, he continually produced an intellectual and aesthetic thrill through newly introduced materials and fresh interpretations.

BANHAM: THE “FIRST APROXIMATION” HISTORIAN

His work on the history of Megastructures—research he initiated in the mid-1970’s—is an example of Banham engaging in what he called “first approximation history.” For each movement or historical event or era, somebody—some historian—will be the one to first try to grasp and describe its outlines and write that history (and also make an initial interpretation of its significance.). That historian is making a “first approximation” of the scope of the phenomenon—and its meaning.

Of course, there’s always danger in doing that kind of history, when one is so chronologically (or personally) close to the era and people being studied—for without the perspective and wisdom which comes from viewing things at a distance of years (or decades), no historian can, with a high level of confidence, discern what was truly significant about an event or period.

Yet, Banham asserted, somebody has got to be the first to take-on making an estimate and assessment of what happened—and that is what he did. He cited the megastructure movement (which, when he started doing the research on the topic, was passing out of its high-energy phase) as a subject for which he was acting as a first approximation historian. This courageous approach resulted in his 1976 book, MEGASTRUCTURE: Urban Futures of the Recent Past — which has recently been reissued in a beautiful new edition by Monacelli Press. [And you can read more about the book and megastructures—and their relationship to Paul Rudolph—in our article here.]

BANHAM AND HIS “NEW BRUTALIAM”

The genesis of the term “Brutalism” is ongoingly debated. “Origins”—plural—may be a better way of looking at that question, as the label’s emergence seems to have been the result of multiple sources and energies. [One of its most intriguing origin stories comes from the memoir of architect Guy Oddie (1922-2011): “Learning From Lutyens.” Oddie asserts that the term “Brutalism” derives from the nickname of one of his old friends—one of the most famous (and early) practitioners identified with the style—Peter Smithson. That nickname: “Brutus”]

Banham’s landmark 1955 article “THE NEW BRUTALISM” appeared in The Architectural Review.

Perhaps we’ll never arrive at an ultimate and final answer for the “true” origin of the label “Brutalism”—but it cannot be disputed that Reyner Banham was key to the spread of the term—and here too he was acting as a “first approximation” historian.

The manifestation of this was his article in the December 1955 issue of the distinguished British architectural journal, The Architectural Review, titled THE NEW BRUTALISM. The article combined a wide view of the panorama of architectural history, an examination of the the label, and a consideration of the trend’s possible significance—its-formal (and “anti-formal) aesthetic and philosophical import. It also prominently included a photo of the Hunstanton School, which Banham labeled “The first completed Brutalist building by Alison and Peter Smithson.” [You an read the full article on the Architectural Review’s archive page, here.] This was followed, about a decade later, by Banham’s 1966 full book on the topic (which was also titled THE NEW BRUTALISM.)

About a decade after Banham’s too-early passing, an anthology of his essays was published: A Critic Writes: Essays by Reyner Banham. It includes over four-dozen superbly-chosen gems which show his sparkling intelligence, breadth of interests, and lively writing style—-and, among these fascinating texts, is his original 1955 article on Brutalism.

To encounter Reyner Banham—in-person or on-the-page—was an unforgettable experience, and we are glad that still we have his many works to delight and enlighten us.

SO TODAY, 99 YEARS AFTER HIS OWN EMERGENCE, WE WISH A HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO REYNER BANHAM—AND CELEBRATE HIS MANY CONTRIBUTIONS!

Rudolph's Sid W. Richardson Physical Sciences Building Recognized with Award

Paul Rudolph’s 1966 Sid W. Richardson Physical Sciences Building.

Paul Rudolph’s 1966 Sid W. Richardson Physical Sciences Building was honored with a 25 Year Honor Award from the AIA Fort Worth last night - Thursday, February 25th - during a virtual awards ceremony attended by the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

According to AIA Fort Worth Honor Awards Committee:

The 25 year award is a test of time used to single out projects built after 1950 that are designed by an architect licensed in the United States, and considered important to the architectural heritage of Fort Worth. Project type or size is not the primary consideration while lasting quality and good design are the foremost considerations.

Photo of the model with (left to right) H.B. Fugua, Leigh Secrest, Dr. James Moudy taken December 02, 1966. Image from the Texas Christian University, TCU Archives and Historical Collections.

This year’s award was given to Paul Rudolph as the project architect with M. Geren & Associates as the associate architect. Accepting the award was Todd Waldvogel, Associate Vice Chancellor for Facilities for Texas Christian University - where the project is located.

Upon accepting the award, Waldvogel said,

“I’d like to thank the AIA Fort Worth, We are proud of our legacy of excellence in design and construction on the TCU campus. It was a marvel in the mid-century when it was designed and built and it is still a workhorse as we transition our science and engineering to twenty-first century work in our laboratories. It is a stately piece of our campus over there and we are happy to accept this award. Thank you for the consideration.”

The ground floor plan of the Sid W. Richardson Physical Sciences Building. Image from the Paul Rudolph Estate Archives at the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

The building, designed in 1966 and completed in 1970, was constructed as an addition to the original Art-deco inspired Winton-Scott Hall, itself constructed in 1952.

The building is recognized as the first modernist building on Texas Christian University. More information and photos of the building are on our project page, and a essay about Rudolph’s work in Texas by local architect Mark Gunderson can be found on our site here.

The exterior of the Sid W. Richardson Physical Sciences Building in the late 1960’s. Image from the Lauren Soth Architecture Collection, Carleton College.

The award was first presented by the Fort Worth chapter beginning in 1999 to the Kimbell Art Museum by Louis Kahn.

Paul Rudolph projects have been presented with the award in the past, including the Bass Residence in 2005 and City Center Towers in 2011. Rudolph is joined by distinguished architects such as Louis Kahn, Philip Johnson and I.M. Pei among many others who have done exceptional work in the Fort Wroth area.

Happy 160th Birthday to RUDOLF STEINER (Was he "The Original Brutalist" Architect?)

The entry façade of the SECOND GOETHEANUM, a building for the exploration of the arts, in Dornach, Switzerland. It was designed by Rudolf Steiner in the early 1920’s—and construction started in 1924 and was completed in 1928. Replacing an earlier wooden building, also designed by Steiner, this version of the Goetheanum was constructed entirely of exposed, cast-in-place concrete.

CELEBRATING THE 160TH BIRTHDAY OF RUDOLF STEINER — BORN FEBRURARY 25, 1861

RUDOLF STEINER (1861-1925) was the ultimate polymath. Though he did not live to a great age, he squeezed several lifetimes of achievements into his 64 years—and that included his work in architecture.

The breadth of his interests, activities, and accomplishments are impressive—and those various foci had him taking on (and mastering) multiple roles:

RUDOLF STEINER (1861-1925)—a master of multiple arts, including Architecture. His 160th birthday is on February 25th.

• PHILOSOPHER

• EDUCATOR — including developing an educational system and founding schools, which evolved into the Waldorf Movement, (which includes schools around-the-world)

• PSYCHOLOGIST

• SOCIAL REFORMER

• RESEARCHER — including into advances in Agriculture, Medicine, and Pharmacology

• INNOVATOR IN THE PERFORMING ARTS — embracing Drama, Music, and Dance

• THEOLOGIAN-ESOTERICIST — intense research, teaching, and movement founder

• AUTHOR and LECTURER — his Collected Works constitutes about 420 volumes, and that includes 43 volumes of his writings (books, essays, plays, and correspondence), over 6000 lectures, and some 80 volumes documenting his work in architecture, design, and the arts

• PAINTER

• SCULPTOR

STEINER AS ARCHITECT

But it is his work as an ARCHITECT that focuses our attention upon him. Rudolf Steiner designed numerous buildings, but it is crowning achievement—the GOETHEANUM, an architectural work of significant size and complexity, built entirely of exposed, cast-in-place concrete—that makes him a candidate to be called: “THE ORIGINAL BRUTALIAST” ARCHITECT.

THE TWO GOETHEANUMS

Actually, there were two “Goetheanum” buildings, both built in Dornach, Switzerland—and both designed by Rudolf Steiner, in association with a number of collaborators, craftspeople, and artists, most notably the sculptor Edith Maryon.

In considering Rudolf Steiner’s architectural work, it is important to keep in mind that central to his work and world-view was his focus on spiritual matters—not only his deep research, writing, and teaching on that subject, but he also led a growing community devoted to such explorations. He asserted that his designs (and his artworks within them) were guided by his philosophy—and you can find more about his thoughts on architecture and design (and how they grow from his larger concerns) here.

By-the-way: Steiner, as an architect, was unusual in another way: he was entirely self-taught—neither having gone to architecture school, nor having worked for another architect.

The FIRST GOETHEANUM, named after Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, was begun in 1913, and housed events (especially musical and performance) of the Anthroposophical Society—the organization he founded (which has branches all around the world today.) Dornach became the center for people devoted to Steiner’s work, and the Goetheanum was one of seventeen buildings in the area which he designed between 1908 and 1925. The First Goetheanum was preponderantly made of wood, set upon a concrete base—and it had an unusual double-dome wooden structure. Unfortunately, it was lost to a fire at the end of 1922.

The First Goetheanum, under construction. It was built of wood on a concrete base, and was begun in 1913.

The First Goetheanum, as finished. Unfortunately, it was lost to a fire less than a decade after completion.

After the first Goetheanum was lost to fire, Steiner soon designed and started construction on the Second Goetheanum—shown above at sunset.

A side view of the Goetheanum. It was constructed entirely -both inside-and-out- of exposed, cast-in-place concrete—and Rudolf Steiner’s design handled the raw material with boldness.

The SECOND GOETHEANUM was designed in the year after the first one was lost, and construction started in 1924 (being completed in 1928—just a few years after Steiner’s passing in 1925). 

It houses a variety of cultural facilities: performance spaces (including a 1,000 seat auditorium), a gallery, lecture spaces, and a library—as well as administrative spaces for the organization which Steiner founded, the Anthroposophical Society. It also includes stained-glass windows of richly luminous colors.

You can get an idea of the of the Second Goetheanum’s form and scale—and as a creation by an architect-artist of great power—in the brief video below: “Das Goetheanum” [included here courtesy of Moving Image, and its filmmaker: Roger Maeder.] In the video, it’s also worth noting the smaller buildings surrounding the Goetheanum: most were also done in Steiner’s Anthroposophical architectural mode—either by Rudolf Steiner himself, or subsequently by his followers.

Every view of the Second Goetheanum—like the side view (above) and a window (below)—reveals the plasticity of Rudolph Steiner’s architectural design.

Architectural historians seem to have had a hard time “placing” Rudolf Steiner within the evolutionary tree of Modern architecture. For example: Charles Jencks did not even mention him in the original edition of “Modern Movements In Architecture.” Henry-Russell Hitchcock, in his magisterial "Architecture: Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries,” only gives Steiner the briefest mention—and that is with reference to Erich Mendelsohn’s work at his Einstein Tower (which was built in the same period as the two Goetheanums).

It was up to the historians Dennis Sharp and Conrads & Sperlich, in their fascinating books, to bring Steiner to the wider architectural community. In more recent years, one of the significant books to come out on Rudolf’s architecture is “Eloquent Concrete” by Raab, Klingbord, and Fant.

Despite his under-appreciation by some architectural historians, architects—including some of the most distinguished practitioners—have admired Steiner’s work. Henry van de Velde, Frank Lloyd Wright, Hans Scharoun, and Frank Gehry have all visited the Goetheanum.

Today, there are numerous books on Steiner’s thought, and even his architecture—and one that’s a good introduction to the Second Goetheanum building is this book by Hans Hasler.

The GOETHEANUM was constructed—inside and out—of exposed, cast-in-place concrete.

At below-left is a partial exterior view of the side, and below-right is a a close-up exterior view of a window. Below that are two views of the Goetheanum’s interior. All these images show how Steiner-as-architect used exposed concrete with “a sculptor’s hands” to create dramatic, effusive forms and interiors—including the details and the stairways.

WAS STEINER “THE FIRST BRUTALIST” ARCHITECT?

Rudolf Steiner sought, in all his works, an ultimate unity of spirt, action, humanity, and art—and he aimed for true harmony in every endeavor, seeking to unite the human and divine. So we doubt, if Steiner could have been asked, that he’d have embraced the seemingly hard term, “Brutalism.” But—words (and their associations) aside—his work at the Second Goetheanum most decidedly participates in the spirit and character of Architectural Brutalism (and that would also be true for the other buildings which he constructed for his community at Dornach.)

Those characteristics include:

• boldness of form

• use of materials (like exposed, cast-in-place concrete) in an unabashed manner—often “raw”—as a potent part of the pallete of a talented designer

• shunning of the pretty or merely decorative, and, instead: aiming for a astonishing form of beauty that partakes of the sublime

• not (or more often: not just) “form following function”—but rather: a sculpting and composition of forms to create works-of-architecture that are expressive of the creative spirit

Rudolf Steiner included all of these in his designs—with sensitivity, honesty, artistry, and a powerful exuberance.

And he did this early on, during the formative years of the emergence of Modern architecture. So—while there may be other contenders for the title—in celebration of Rudolf Steiner’s 160th Birthday, we crown him: The First Brutalist Architect !

The Goetheanum as seen from the air. The building’s main entry is at its lower-left. Numerous other buildings, surrounding the Goetheanum, were also designed by Rudolf Steiner (or later by his followers, in the mode in which Steiner worked). Perhaps the most famous of these other Steiner designs, second only to the Goetheanum in renown, is the Heizhaus: it contains the boiler for the Goetheanum’s heating system—and its flame-like chimney can be seen near the top-center of this photo.

FURTHER INFORMATION

The official website of the Goetheanum is here.

A matrix of other buildings, designed by Rudolf Steiner (and access to other information on his multi-faceted life and career) is available here.

Numerous documents, relating to Steiner’s architecture and philosophy of design, can be accessed here.

IMAGE CREDITS

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation thanks all the individuals and organizations who have made their images available for this scholarly and educational work.

Note: Each Wikimedia Commons link is to the information page for that particular image. Information about the rights to use each image, as well as technical info, can be found on those pages.

Credits, from top-to-bottom, and left-to-right:

Front entrance view of the Second Goetheanum: photo by Wladyslaw (talk), edits by: Dontpanic (aka Dogcow), via Wikimedia Commons; Photograph of Rudolf Steiner, circa 1905, Abbildung übernommen aus Wolfgang G. Vögele, Der andere Rudolf Steiner - Augenzeugenbrichte, Interviews, Karikaturen, 2005, S. 116, in the Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commons; First Goetheanum, under construction: image from Jjdm at Hungarian Wikipedia as original uploader; edited by Jaybear, via Wikimedia Commons; First Goetheanum, completed: photo in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons; Second Goetheanum, at sunset: photo by Taxiarchos228, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons; Side view of Second Goetheanum: photo by Wladyslaw, via Wikimedia Commons; “Das Goetheanum”—the video of the second Goetheanum: courtesy of Moving Image, and its filmmaker: Roger Maeder; Side view of Second Goetheanum (with blue sky): photo by Barbara Steinemann, via Wikimedia Commons; Partial view of exterior side: via Wikimedia Commons; Window of Second Goetheanum: photo by Soare, via Wikimedia Commons; Staircase inside Second Goetheanum: photo by Maioting, via Wikimedia Commons; Interior of Second Goetheanum, with figure: via Wikimedia Commons; Aerial view of the Second Goetheanum: photo by Taxiarchos228, via Wikimedia Commons

Celebrating Architect Louis Kahn's 120th Birthday: February 20, 2021

LOUIS KAHN’S BIRTHDAY WILL BE ON SATURDAY

Last year, for Louis Kahn’s 119th birthday, we published an article that spoke of the relationship between Kahn and Rudolph, and—as they were born nearly two decades apart—it compared the different worlds from which they emerged. There’s other interesting material in the article, and one can find it here—but today we just want to mark the natal day of one of the 20th Century’s great creative spirits.

Photographs showing Paul Rudolph and Louis Kahn, together, are rare. This one was taken at the 1960 World Design Conference in Tokyo. This image is part of a large gathering of historical material about Metabolism (the vital architectural movement which emerged in post-WWII Japan), and about the relationship of Modern Western architecture and Japan, which can be found in the book “Project Japan: Metabolism Talks...” by Rem Koolhaas and Hans Ulrich Obrist and published by Taschen.

You can register for Thursday’s webinar symposium, celebrating and exploring Louis Kahn, here.

This new, in-depth study of Kahn’s work can be purchased here, or directly through the publisher, Monacelli Press

Louis Kahn and Paul Rudolph share a number of qualities, particularly the depth and richness of their oeuvre, their recognition that their work aimed to fulfill so much more than just functional requirements, and their explorations of the roles and possibilities of architecture. They were also both willing to take on any kind of building type, and to work with (and within) a variety of cultures and communities. It is a tribute to these architects that so many different clients—individuals and institutions with a variety of needs, problems, and challenges—saw in Kahn and Rudolph the possibility for finding positive and meaningful solutions.

CELEBRATING LOUIS KAHN: A CONVERSATION

Designers & Books and Untapped New York are sponsoring a special event to celebrate Kahn’s birthday:

Kahn at 120

The multi-talented Richard Saul Wurman will be having a conversation with Sue Ann Kahn, Alexandra Tyng, and Nathaniel Kahn—the three children of Louis Kahn. The three speakers—all accomplished artists in their own right, in music, painting, and film—will discuss their father’s influence, as well recollections of him, his continuing legacy, and his relevance in the world today.

The webinar event will take place on Thursday, February 18 (a couple of days before Kahn’s birthday on Saturday), at 6PM Eastern Standard Time, and you can register for it here.

CELEBRATING LOUIS KAHN: A DEEP VIEW INTO HIS WORK aND PHILOSOPHY

Louis Kahn is the subject of continuous attention and scholarship. In the time since we marked Louis Kahn’s birthday, last year, an important new study of his architecture has been published:

LOUIS KAHN: Architecture as Philosophy

Written by John Lobell, a full professor at Pratt Institute’s School of Archicture, this new book greatly extends and profoundly deepens the meditation on the meanings of Kahn which Lobell initiated in his earlier volume, Between Silence and Light: Spirit in the Architecture of Louis I. Kahn. This new book has the high production values that its publisher, Monacelli Press, always brings to their offerings, and in it John Lobell explores:

" . . . .how Kahn’s focus on structure, respect for materials, clarity of program, and reverence for details come together to manifest an overall philosophy. Kahn’s work clearly conveys a kind of “transcendent rootedness”—a rootedness in the fundamentals of architecture that also asks soaring questions about our experience of light and space, and even how we fit into the world.”

Reexamining an architect’s life, work, and development—and finding a renewing enrichment in it— Well, we can think of no better way to honor and celebrate the spirit and contributions of Louis Kahn!

---

IMAGE CREDIT: The National Parliament House of Bangladesh, designed by Louis Kahn. Photo by Nahid Sultan & Saiful Aopu, via Wikimedia.

John Waters Loves Brutalism !

In John Waters’ latest book, “Mister Know-It-All,” this image accompanies his Brutalism-o-philic chapter, “My Brutalist Dream House.” The collage is titled “Monstrosity Manor” and was created by the multi-talented Marnie Ellen Hertzler. Courtesy of Marnie Ellen Hertzler

WHAT HAVE WE COME TO EXPECT FROM JOHN WATERS?

John Waters: avowed Brutalism-o-phile.

The multiple accomplishments and talents of John Waters—simultaneously controversial and celebrated—are known world-wide. Cultural provocateurs thrive on surprising their audience—but, with John Waters, we are all so familiar with his oeuvre that we already have expectations about what his upcoming productions and pronouncements will—more-or-less—be like:

• Edgy filmmaking— depend on it.

• Writing and repartee that’s witty and subversively insightful— of course.

• Art Direction that’s visually luscious and a bit shocking (though always fitting)— certainly.

• A delightful (if occasionally disturbing) presence— yes, and that’s been well-cultivated over several decades.

Waters, no fool, is well aware of the problem:

“Somehow I became respectable. . . .I used to be despised but now I’m asked to give commencement addresses at prestigious colleges, attend career retrospectives at both the Film Society of Lincoln Center and the British Film Institute, and I even got a medal from the French government for “furthering the arts in France.” This cockeyed maturity is driving me crazy!. . . .Suddenly the worst thing that can happen to a creative person has happened to me. I am accepted. . . .How can I whine about my films being hard to see when Warner Bros. now handles many of my titles and Criterion, the classiest of all DVD distributors, is restoring some of my rudest celluloid atrocities? . . .How could that be? How?”

But John Waters has one more surprise for us: he’s come out as an avowed lover of Brutalism.

We didn’t see that one coming.

“LOVING” BRUTALISM?—YES! (BUT IN WHAT WAYS?)

The term “lovable” is rarely connected to Brutalism—-and when it is (as in the title of John Grindrod’s book, “How To Love Brutalism”) one can sense the writer’s (and maybe the reader’s) frisson at putting the words Love and Brutalism in close proximity.

When “love” is used in association with Brutalism, usually it’s not in the sense of a loving personal warmth (of the type we’d direct at, lets say, our families)—and there isn’t much “hygge”-like quality in Brutalism. So expressing “love” for Brutalism is using the word in another, more colloquial sense, for the times when one finds something compelling and intriguing—like one might say: “I love the intensity in Picasso’s ‘Guernica’ ” -or- “I love the way Beckett’s ‘Waiting for Godot’ depicts the human condition” -or- “I love Winter mountain camping at high altitudes.”

WATERS’ LATEST

So when John Waters expresses his deep love for Brutalism—and in a rather personal way—we think we’re on to his game: by embracing an unlikely combination, he’s once more grabbed the reins of the 5th Horse of the Apocalypse—nose thumbing at convention—and riding forth at full gallop.

This comes up in his book, “Mr. Know-It-All” — his recent and abundant collection of gleaming essays. In it, he covers topics as diverse as his own adventures with filmmaking, love, writing, success (or the lack of it), bad behavior, publicity, food, Andy Warhol, music, taste—and much more. Even if one’s not pre-disposed to be interested in John Water’s doings, each chapter manifests his abilities as a storyteller and thinker—so the quality of writing, and the incisiveness of his observations, makes this a book that deserves a readership which transcends his regular fan base.

An additional feature of the book is that it’s punctuated by photos, images, and ephemera from his own collection. That would be a treat for any Waters-o-phile—but even if you’re not in that blessed category, what he’s chosen has visual punch. His chapter on Brutalism is headed by a collage composed from architectural images, titled “Monstrosity Manor”—and the picture has a haunting, forbidding power. It was created by Marnie Ellen Hertzler [see top of this article.]

WATERS’ BRUTALIST DREAM

One chapter is titled “My Brutalist Dream House”—and, naturally, that’s what got our attention!

Waters considers how one needs to transcend normal, there-by-default homes (the kind most of us end-up living in)—and he goes at the topic with gusto:

In the chapter on his ideal Brutalist home, Waters mentions that the living room would feature the “cement laden” furniture of Doris Salcedo.

“You need to move beyond any kind of taste to a new level of architectural defiance. There’s only one way to start over. Brutalism.”

Waters is aware that Brutalism has had a revival, with new and sympathetic interest in its planet-spanning manifestations—and he’s not happy about that development:

“Yet these days brutalism is making a comeback. I’m distressed that this style of architecture has become cool.”

Waters asserts that Peter Chadwick’s “This Brutal World” is his “favorite coffee table book”—a most essential part of his Brutalist dream house’s book collection—and he mentions it at the climax of his essay.

Always wanting to be contra—on the outside of accepted taste—he’d prefer to contrastingly stand out, and be

“. . . .the only one left with a brutalist home. Can’t somebody stop all these I Love Brutalism websites from celebrating this once-loathed style of architecture?”

Not to be defeated by the recent emergence of Brutalism-philia, Waters proceeds along a satirical path by imagining his own Brutalist dream house—a place he calls “Monstrosity Manor.” Its forbidding, fortress-like exterior leads to threatening interiors, and he describes its uninviting parts as though they’re attractive features (at least to him.) Contrasting it to Wright’s Fallingwater, Waters characterizes his design aspirations:

“. . . .think of Monstrosity Manor as tougher. . . . Nobody’s coming over to borrow a cup of sugar. The grounds would be unforgiving even for students of architecture. . . .A No Trespassing sign would be totally redundant.”

And here’s an example of the house’s Addams-esque (in Modern mode) features—and this is perhaps the mildest of them:

“. . . .you might need to settle yourself on the stairs. . . .There’s no handrail to balance yourself, and if you’re not careful, you could trip over the sculptor Carl Andre’s twelve small copper tiles that were purposely designed to be hidden on the sides or back of the steps for your minimalist artistic danger and enjoyment.”

[Does that passage indicate that Waters was aware of Paul Rudolph’s occasional omission of stair railings in some projects? (something Rudolph did for dramatic effect, mainly in residential projects, in an era of looser building codes.) Clearly, Waters is aware of Rudolph: near the end of the essay he namechecks Rudolph, and mentions his Temple Street Garage at a peak moment in the chapter’s narrative.]

“My Brutalist Dream House” is lots of fun—especially if one is knowledgeable of the architectural references, motifs, and conventions which Waters gleefully satirizes via hyper-exaggeration. Even if his stance is not a surprise, once again the guru of gross-out has managed to stimulate and delight us.

BOOK INFORMATION AND AVAILABILITY:

• TITLE: Mr. Know-It-All

• AUTHOR: John Waters

• PUBLISHER: Picador

• PRINT FORMAT: paperback, 5-1/2 x 8-1/3 inches , 384 pages, numerous black & white illustrations

• ISBN: 9781250619464

• ALTERNATIVE FORMATS: hardcover and digital versions are available

• PUBISHER’S WEB PAGE FOR THE BOOK: here

• AMAZON PAGE: here

• BARNES & NOBLE PAGE: here
  

IMAGE CREDITS

Photo portrait of John Waters: courtesy of PEN American Center, via Wikimedia Commons; Concrete furniture: Image by Kapelusz, courtesy of Wikimedia commons

How Architects See (LITERALLY)

HOW TO SEE (AND WHO’S NOT SEEING)

Though one of America’s most famed and sought-after designers, George Nelson (a contemporary of Paul Rudolph), who worked on industrial design and architecture commissions for well-known clients—was frustrated. He found that his clients—the leaders of major institutions and corporations—just couldn’t see.

The statue of Minerva presides over the drafting room in Paul Rudolph’s Yale Art & Architecture Building. Photo by Julius Shulman.© J. Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles.

Yes, they could see well enough to drive a car or hit a golf ball, but the visual distinctions which architects and designers make—the vibrancy with which they apprehend the world, which in-turn allows them to create objects and environments of vivid creativeness—were lost on almost everyone outside of the design community (including many of Nelson’s clients).

Visual awareness of the world (beyond the most basic needed to function) was virtually non-existent for most of the people for whom Nelson was working. Taking-on this challenge like a design-problem, he developed various tools: presentations, reports, and eventually a book—"How To See”—to try to introduce non-designers to a the way architects, designers, and artists see the world around them.

[There’s an interesting convergence between Rudolph and Nelson: the figure on the cover of Nelson’s book, How To See, bears a striking resemblance to the statue of Minerva, the goddess of wisdom—the sculpture which Paul Rudolph chose as the focus for the main interior of his Yale Art & Architecture Building.]

CONSEQUENCES

There are serious consequences to this mass un-seeing: decision-makers who own or determine the future of Rudolph-designed buildings—who may have little ability to see and discern those buildings’ true value—have sometimes opted for changes that are not sympathetic with Rudolph’s architecture, or they’ve even decided for wholesale demolition.

Those who seek to preserve great architecture—one of the central missions of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation—go up against this “unseeing” every day. So there is a continuous need for a “How to See” campaign, to open the vision of non-designers to the splendors and value of the visual-architectural world.

Wright was undeniably a man of great style, controlling his image though an ongoing program of self-generated publicity. He’s hardly ever shown in photographs wearing glasses—yet toward the end of his life he was captured with them, as shown in this article from a late 1950’s issue of Architectural Record. Courtesy of: US Modernist Library.

BUT WHAT HELPS ARCHITECTS TO SEE?

One could argue that architects have no problem with appreciating the visible world. Indeed, they embrace it with the perceptual equivalent of a craving appetite. But what happens when their own ability to see—their acuity of vision—begins to literally falter?

What happens is: Glasses—and, if you can count on anything, it’s this: architects (and their colleagues: designers and artists) will not be content with just any pair of glasses. What they seek is a personal style which fully expresses their overall design vision, including their self-image—and that extends to their choice of glasses.

And what’s more expressive of the Modern spirit than that purist, platonic, and machine-like design: the Circle.

[Note: We’ve had an article on Rudolph’s focus of the circle in his design work—Paul Rudolph and Circular Delight—which you can read HERE.]

THE LE CORBUSIER LINEAGE

The origin-point of the “lineage” of architects adopting the perfect circle for their eyeglasses seems to start with Le Corbusier. Like Wright, he was strategic about his self-presentation—from the layout of his many publications -to- the details of his attire. As the exponent of mechanization in the conception of buildings (“The house is a machine for living.”), and geometric Purism in art, it’s natural that he’d choose circular eyeglasses—and they became his personal signature.

Le Corbusier, wearing the circular eyeglasses which became his his personal signature. Left, his glasses have relatively thin frames outlining the lenses. Above, he’s shown with the thicker frames with which he is more frequently associated. Photos courtesy of Wikipedia

THEN JOHNSON…

The next step in the lineage seems to be Philip Johnson. In Mark Lamster’s fascinating biography of Johnson—The Man in the Glass House: Philip Johnson, Architect of the Modern Century—he speaks of Johnson’s adopting the Corbusian eyewear by the mid-1960’s:

“. . . .Philip Johnson was happily stepping into the role of ‘Philip Johnson,’ a public persona that he cultivated and refined, now augmented by the owlish glasses that he had begun to wear, another borrowed statement, this time from Le Corbusier. . . .”

Architect Philip Johnson (1906-2005), photographed late in his life—and still wearing the Corbusian circular glasses that he had adopted as part of his image, much earlier in his career. Photograph by B. Pietro Filardo, courtesy of Wikipedia.

A scan of the New York Review of Books web-page with the opening of Martin Filler’s review of Lamster’s biography of Philip Johnson. On that page was David Levine’s caricature of Johnson—featuring his Corbusian glasses—and a forehead evocative of the broken pediment of Johnson’s AT&T Building.

I. M. Pei—the famous architect also chose the circular glasses style. Image courtesy of Wikipedia.

AND THEN PEI…

The next prominent architect who was widely noted for wearing the circular style of eyeglasses was I. M. Pei. Photographs of Pei, throughout his long and prolific career, show him wearing them, generally with black (or dark) frames. But in this late photograph, from 2006, he’s shown with medium-thickness, tortoise-shell frames (instead of the more Corbusian black ones.)

AND RUDOLPH-IAN ROUNDNESS…

At this point, we have to bring in Paul Rudolph, He wore a number of different styles of glasses (mainly with strong-looking black frames)—but seems to have settled on the circular Corbusier style as his glasses-of-choice.

Indeed, Paul Rudolph appears to have become attached to using that style alone— We’ve heard an anecdote about this from a fellow who had a friend who worked for Rudolph: he encountered his friend on the street, carrying an armful of those circular glass frames. The friend explained: Paul Rudolph had heard that those round frames might go out of production—so Rudolph sent his employee to the glasses shop to buy-out the entire stock of that design!

The collections of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation includes several pairs of Rudolph’s eyeglasses—including the an example of the circular style (the right-most one in the above photograph). © The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation Archives

CIRCULAR CIRCULATION…

After the initiation of this lineage, and its first generations of adherents— Le Corbusier > Johnson > Pei > Rudolph—it’s not hard to find these geometric glasses spreading among architects. Nicholas Grimshaw is among the more famous wearers of the style—and, if one re-defines the net to a wider circle of the creative class, we’d be amiss to not mention the circular glasses which have become a trademark of artist David Hockney.

Before leaving the topic, we want to note three more truly historic figures—who, like Paul Rudolph, have altered the course of architecture—all of whom are adherents of the circular style in eyewear: Peter Cook, Denise Scott Brown, and Peter Eisenman.

Peter Cook. Photo by CRAB, courtesy of Wikipedia.

Peter Eisenman. Photo by Columbia GSAPP, courtesy of Wikipedia.

Denise Scott Brown. Photo by Columbia GSAPP, courtesy of Wikipedia.

P.S. WAS LE CORBUSIER REALLY THE FIRST?

Who really first initiated the circular eyeglasses style, among architects, might be—ultimately—an unsettleable question.

We do have these intriguing photos of the architect Julia Morgan (1872-1957), and her contemporary Hans Poelzig (1869-1936). Both of their lives overlapped Le Corbusier’s—but more relevant is that both their careers started well before Corbusier’s—and one might reasonably propose that Morgan’s and Poelzig’s sense of personal style (including eyewear?) coalesced before Corb’s.

Julia Morgan (1872-1957.). A skilled architect who worked on a variety of building types, is best remembered for her her design of the Hearst Castle complex. It’s hard to tell, in this vintage photo, if her glasses were perfectly circular—but if not, they were certainly close to that geometry. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.

The architect Hans Poelzig (1869-1936). In both images—him at work (above), or in a more formal portrait (at right)—he is pictured wearing eyeglasses which embrace the purist circular geometry. Here he is photographed circa 1927 by Alexander Binder Both photos of Poelzig (above and right) are courtesy of Wikipedia.

Poelzig’s design work could be dreamlike and fanciful, or severely functionalist—but he always showed an appreciation of the power of geometry. That concern extends even to his his personal appearance. Photograph by M.E.

Moreover, circular forms for eyeglasses go back to the beginnings of corrective eyewear—-the circular form of lenses being easier to shape (grind). Finally, one should always recall the eternal power and fascination of that perfect form, the circle—something that has has eternally fascinated philosophers and designers!

ROLLING FORWARD WITH THE THE CIRCULAR STYLE…

If you want to join with Le Corbusier, Paul Rudolph, and Denise Scott Brown in wearing the circular style, then fear not: there are abundant examples on the the market. In fact, just putting “architect’s circular eyeglasses” into an internet search box will yield results like this, or this below—

CIRCULAR CINEMA

And, if you want to revel in the way that the circular eyeglasses mode has been integrated—with humorous thoroughness—into the conventions of architectural attire, you’ll enjoy “MISTER GLASSES”—a series of short films created by Mitch Magee.

Magee is a writer, director, producer, and actor—and he adroitly applied all those talents (in collaboration with a talented ensemble) in creating this series. Mitch Magee also plays the eponymous Mister Glasses—a character whose authentic concern for others is mixed (in a wonderfully strange way) with a lack of visible emotional affect.

Each of the brief-but-sharp episodes brings the main character and his team into a series of architecturally-related preachments. But the humor—and perhaps the point—of the series emerges not so much from the plots, but rather in the way that Magee shows (and caricatures) the ways that Modern architects think and respond to the world.

One of the joys of the series is the way that Mister Glasses is portrayed as the quintessential Modern architect—“Modern” in the particular sense of adamantly adhering to the classic palette of the International Style. But he also continually manifests that strand of Modernism in a highly personal way: he conveys, in his manner, speech, and self-presentation, a sense that he’s living in a Platonic world—or at least aspires to. Thus Mister Glasses’ speech verges on clipped, his suits are consummately tailored and maximally restrained in style (much like Mies van der Rohe’s), and—of course!—he wears platonically circular glasses.

AND IN RETROSPECT…

Eyeglasses (circular and otherwise) have been an everlasting motif in art—and this is delightfully studied in LENS ON AMERICN ART: The Depiction and Role of Eyeglasses. Richly illustrated, and beautifully published by Rizzoli/Electra, art historian John Wilmerding delves into the many occurrences, uses of, and varied possible meanings of eyeglasses, as they show up in American art. Enthusiasts of the circular mode in eyeglasses will be glad to know that a notable number of examples of their favorite style are shown in his delightful book.

John Wilmerding’s book, LENS ON AMERICAN ART: The Depiction and Role of Eyeglasses, includes numerous examples of the circular eyeglasses style in artworks made throughout American history. The author, shown above, has given an interview about the book, which was published by Rizzoli/Electra on the occasion of an exhibition at the Shelburne Museum. This insightful book can be ordered directly through the publisher.

ELIMINATING AN ICON

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

FROM AN ICON OF DESIGN —

— TO DEMOLITION DEBRIS.

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

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

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

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

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

• the Nobel Prize-winning research which was done there

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don't mourn, organize!”

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

Our commitment to preserving Rudolph’s work started early—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• take a photo of it

• talk about it

• write about it

• draw a sketch of it

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

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

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

Your voice and vigilance matters

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

Paul Rudolph’s

IMAGE CREDITS

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

Celebrating The Half-Century of a Modern Classic: “New Directions in American Architecture”

The cover of a much coveted book. Robert A. M. Stern’s 1969 survey and assessment offered an intelligent and concise (and well illustrated) overview of the main pathways of then-current American architecture—and the work of its most prominent practitioners (including Paul Rudolph).

A GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY

It’s hard to believe, but New Directions in American Architecture, the landmark book by Robert A. M. Stern, came out a half-century ago. First published in 1969 (with a new, enlarged edition in 1977) it is worth acknowledging and celebrating a work that was so intensely studied, discussed, and turned-to for inspiration by architecture students and professionals. It was a book that made a difference.

A WORTHY PREDECESSOR

Paul Heyer (1936-1997) was a New York-based architect, educator, and author—and his colleagues and students remember him as the most urbane of Englishmen. His 1966 book, “Architects on Architecture” was later published in an expanded edition in 1993.

For context, we note another book which covered an overlapping range of work (and—at least partially—of the same era): Paul Heyer’s Architects on Architecture: New Directions in America.

Heyer’s book came out in 1966, a few years before Stern’s New Directions, and—while the territory had similarities (both showing what was being built in America, and by whom)—the material covered, and the manner it was covered, was different. Heyer’s book was, in its way, more comprehensive: it had individual chapters on many of the architects that Stern would write about—but it also included a profusion of talented, prolific American architects who would get hardly a mention (if named at all) in Stern’s book (i.e.: John Carl Warnecke, Hugh Stubbins, Craig Elwood, William Wurster…). It also had sections on architects like Mies van der Rohe and Walter Gropius—forefathers of architectural Modernism—who were, at the time of publication, still alive and practicing.

What Heyer had created could be characterized as an informationally (and visually) rich grand survey—and the book remains fascinating to dip into, and is a fine resource for researchers.

Subsequently, Paul Heyer brought out a different study: “American Architecture: Ideas and Ideologies in the Late Twentieth Century,” which looked at a similar (though updated) set of architects, and examined their work through formal./stylistic/ordering themes.

STERN’S BOOK: THE GO-TO GUIDE TO WHAT WAS HAPPENING—AND WHO THE PLAYERS WERE

A page from New Directions in American Architecture, on which are illustrated designs for the Boston City Hall. At top is Mitchell, Giurgola’s second prize-winning entry (shown in a perspective drawing); below is Kallmann, McKinnell, and Knowles winning entry (shown under construction).

In contrast to Heyer’s more encyclopedic approach, Stern’s book was focused on the Now, and—just as important—the meaning of what was shown (and how those meanings might propel the design process.0 New Directions in American Architecture offered a compelling report—and provisional assessment—on the cultural churning then happening within the world of architecture, which was an era of crisis, excitement, and creativity in all domains of modern life.

Yes, several prominent architects of the post-WWII generation (like Philip Johnson and Paul Rudolph) were included—and received respectful coverage of the their work. But one can speculate that it was necessary to show them. Perhaps it was because they were not only quite active professionals, but also so that their work could act as a contrast to the the more recently risen stars shown in the rest of the book. And those pages are abundant with the exciting work of the rising (or recently risen) stars: Kahn, Charles Moore; Venturi and Rauch; Carlin and Millard (a firm whose work is not widely discussed now, but which is well worth studying); Davis, Brody and Associates; DMJM; Tigerman; Mitchell, Giurgola; Roche, Dinkeloo and Associates, and numerous others.

Stern’s voice is hardly that of a reporter aiming only for journalistic neutrality. G. E. Kidder Smith’s review of the original edition (published in the March, 1972 issue of the Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians) puts it well:

A provocative, vexing, hence far tooo brief (three-page) introduction sets the stage for New Directions in American Architecture, and one will find that the subsequent pages both inform and irritate—all of which makes for a slender but simulating volume. Beginning with the very choice of the seven bellwethers shown to typify the “new directions”—like any panel of architects or selection of buildings, a process automatically insuring challenges—a philosophy unfolds that at times will startle.

Along with his reservations, Kidder Smith does acknowledge:

The author’s critical analysis and appraisals command respect for their often penetrating incisiveness.

And those analyses and appraisals are conveyed through clear language—which today seems undervalued in architectural writing—and layered with Stern’s high intelligence and knowledge of history and the national architectural scene.

PRICE— AND TRUE WORTH

The book’s price when it first came out—as shown on the cover.

The book was a medium-size paperback of moderate length (128 pages), with numerous black & white illustrations. What would one expect the price to be for such a volume? The cover (shown at the top of this article) has a cover price of 25S—that’s twenty-five shillings, indicating that the example pictured was a British edition. The cover of the American edition—the one in the library of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation—shows it in US currency: $2.95

That may seem jaw-droppingly inexpensive—can one buy anything today for such an amount?!—but that’s hardly the case. The current, inflation-adjusted equivalent for both the American and British prices is a bit over $20—which is about par for books of similar format today.

Even so, it’s worth considering the book’s “worth” in an enlarged sense—for New Directions in American Architecture that holds up well: it continues to be a fascinating resource on the creative voices of that era—a body of accomplishment and ideas which retain their presence and power.

BRAZILLER: A PUBLISHER OF DISTINCTION

The book was published by Braziller—a name dear to architecture book lovers, for they published—and continue to offer—fine books on the topic. During the 1960’s-70’s, when the New Directions series came out, they were particularly prolific in architectural publishing.

George Braziller (1916-2017) and Marsha Braziller (d. 1970) started in the book business in 1940’s, and began their own publishing firm in 1955. The company is well-known for their visually-oriented books on art, as well as publishing serious works of literature, criticism, history—and architecture! After his retirement, George Braziller wrote an intriguing memoir of his publishing adventures (highlighting the fascinating characters he encountered.) The firm is run by their sons, and their books are currently distributed through another distinguished publisher: W.W.Norton.

PART OF A SERIES—AND A CROSS-CULTURAL PANORAMA

Udo Kultermann’s book on the work of African architects—one of the volumes in Braziller’s New Directions series.

"New Directions in American Architecture was part of the “New Directions” series published by Braziller. Other volumes in that series, published or announced, were on:

• Japanese Architecture

• African Architecture

• British Architecture

• German Architecture

• Soviet Architecture

• Latin American Architecture

• Italian Architecture

• Swiss Architecture

These were authored by some of the most eminent architectural historians of that era—scholars like Kultermann, von Moos, Boyd, Kopp, and Gregotti. The author of the American volume, Robert A. M. Stern—relatively unknown at the time—has gone on to some prominence of his own….

A FRESH CONTINUATION…

Less than a decade later, Robert A. M. Stern and Braziller brought out a New Enlarged Edition of the book. Published in 1977, it included the full body of the earlier, 1969 text—but the volume was extended by the addition of further works by Venturi, Moore, and Mitchell Giurgola.

An important added section, titled Postscript: At The Edge of Postmodernism, also gave coverage to newer participants whose work and voices were widening the architectural discourse: Eisenman, Meier, Greenberg, Graves, and Gwathmey / Siegel (names not even mentioned in the first edition). Stern’s office (Robert A. M. Stern and John S. Hagmann) was also represented by two of their most interesting early residential projects: the Lang House; and a newly constructed townhouse fronting on Park Avenue.

Like the original edition, the 1977 enlarged edition gave the reader a chance to encounter not just the design work of a vital group of architects, but also the ideas which were the philosophical underpinnings of this fresh oeuvre.

Paul Rudolph is ICONIC— in the New Book on American Houses !

We already knew that Paul Rudolph’s work is “iconic”—especially if one goes by the dictionary definition:

widely known and recognized, and acknowledged especially for distinctive excellence

But it’s always good to have that affirmed by others—and we’re even more delighted when that assessment takes the form of a beautiful new book on residential architecture:

THE ICONIC AMERICAN HOUSE

The time-scale which the book covers is from 1900 to the present—well over a century of innovative, forward looking, elegant, and striking designs. Introducing it, Dominic Bradbury writes:

“The houses in this book chart a journey across America and across time, embracing many different aesthetics and expressions of form. . . .They are shining landmarks. . . .full of life, drama, and invention.”

The book manifests excellence by several criteria:

Sample spreads from the book—the ones above and below are of Rudolph’s Healy (“Cocoon”) Guest House; and the two spreads below that are of Rudolph’s Hiss (“Umbrella”) House.

• Selection and surprise: Many of the fifty houses profiled are well-known to all lovers of architecture (Fallingwater, the Eames House, the Glass House….) But part of the delight of this book is that one discovers houses that are unfamiliar, or designs that you’d only vaguely-but-intriguingly heard about. Thus, in this volume, you can finally visit the near-legendary High Desert House (Joshua Tree, CA) by Kendrick Bangs Kellogg"; and get to look inside houses you’d previously only known by a single glimpse—like the Sculptured House (Golden, CO) by Charles Deaton.

• Freshness of View: Bradbury brings keen insight, and offers key information for every project—but it’s the book’s visual sense that stands-out for us. Even with buildings which we’ve looked at over-and-over, Richard Powers’ photographs help us see them with a first-time freshness—and that allows us to discover new aspects of buildings and interiors which had been as familiar as the faces of old friends.

• Production Values: Reinforcing the sense of the specialness, of the houses chosen for inclusion, are the physical aspects of the book: the volume’s overall size (allowing one to even see details with clarity), the choice of paper (of a luxurious thickness), and the careful color balance of the printed images (neither dry nor saturated).

• Highlighting Paul Rudolph: Of course, the book is filled with he work of some of he most famous architects of the 20th Century—boldface names like Wright, Johnson, Niemeyer, Venturi, Kahn, Shindler… But Rudolph is one of the few architects to have two houses in the book: the Healy (“Cocoon”) Guest House, and the Hiss (“Umbrella”) House (both in Sarasota, FL, where Rudolph started his career.)

Each of the book’s 50 residences is presented across several pages, with photos, descriptive text, and informative captions.

Shown here are some of the page spreads, from the sections on the two Rudolph’s houses chosen for the book. [But Note: our photos of the book cannot begin to convey the richness, sharpness, and careful color balance of the photographs in the actual book!]

WHERE CREDIT IS DUE

Our only quibble with the book—but one worth noting in the interest of historical accuracy—is in the identification of Rudolph’s design work with his early partner, Ralph Twitchell. The book seems to give an equal measure of credit for the late 1940’s Healy (“Cocoon”) Guest House to both Ralph Twitchell and Paul Rudolph. It’s true that they were partners at that time, and that Twitchell had the “contacts” to bring in work, and that he was a highly knowledgeable presence on the construction site. But the consensus among historians is that Rudolph was the firm’s prime designer—and certainly the creative source for the kind of architectural innovation shown in the Healy project. As historians, we reject any attempts to erase figures from architectural history, or to underplay authentic contributions to the design process—but we also seek accuracy, and we hope that this point about design responsibility will be adjusted in any future editions of this fine book.

RELATED VOLUMES

Writer Dominic Bradbury and photographer Richard Powers—both energetic participants in covering the world of design—have partnered on numerous other books on architecture and interiors. This new book might be considered to be part of a series, as they’ve previously published two volumes on related topics, with the same publisher, and in a matching format: The Iconic House and The Iconic Interior.

Two other of their design-focused books, forming an…

…“ICONIC” series, published by Thames & Hudson.

THE AUTHORS

DOMINIC BRADBURY - WRITER

Prolific author of books with a strong focus on architecture and design, Dominic Bradbury is a writer, journalist, consultant, and lecturer—including having been guest speaker at the Victoria & Albert Museum. His abundant books (many done with photographer Richard Powers) include: Mid-Century Modern Complete, The Iconic House, The Iconic Interior, Atlas of Mid-Century Modern Houses, and The Secret Life of the Modern House—and as a journalist he has contributed to magazines and newspapers internationally, including The Financial Times, House & Garden, World of Interiors, The Guardian, and Architectural Digest.

RICHARD POWERS - PHOTOGRAPHER

In his quarter-century of professional experience, Richard Powers has developed a remarkable oeuvre, specializing in the photography of interiors, architecture, and the built environment. With a portfolio that shows a worldwide scope, he has received commissions from design firms and publications such as Architectural Digest, The Wall Street Journal, World of Interiors, and publishers like Thames & Hudson and Rizzoli. His photographs are featured in over 20 books (many done with Dominic Bradbury), including The Iconic Interior, New Natural Home, Superhouse, and Waterside Modern.

BELOW are two further spreads from The Iconic American House, from the section on Wright’s Fallingwater—additional evidence of the beautiful and informative work of this talented partnership.

BOOK INFORMATION AND AVAILABILITY:

• TITLE: The Iconic American House

• AUTHORS: Dominic Bradbury, with photography by Richard Powers

• PUBLISHER: Thames & Hudson

• FORMAT: Hardcover; 11-1/4 x 10-1/2 inches; 320 pages; 400 illustrations

• ISBN: 9780500022955

• PUBISHER’S WEB PAGE FOR THE BOOK: here

• AMAZON PAGE: here

• BARNES & NOBLE PAGE: here

Shown below are the book’s Contents pages, with a grid of photos of the 50 houses which the authors chose to include—and above is a portion of one of those pages, showing Rudolph is in very good company with Frank Lloyd Wright, Eero Saarinen, the Eames, Alden B. Dow…

---

Toying with Architecture: Rudolph, Lego, and Modularity

A FASCINATING IMAGE: Paul Rudolph, sitting on the floor and working—or playing (or both!)—with Legos. He looks to be creating what might be a high-rise residential structure that would express his ideas about how whole apartments could be manufactured and lifted-into-place (as what he called “the brick of the future.”) Around him are numerous boxes of Lego sets (at far left, a pair of them are sitting on a Mies Barcelona chair!), and in the foreground a large number of Lego blocks have already—through Rudolph’s hands—taken on architectonic form.

AND A REVEALING ONE: This photo is also interesting for what else one can detect about Rudolph’s working context. It was taken in one of Rudolph’s work spaces (his office at 54 West 57th Street) and, hung in the background, one can see models of two of Rudolph’s commissions. At the upper-right is a large model of his 1966 design for a resort community at Stafford Harbor, Virginia (and the form of that project’s clusters of housing resonate well with the Lego aesthetic.) Also at the top, just left of center, one can see a “Toio” floor lamp, designed by Achille Castiglioni (which is in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art.) While Italian lighting fixtures are now widely available in the US, when this early 1970’s photo was taken one was much less likely to encounter (and be able to purchase) examples of high-level imported industrial design. To the left of that is a Luxo lamp (which were then ubiquitous in architects’ offices as lighting for their drawing boards.) Image is from a photo print found within the archive of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

ARCHITECTS MAKE TOYS & TOYS MAKE ARCHITECTS

Architecture is usually a serious matter, as even the smallest construction projects entail large commitments of funds, time, and focus. Moreover, architects and builders must engage with issues of durability, fitness to purpose, the practical constraints of materials and available skills, and conformance with construction regulations that are meant to ensure safety. Anyone who has spent time on construction sites—particularly if it is during a site visit by an architect—quickly realizes that these are venues where frivolity is forbidden, and great tensions are at work.

But there’s also a long engagement between Modern architects and play—specifically: TOYS.

This Toy-Architect relationship operates in two directions:

• Architects that have designed toys—both literally, and in the sense that some of their work is toy-like.

• Toys that have designed architects—-in the sense that toys having a formative influence on them.

ARCHITECTS AS TOYMAKERS

Architects (and their close associates) have been surprisingly prolific in the creation of toys—and here are some better-known examples:

• Though the most famous building toys (A. C. Gilbert’s Erector Set and Frank Hornby’s Meccano) were not designed by architects, at least one of them—Gilbert’s—was inspired by his observation of actual steel girders used in large-scale construction.

  But the third most famous building toy—Lincoln Logs—invented in 1916, and still available today—was designed by an architect: John Lloyd Wright. (1892-1972.) He was Frank Lloyd Wright’s son, and—although he had a long and productive career designing a wide range of buildings—he’ll probably remain best known for the creation of this toy.

• The Bauhaus was also a source of toy designs, and the challenge of designing them was taken-up by some students.

  The most well-known example—and one which has continued to be in production—is a Building Blocks Set designed by Alma Siedhoff-Buscher (1899–1944) while she was a student at the Bauhaus. There were two versions: the first in 1923, with 32 blocks; and a larger set in the following year, with 39. The blocks, of various colors, shapes, and sizes, offer an almost infinite opportunity for creative compositions—figurative, architectural, and abstract—though it is best known with them assembled into the form of a sailboat (which was illustrated on the exterior of the set’s original packaging.)

  The flexibility of the Bauhaus style and approach (which allowed it to be applied to challenges as diverse in scale and purpose as architecture, city planning, furniture, textiles, lighting, typography, pottery—and toys!) has never stopped attracting designers—and an ever-widening audience of consumers. Thus, though the Bauhaus has past its centenary, its geometries, motifs, and overall “look” continue to be utilized for every type of design work—even for more recently designed objects of amusement. The growth and victory of this style, and indeed the identity “Bauhaus” itself, is deeply explored in Philipp Oswalt’s incisive book, “The Bauhaus Brand” published by Scheidegger and Spiess—a visually rich and penetrating study of how this “brand” has become omnipresent.

• It’s also worth nothing that the same playful. toy-creating spirit can be seen in another of the Bauhaus’s most notable productions: the Triadic Ballet, developed by Bauhaus teacher Oskar Schlemmer (1888–1943.)

  The ballet’s costume designs, by Schlemmer—which are more famous than the performance itself (some are shown here)—are perceivable as giant (human sized), moving toy creatures, many of which hew to the geometric Bauhaus aesthetic.

• Since models, of proposed buildings, are part of every architect’s practice, doll houses would seem to be a natural arena for their talents—and one of our earlier posts was about a very Modern Rudolphian version of a dollhouse.

  The ultimate example of an architect engaged in doll house design was the one created by the final master of the English Renaissance, Sir Edwin Lutyens (1869–1944). His Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House (completed in 1924 for Great Britain’s then reigning queen, and now to be seen at Windsor Castle) was an elaborate affair, and the Royal Collection Trust describes it as including “. . . .contributions from over 1,500 of the finest artists, craftsmen and manufacturers of the early twentieth century. From life below stairs to the high-society setting of the saloon and dining room, and from a library bursting with original works by the top literary names of the day, to a fully stocked wine cellar and a garden, created by Gertrude Jekyll, no detail was forgotten. The house even includes electricity, running hot and cold water and working lifts.”

• German Expressionist architect Hermann Finsterlin (1887–1973) is primarily known through his drawings: dreamlike visions of buildings which are often so fantastical that one wonders if they were intended for humans habitation.

  Finsterlin also designed charming, colorful toys: some with intersecting geometric forms, and others that are more recognizably architectonic. The latter types were designed as assemblies of smaller parts, which could be disassembled and, presumably, creatively repositioned into new configurations.

  Putting “Hermann Finsterlin toys” in Google Images yields a large number of pictures of his visionary drawings, as well as of his equally otherworldly models—but one will also see a some of of his toys. A screen capture (from such an image search), with a number of those toys, can be seen at right.

• That most serious of the Modern movement’s master architects, Le Corbusier, did have a playful side, but he’s not generally known to have designed any toys.

  But one model—which he used to explain the offset layout of apartments in his Unité d'habitation—is definitely toy-like. Such explanatory aids might seem “cute”—but that quality could well be an architect’s strategic choice, as the interest and even friendliness which models evoke can be effective tools of persuasion. Even so, looking at this intriguing image today, what is also evoked is a Corbusian version of Jenga.

• Charles Eames (1907–1978) and Ray Eames (1912–1988), partners professionally and in life, had—and continue to hold—world-wide reputations for their inventive approach to meeting the widest range of design challenges. Working in architecture, exhibit design, cinema, graphics, and—most famously—furniture, their designs are known for what futurist John Naisbitt would call “high touch”: a sense of human, personal interaction (something needed ever more powerfully in the midst of a technological society.) So, even though Eames-designed products (like their celebrated series of chairs) were manufactured by industrial processes, those objects convey a human and often playful spirit—and that was further evident in their design of films and exhibitions.

  In 1945, as part of their research into molding plywood into three-dimensional curved shapes, they created a two-part, child-scaled elephant seat. The compound curvatures, entailed in making it, were particularly challenging, and it never went into mass-production during the Eames’ lifetime [but, since 2017, it has been made available by Vitra.]

  Also in the play mode is the “House of Cards” set, designed by the Eames and originating in 1952 (with variant and larger versions, issued in subsequent decades.) Enjoyed, and marketed for both adults and children, the cards show a rich assortment of photographs or patterns and objects, and are slotted to allow them to be constructed into a variety of configurations. The card sets continue to be produced, and are also in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art.

The Rudolph family, with young Paul Rudolph at far left. This would have been taken probably shortly before he made the house model.

• The archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation include a letter from Paul Rudolph’s mother, Eurie Stone Rudolph. Internal evidence indicates that it was probably written in the mid-1960s (she makes reference to having visited the New York World’s Fair (1964-1965). The memories of her son, shared in that letter, include young Rudolph creating a miniature house. It is probably mentioned as evidence of his early interest in architecture—but what he built was also something approaching a doll house in scale and detail (though Rudolph would likely eschew that term.).

  She writes: “After we moved to Franklin, Paul decided to make a Model house, out of cardboard. It was an ideal home with everything a home could have in it. He made the furniture of first one thing and another. Made lamp bases from marbles, made a Gov. Winthrop Bookcase and little tiny books to go in the case. Made shingles for the house, about one forth inch wide and half an inch long. Made windows, then a friend gave him a little set of electric light[s] for the house. He had it all wired and would turn the lights on to show through the windows. When we moved to Athens [Alabama} we moved that six foot house as Paul did not want to give it up. It had given him a lot of pleasure to show it to people as they always seemed so interested in that he had made everything.” [The full text of this fascinating letter can be found in the catalog of the Paul Rudolph centenary exhibit.]

One notable point about many of the above toys (and also the one we’ll discuss below) is that they’re systems. A toy model set that allows one to construct a single type of thing (for example, of the Space Shuttle) is a system: a kit of parts that makes a whole. But most of the toys above are what Christopher Alexander called a generating system: a kit of parts that allows one to make multiple wholes. Built-in to generating systems is flexibility of arrangement and the freedom to invent new configurations. When this quality is found in a toy, that’s perfect for encouraging an exploration of (and sensitivity to) the possibilities of design.

FROEBELIZATION — TOYS CREATING ARCHITECTS?

The most famous connection between toys and Modern architecture goes in the other direction: not architects making toys, but rather: toys making architects. We speak, of course, about the Froebel Blocks. Friedrich Wilhelm August Fröbel (or Froebel) (1782–1852) was a German educator, active in the first half of the 19th Century. He was one of the creators of the modern recognition that children have unique needs and capabilities, created the concept of the kindergarten (including creating the word), and designed a comprehensive set of educational toys known as “Froebel gifts”. They were primarily composed of a series of progressively more sophisticated sets of blocks. Frank Lloyd Wright was given a set, shortly before he turned ten years old, and in his autobiography wrote:

“For several years I sat at the little kindergarten table-top ruled by lines about four inches apart each way making four-inch squares; and, among other things, played upon these ‘unit-lines’ with the square (cube), the circle (sphere) and the triangle (tetrahedron or tripod)—these were smooth maple-wood blocks. All are in my fingers to this day.”  

—and—

“The virtue of all this lay in the awakening of the child-mind to rhythmic structures in Nature… I soon became susceptible to constructive pattern evolving in everything I saw.”

What could be constructed from the blocks—and what creativity might it induce in a child? Wright clearly thought they were influential on him—and the fact that Le Corbusier and Buckminster Fuller were also exposed to the Froebel system is suggestive of a fruitful connection between this type of education and the formal results emerging when (and if) the child becomes a professional designer. Ultimately, such cause-and-effect remains in the realm of speculation—but it has received the deep exploration in the late Jeanne S. Rubin’s book: “Intimate Triangle: Architecture of Crystals, Frank Lloyd Wright and the Froebel Kindergarten".

The other scholar of this topic—perhaps world’s greatest expert on architectural toys—is Norman Brosterman, an architect, curator, historian, and writer. His collection (including building sets like the Froebel system) was acquired by the CCA - the Canadian Centre for Architecture. Several exhibits have focused on toys from that collection, and several books on the topic, by Brosterman, have been published: “Potential Archicture,” “Building in Boxes,” and “Inventing Kindergarten.”

Architectural historians have made-the-case that it would not be a great leap to go from the compositional possibilities offered by the Froebel sets of blocks -to- the designs of Wright. Brosterman and others have offered some visual evidence—as in this paring of images from one of his books (shown here.)

RUDOLPH AND LEGO

Although it ceased regular publication two decades ago, and has faded from public consciousness, LIFE magazine had been—for nearly 2/3 of a century—one of the titans of US magazine publishing and was part of the consciousness of every American. With a circulation of millions of copies-a-week, the famous LIFE logo—bold sans-serif letters within a red rectangle—became synonymous with the best in photojournalism: LIFE’s photographers and reporters delved into every aspect of the human experience and nature—from the playful -to- the most somber, from peaceful creativity -to- the darkest tragedies of war. With its enormous circulation and respect, anything—or anybody—that got published in LIFE was lifted to national attention.

LIFE’s December 15, 1972 Special Double Issue on the Joys of Christmas looked at the holiday from a variety of viewpoints, utilizing the photo-essay format for which the magazine was celebrated. The issue included articles about Bethlehem, holiday preparations and celebration on an American farm, a timeline of historic events that have happened on Christmas day, ongoing acts of charity from around the country, and examples of artistic and ornamental Christmas baking.

Among this smorgasbord of holiday celebration is an article that—even if there wasn’t an explicit Christmas connection, certainly carries a mood of joy: “Masterminds At Play”. On the magazine’s Contents page, the editors expressed their intent in this way:

“Some ingenious grown-ups get a chance to see what they can do with children’s playthings.”

And, in the article’s introductory text, they further explain:

“As every child who has grown-up within grabbing distance knows, toys fascinate adults. With a sympathetic nod to the kids, therefor, LIFE asked four particularly inventive adults to indulge their impulses and have a good time with gadgets usually only get a chance to play with.”

Their choice of creative adults was stellar—each masters in their own field: custom car designer George Barris (whose most famous work was the 1960’s TV version of the Batmobile), artist Norman Laliberte (whose colorful banners suffused the Vatican Pavilion at the New York World’s Fair), writer Lonne Elder III (known for his script for the classic film, “Sounder”), cinematic master Federico Fellini—and Paul Rudolph.

While Fellini clowned with some children’s makeup, and Elder wrote a brief play for a pair of marionettes, Rudolph worked with LEGO blocks—many sets of them (we counted at least 8 boxes of Legos in one photo Rudolph at work with them.). As the article’s text mentions, he supplemented the blocks with plastic rods. [Rudolph associate Ernest Wagner tells us that Paul Rudolph liked to explore the industrial surplus and plastic supply stores which could then be found on downtown New York’s Canal Street—and such venues would likely have been them source of those rods.]

We’ve reproduced Rudolph’s page below—and, in case the texts are hard to read, we’ve transcribed them for you. The introduction on Rudolph’s page explains:

Mastermind with Building Blocks

Architect Paul Rudolph is former head of the Yale School of Architecture and a pioneer of the use of modules—the prefabricated, prewired units that can be shipped to a building site and assembled in any one of countless configurations. Given a dozen sets of Lego to start with with, Rudolph noted how the toy building blocs resemble modules—moreover could be put together to form a very satisfying kind of skyscraper. Using plastic rods for extra support, Rudolph quickly built three scale-model apartment buildings and observed that he would be happy to design more buildings this way if only the blocks were slightly longer and narrower. Real modules have to be shipped by road, and “Legos wouldn’t quite fit.”

And the caption reads:

Working in his studio above, Rudolph assembles he small Lego pieces, which connect with interlocking teeth, then put all the parts together to form the larges of this models (right). It contains 35 to 40 living units in each of 11 clusters grouped around a central service core, and stands four feet high.

WHY LEGOS?

Of course, with it’s brick-like construction system and pieces, it would be natural to associate Lego with architecture. Over the decades, there have been numerous examples and exhibits of architects and designers using Legos, either attempting to recreate well-known buildings, or to explore new architectural designs.

For about the last decade, the Lego company has proclaimed a connection between their system and iconic architecture by issuing sets of blocks which are constructible into some of the most famous Modern architectural works of the 20th Century, among them: the Le Corbusier’s Villa Savoye, Utzon’s Sydney Opera House, SOM’s John Hancock Building, the United Nations headquarters—and even Mies van der Rohe’s Farnsworth House.

Wright seems to be a favorite, in that he’s the only architect that they’ve chosen who has the honor by having several of his buildings done as Lego sets: the Robie House, the Imperial Hotel, the Guggenheim Museum, and Fallingwater—the last one of which seems to work especially well with the Lego system.

But why did LIFE magazine connect Rudolph and Legos? Were the editors already aware of Rudolph’s oeuvre, and noticed the visual resonance between some of his projects and the Lego system? Or did they approach Rudolph, telling him the premise of the article, and ask him what he’d like to “play” with?

RUDOLPH, MODULARITY, aND “THE BRICK OF THE FUTURE”

We’ve seen no records about how Paul Rudolph’s participation in the LIFE article came about—but its text does point to a topic which was of ongoing and intense interest to Rudolph: what he called “the brick of the future” (which he also sometimes called “the twentieth century brick.”)

Those are Rudolph’s terms for a future possibility for architecture and the construction industry: entire apartments would be made off-site in factories, and then transported to the construction site. The construction site would have structures to receive these modules, and the apartment units—like modular bricks—would be lifted into their final locations and connected to utilities.

Generally, Rudolph envisioned that “brick of the future” apartment houses would be in the shape of towers—sometimes quite tall—and that’s what his design in the LIFE article looks like (see enlargement from the article, at right). But Rudolph also had additional possible configurations in mind: mid-rise stepped assemblies, and low-rise (two or three stories) versions, where the units would spread across a landscape.

Rudolph’s liking for, and interest in modular (or modular-like) “brick”-unit forms can be seen across most of his 50-year career—it is one of his major architectural, technological, aesthetic, and policy commitments—of which he explicitly and repeatedly spoke, and tried to bring to fruition in numerous projects.

Sometimes this affinity comes out of aesthetic considerations. Rudolph, well-aware of all chapters in the history of Modern design and art, would have digested the artistic genome of overlapping and projecting rectilinear forms. This type of design was manifest in the architecture and sculpture of the early decades of the Modern movement—and superb examples can be seen in this pair of sculptures by De Stijl artist George Vantongerloo (1886-1965) shown here (and one can easily imagine them being constructed out of Legos!) Also, creating compositions like this was a standard exercise in Modern, Bauhaus-derived design education programs—and remains so in some schools today. Even more pertinent, it’s worth remembering that Rudolph was a student, at Harvard, of Walter Gropius—the former director of the Bauhaus.

One can see this artistic, sculptural approach, using module-like forms, in his 1960 project for O’Brien’s Motor Lodge (shown below), and in his 1963 design for the Orange County Government Center.

Of the O’Brien project, Rudolph himself later connected it to his modular concerns, saying:

“In a sense this is an earlier study of the formal architectural possibilities of the large scale, three-dimensional, pre-fabricated unit (Twentieth Century Brick), but constructed by traditional methods of brick and concrete.”

One can also see his idea to use modular, brick-like apartments used—not just as a form, but explicitly as a construction system—in a design from about the same time: his 1959 project for a Trailer Apartment Tower (see Rudolph’s sketch at right). He said of this proposal:

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

PAUL RUDOLPH’S MODULAR PORTFOLIO

Looking through Rudolph’s oeuvre, one can see that the modular, LEGO-like approach comes up repeatedly. In addition to the projects shown above, below we’ll look at 4 others which evidence his ongoing interest in this such a construction/design system.

1967 - GRAPHIC ARTS CENTER

Designed to be placed on the Western edge of Manhattan island (slightly north of the site of the World Trade Center), the Graphic Arts Center was a to be a large complex that would include housing (4,000 apartments!), offices, manufacturing, shops, schools, a marina, and other facilities. Rudolph describes his intent—including the use of a modular building approach:

“The proposals for the Graphic Arts Center are based on the concept of the megastructure, or the idea that many functions can be served in a single large building complex. In this case there are facilities for industry (lithography, legal and financial printers); office space; 4,000 apartments of varying kinds; elementary schools, kindergartens; play spaces at grade, as well as on platforms in the sky; community center; restaurants; commercial shopping; gardens and recreational space; and parking-trucking access incorporating portions of the West Side Highway. In other words, it is a city within a city. The idea of a megastructure is different from the idea of building an apartment house, industrial and office space, schools and restaurants. Rather, it is the intent to build all of these multiple functions in one complex.”

“The apartment houses are, perhaps, conceptually the most interesting, since they propose to utilize techniques developed by the mobile house industry (this industry now accounts for one out of five new housing starts in the United States and the graph is steadily going upward). These units would hang from trusses supported on masts which contain elevator and stair cores, plus vertical lines of utilities. By arranging the mobile house units in “log cabin” fashion, the roof for one becomes the terrace for the one above.”

A model of a one of the towers of the Graphic Arts Center. One can see the connection to Rudolph’s other modular-oriented designs, as well as the model he later made for the LIFE article.

A portion of Paul Rudolph’s large model of the proposed Graphic Arts Center (which was to be built in lower Manhattan) in which one can get an idea of the project’s immense scale.

1968 - ORIENTAL MASONIC GARDENS

Prefabrication was part of the architectural zeitgeist of the 1960’s, and the US government—through their “Operation Breakthrough”—sponsored a large number of experiments in an attempt to find out if industrialized housing was a viable approach for creating housing. That was the context for Oriental Masonic Gardens, a federally-aided project designed help solve housing shortages in New Haven. Rudolph’s design included 2-to-5 bedroom apartments, and consisted of 148 units on 12.5 acres. The housing was made of pre-fabricated units (a total of 333 modules), which were brought to the site and arranged in a two-level configuration (which gave each residence a private yard).

Bedeviled by issues of construction quality, this forward-thinking experiment was eventually demolished in 1981. Rudolph acknowledged the problems of the project, but continued to think that this approach—prefabrication—contained the possibility of positive solutions to creating housing that was economical, but which also allowing for formal and spatial variety.

Oriental Masonic Gardens’ modules, whose designs allowed for a variety of differently sized housing options, were manufactured off-site and then craned into place.

The homes were duplexes, and were placed in cruciform configurations. Even though they were contiguous, each home in these 4-unit clusters had their own separate yard.

1967 - LOMEX: THE LOWER MANHATTAN EXPRESSWAY

The Lower Manhattan Expressway (LOMEX) was a project to connect bridges (that were located on the opposite sides of Manhattan island) with a new throughway. The existing streetscape would not allow for high-speed movement between those two points, and so a new, borough-spanning solution was called for. Rather than this being just a matter of highway engineering, Paul Rudolph approached it comprehensively: his design embraced multiple modes of transportation, housing, offices and other facilities—-all within a dramatic megastructural vision that took on varying shapes and heights to accommodate different functions.

A key aspect of Rudolph’s design was the use of prefabrication for the high-rise housing. Vertical structures (which had, built-into them, elevators, stairs, and utilities like plumbing and electricity) would be erected; and then apartments—modular units manufactured off-site—would be trucked-in and slotted into place. Here again, this modular system could be flexible, with the units arranged in different configurations, and on structures of varying heights.

Paul Rudolph’s perspective rendering of LOMEX, which would have spanned all across Manhattan. In the distance (to be located at Manhattan island’s edges) can be seen high-rise residential towers that are part of the project—and they were to use the pre-manufactured “brick of the future” housing system that Rudolph envisioned.

Rudolph’s drawing, illustrating an aspect of the LOMEX project’s high rise housing system. Housing modules—the “brick of the future”—would be manufactured off-site, and delivered to the site by truck (see bottom of drawing.) They would then be craned upward, and set into permanent place on the building’s structural system.

1980 - THE COLONNADE

Rudolph intended these luxury condominiums, The Colonnade in Singapore, to be built using the modular, “brick of the future” approach that he’d been investigating and trying for decades. For reasons of timing and local economics, it ended up being built with more conventional construction methods—but one can see, both in Rudolph’s drawings and in the final result, that the form of the concept was retained. Rudolph’s original intent still may have potential for the construction of buildings like this.)

Shown is a portion of one of Rudolph’s drawing for The Colonnade: an isometric rendering, showing the exterior, with highly articulated volumes, grid-like horizontal and vertical structural elements, and a profusion of balconies. The modular intent is clearly manifest in this vision.

Apartments in The Colonnade are among the most sought after in Singapore. Even though it was ultimately built using conventional methods, its as-built presence still conveys Rudolph’s original concept of it being constructed with pre-fabricated units.

RUDOLPH’S FURTHER APPLICATIONS OF MODULARITY

Rudolph’s interest in, and attempts to apply the principle of flexible modularity, was not limited to building-scale projects. He also brought this approach to the design of construction systems, furniture, and lighting—and here are examples of each:

1960’s - RIBBED CONCRETE BLOCK SYSTEM

Rudolph’s most famous building is his Yale Art & Architecture Building, well-known for its ribbed concrete surfaces. To achieve that finish, the concrete was cast-in-place and then bush-hammered by hand. Rudolph liked the shadowed-/textured effect that the ribbing created, and used it in other buildings which he designed (i.e.: Endo Labs and the Boston Government Service Center). But that construction method proved too expensive to use in some projects, and Rudolph and his staff sought an alternative which would produce visually similar results.

For Crawford Manor, a 109 unit high-rise apartment building for elderly residents in The Bronx, NYC, they designed a set of concrete blocks with vertically ribbed surfaces. The system would still give the serrated effect that Rudolph wanted, but which would be significantly less expensive to construct. A variety of shapes. to accommodate different construction conditions, were designed—a Lego-like “generating system”. Construction began in 1964 and finished in 1966.

In addition to the cost savings. the ribbing visually “broke down” down the scale of concrete block (so as to avoid an unwanted monolithic look to the building), and it also prevented run-off stains: water is channeled into the interstices while the front of the block is exposed to cleaning. Rudolph’s modular ribbed concrete blocks were later used in several of his other buildings, such as the Chorley Elementary School and UMass Dartmouth.

A drawing, from Paul Rudolph’s office, showing precast and ribbed concrete blocks (as used at Crawford Manor). The version show (straight, with ribbing on both sides) would be only one of the set of shapes produced for this residential high-rise..

In this photo, one can see a variety of construction conditions (flat surfaces, curved surfaces, exterior and interior corners) for which different shapes of pre-cast ribbed concrete blocks were designed and manufactured.

1970’s - FURNITURE SYSTEM

Paul Rudolph designed his own Manhattan residence: his “Quadruplex” penthouse, near the United Nations. Rudolph often included built-in seating in his projects, and that’s very much part of this penthouse’s design. But he also wanted free-standing, movable furniture, and could not find any existing (to purchase) that met with his approval—so he created his own.

Rudolph came upon a system of connectors and metal tubes (“nodes and struts”) which was often used in retail settings to create display shelving. This was—like Lego—truly a “generating system.” Seeing the immense flexibility which the system offered, Rudolph proceeded to design (and have fabricated) a variety of furniture for his home. [Authorized editions of these designs continue to be offered, via the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.]

Among the purposes, for which Rudolph utilized the connector and tube system, was to create a display stand for an original Louis Sullivan panel which he owned (and that he placed in the Quadruplex’s living room.)

In addition to a rolling dining chair (shown above), Rudolph also created a rolling lounge chair, and as well as side-tables. The chairs are now being made available through the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

1970’s - LIGHTING SYSTEM

It’s fair to say that Rudolph was obsessed with light: both natural and artificial, and the effects that could be created with it. Through most of his career he designed custom lighting for his projects—and because he used standard electrical components (and sometimes industrial surplus), these inventive fixtures could also be inexpensive.

This interest in light fixture design evolved further. Architectural historian Timothy M. Rohan, in his monograph on Rudolph, writes:

Although he cared little for the everyday workings of business, Rudolph could be quite entrepreneurial. In 1976, Rudolph and[Ernst] Wagner founded Modulightor, a firm that sold lighting. . . .”

The system which Rudolph came up with used a limited number of parts and shapes—but, very much like Lego, this generating system of components could be arranged and assembled to create a vast range of light fixtures: sconces, art lighting, wall washers, chandeliers, task lights…. Rudolph not only designed the system, per se (which was simultaneously economical in approach, yet allowed for broad creativity), but he also designed a large line of fixtures which utilized the system. The Modulightor company continues to offer fixtures, using his approach.

Rudolph showed that, even with a limited set of shapes, an immense range of configurations are possible. This is manifest in abundance in the lighting system available from Modulightor—a firm he co-founded with Ernst Wagner. Shown are a few examples of the types and shapes of light fixtures that can be built from the generating system that Rudolph invented.

IMAGE CREDITS

Lincoln Logs: John Lloyd Wright, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons; Triadic Ballet: Fred Romero, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons; Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House: Rob Sangster, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons;  Le Corbusier Model: from Le Corbusier, Oeuvre complète (Zurich, 1950), vol 4, p 186, collection Canadian Centre for Architecture, Montréal; Eames Elephant: Sinikka Halme, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons;  Eames House of Cards: SebastianHelm, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons;  Rudolph Family: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Frobel Blocks Set: Kippelboy, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons;  Froebel Student Using Blocks: Maria Kraus-Boelte/John Kraus: The kindergarten guide: An illustrated hand-book. 1877, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons;  Vantongerloo Sculptures: http://sdrc.lib.uiowa.edu/dada/Classique_Baroque/pages/033.htm, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons;   O’Brian’s Motor Lodge: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Trailer Apartment Tower: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Graphic Arts Center Model in Rudolph Office: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Graphic Arts Center Model: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Oriental Masonic Gardens Construction Photo: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Oriental Masonic Gardens: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  LOMEX Perspective: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  LOMEX Construction Diagram: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Colonnade Drawing: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Crawford Manor Block Drawing: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Crawford Manor Photograph:  Photo by Kelvin Dickinson, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Sullivan Panel: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Rolling Chair: Courtesy of Peter Aaron;  Modulightor Fixtures:  Courtesy of Modulightor

The Engel Residence - featuring a stunning Rudolph addition - is on the market

Photo by Daniel Milstein Photography © PlanOmatic

Paul Rudolph’s Engel Residence at 20 Pleasant Ridge Road in Harrison, New York is for sale.

The original residence was constructed in 1939, and Paul Rudolph designed an addition to the home in 1986.

The Engel Residence addition is the result of a personal friendship between Cecile Engel and Paul Rudolph, who was a contributor to a book of essays she edited and published (Delphinium Blossoms: An Anthology).

The secluded 7,452 sq. ft. residence is situated on a private 4 acre landscaped property with an in-ground pool and tennis court, providing a tranquil oasis just 40 minutes from Grand Central in nearby New York City. The property abuts a maintained horse and hiking trail.

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

The Rudolph addition features dramatic entertaining rooms with floor-to-ceiling picture windows and sliding doors looking out over the beautiful natural surroundings. The first floor includes several Rudolph design interventions including a one-of-a-kind temperature controlled 3,000-bottle wine room.

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

A 1,570 sq. ft. stunning Master Suite designed by Rudolph offers serenity with soaring ceilings, floating beams and masterfully hidden lighting throughout the adjacent walk-in closets and oversized ensuite Master Bath complete with jacuzzi tub and travertine tiles.

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

The property features a free form heated pool, tennis court, rolling lawns, stone terraces, and lush landscaping.

Property Details

Square Footage: 7,452 s.f.

Lot size : 4.0 acres (174,240 s.f.) landscaped with pool & tennis court, abuts a maintained horse/hiking trail

Location: Harrison, New York

Systems: Central Heating and Central Air Conditioning

Layout: 5 bedrooms and 5.5 baths, spread across a two level floor plan. The house features a detached garage with space for 2 cars accessible by covered walkway.

Taxes: 2019 -2020 ($23,350 / year)

The home is being offered for sale by the current owners for $1.9 million USD.

You can learn more about the Engel Residence (including more images of the interior and exterior) at the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation’s page for the property’s sale here.

It is always a good time to celebrate Paul Rudolph’s architecture —and we can’t think of a better way to celebrate the New Year than finding a new owner who will appreciate and preserve this modernist gem.

You can reach out to us at office@paulrudolphheritagefoundation.org for more information.