The Burroughs Wellcome was designed for growth—and this is a section drawing study by Paul Rudolph, for an extension to the building. Such a colorful drawing might look exuberantly and boldly “arty” (as though the architect had only a nebulous relation to practicalities)—but a close inspection shows that, while Rudolph was developing the overall concept, he was simultaneously paying close attention to dimensions, adjacencies, floor heights, and the locations of different functions. This kind of drawing—seemingly florid, but layered with distilled, practical information—is typical of the kind of study drawings which Paul Rudolph did at the beginning of his design process. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
"We Must Understand That After All The Building Committees, The Conflicting Interests, The Budget Considerations, And The Limitations Of His Fellow Man Have Been Taken Into Consideration, The Architect’s Responsibility Has Just Begun. He Must Understand That Exhilarating, Awesome Moment.
When He Takes Pencil In Hand, And Holds It Poised Above A White Sheet Of Paper, He Has Suspended There All That Has Gone Before And All That Will Ever Be."
—Paul Rudolph
ARCHITECTURAL DESIGN: THE MYSTERY
In looking at Burroughs Wellcome—one of Paul Rudolph’s best (and best loved) creations—one naturally wonders: How did such a design come to be? With a prolific architect like Rudolph, whose creativity took him along so many different paths, that’s a compelling inquiry.
“How does the magic happen?” That’s one way of putting one of the most fascinating questions about the creation of architecture—for it’s indeed a wonder how one gets all-the-way from a client’s request to a tangible, solid, building that’s ready-for-occupancy.
The least mysterious phase happens at the end of the process: once a “construction set” of drawings (sometimes called “working drawings” or the “contract set”) has been drawn-up by he architect and issued to the general contractor, the process of construction is fairly well understood. [Although, as anyone who’s ever been involved in building project can tell you, it is also fraught with possible pitfalls, detours, and surprises.]
But perhaps it would be useful to return to the beginning of the process….
ARCHITECTURAL DESIGN: THE PROGRAM
Initially, the architect receives requests and information from the client: the “program”. Sometimes this is nebulously articulated—or conversely, sometimes the client’s needs are enumerated in intimidatingly calibrated detail. Rudolph wrote urgently about the need to get, early on, as much info as possible:
“Always, always, always, everything, everything, everything at the beginning. I'm a great believer in the big bang. You cannot isolate parts, ever. That's the reason why it's so important to know as much detail as possible at the very beginning.”
“I'm just saying that for me it's a matter of getting your fingers on what you can and cannot do from a legal viewpoint . . . . You have to know what's possible. Architecture is not a question of the purely theoretical if you're interested in building buildings. It's the art of what is possible.”
A sketch by Paul Rudolph, in which he’s working out the design of a hallway within Burroughs Wellcome. This sort of drawing shows another aspect of the architect’s working method: the section is sketched adjacent to the plan, and at the same scale (so that both can be well coordinated). At top right one can clearly see part of the plan layout, including rooms and what appear to be laboratory benches. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
At Burroughs Wellcome—which functioned as not only a corporate headquarters, but as also an active pharmaceutical research center with extensive laboratories and testing facilitates (where Nobel Prize winning work was conducted!)—Rudolph would have received a careful listing of the functions that the 300,000 square foot building had to accommodate, including the approximate sq. ft. area needed for each. Sometimes programs also indicate significant “adjacencies” (what specific spaces need to be nearby each other).
Just as important (as the above “material” needs) are the intangible ones: what the project means to the client, and what it will communicate. Significance and symbolism: they’re as much part of the program as the list of required rooms. It’s not always easy to determine this, and clients are generally not used to articulating such matters. As Rudolph states, it’s important to find out..
“…what it is the owner truly wants to do— but he doesn't necessarily tell you, you have to read between the lines— and what should be done ideally.”
ARCHITECTURAL DESIGN: THE GRAND SYNTHESIS
It is at this point that the mystery truly begins. The architect creates an overall concept for the building’s organization: the “parti”—and with it will be the architect’s most central decisions about the building’s placement on the site, the organization of the plan, and the shaping of spaces and volumes—along with concepts about which structural system and what materials are to be used.
Looking over the architect’s shoulder—in the process of creation? Here Paul Rudolph is photographed working at his drawing board in his New Haven office, with members of his staff in the background.
How this happens—the very process of creation—is one of the great human questions, whether it be examined in the context of painting, music, literature, or architecture. Some architects refuse even to talk about it, claiming it’s a very intimate matter (and likely, one they don’t even quite understand themselves.) Some are prolix in their explanations, offering either theoretical, meat-and-potatoes, or poetic rationales for what they do. At the other end of the spectrum are “functionalist” architects like Hannes Meyer (who, for several years, was director of the Bauhaus): he claimed that arriving at design solutions was like solving an a mathematical problem, and he offered a stark equation: Function x Economy = Architecture. Rudolph repudiated such such an extreme position, saying:
All I'm really saying is that the most rational architect in the world is not to be trusted at all because there is no such thing as true rationalism when you are speaking of architecture.
Rudolph himself acknowledged the mystery of the phenomena of creation:
“In terms of how one goes about designing anything, you don't really know, or at least I don't know, until after the fact. There are so many elements that come into play that if you wait to figure out what it is you truly want to do once you have a project to work on there won't be enough time. You have to, as I see it, have a reservoir of things that you feel should be done and then you draw on that reservoir and hopefully apply elements from that reservoir in an intelligent fashion. . . . . You can have one hundred reasons why you do things after the fact.”
“I can say that in spite of all the rationalizations that architects go through, including myself, you can pay no attention to what architects say, you can only pay attention to what they do.”
Because architecture must deal with very practical issues—from space needs -to- the structural capacity of steel—the truth about the nature of architectural creation would necessarily be a merging of the functional and the artistic ways of solving problems. Beyond that, the essential nature of the “synthetic leap” is conjectural (though the topic of design creativity has been an area of ongoing serious research.)
ARCHITECTURAL DESIGN: DEVELOPMENT
Burroughs Wellcome allows us to see another aspect of architectural creation: “design development.”
Architects use “development” in a different sense than is used in the real estate field. Architecturally, it means taking the designer’s original conception of the building and working out the particulars.
A section sketch drawing, by Paul Rudolph, showing him in the process of designing the canopy for the main entrance to the Burroughs Wellcome building. A good example of design development, the drawing shows how Rudolph was working out his idea about the shaping of the space and volumes—yet simultaneously thinking through the structure (steel beams and possibly steel joists are shown), scale (his placement of figures), choice of materials, and key dimensions. His use of color, to indicate different materials and planes, is part of the language of architectural drawing which extends back to the 18th century. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
For example: it’s not enough that the architect might have started out by envisioning a lobby with cantilevered balconies, supported by a steel structure. In the design development phase, the exact heights, projection, angles, and materials of those balconies would begin to be thought through (including their relationship to the building’s structure.)
Below is Rudolph’s perspective- section rendering through the Burroughs Wellcome building and site:
Paul Rudolph’s perspective-section rendering through Burroughs Wellcome, cutting though the main entry lobby, and showing the building’s relation to the site. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
In the middle of it, he shows one of the building’s most famous features— it’s entry lobby:
Enlargement of a portion of Paul Rudolph’s perspective-section through the Burroughs Wellcome building, focusing in on the main entry lobby. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
Clearly, he already—even at this stage—has a thorough conception the layout and features of this lobby. In this rendering one can see important features, including: the stepped volumes at the right side of of the second floor’s balcony, the steps and platforms in the foreground and in the distance, the beam crossing from one side of the third floor’s balcony to the other, and the angled columns.
And in the actual, built space—
Burroughs Wellcome’s main entry lobby. Image courtesy of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, photograph by G. E. Kidder Smith
—these aspects of the design were almost exactly carried out.
Enlarging a portion of that section-perspective rendering reveals that Rudolph was already thinking about the structural aspects of the building—and not just the diagonal columns. Below you can see that the section cuts through steel beams—and, allowing for perspective, that steel-work would have framed directly into the diagonal vertical structure.
Close-up of Paul Rudolph’s perspective-section through the Burroughs Wellcome building, here focusing in on the main lobby’s third floor balconies. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation
One might imagine that, for an architect of Rudolph’s vast experience, inclusion of such structural elements in a rendering (and placing them in the right locations) would be almost intuitive. Perhaps—so for a clearer example of development, let’s look at what happens when the Burroughs Wellcome building section needs to move in the direction of constructable drawings.
Close-up of Paul Rudolph’s perspective-section rendering of Burroughs Wellcome, focusing on the main body of the building and its entry lobby. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation
Above is an enlargement of the main body of the building’s section-perspective. It’s beautiful to look at, and Rudolph’s legendary skill as a perspectivist pulls us in, fascinated by the forms he’s chosen and the rich ways he’s depicted them.
But this is where design development begins: those forms and spaces need to be exactly defined and dimensioned, materials need to be specified, and the relationship of all the parts needs to be coordinated with precision (including with the structural system). Below is the a drawing, from Rudolph’s office, which does this: it’s filled with notes, dimensions, and shows the relationship of the section to adjacent parts of the building which are beyond. This development will then lead to more drawings—which contain even more construction information (including final details)
Section drawing, through main entrance, of the Burroughs Wellcome building. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
ARCHITECTURAL DESIGN: CARE IN THE DETAILS
When someone refers to “details,” they are usually peaking of the smallest (or least important) aspects of a project or situation—and the use of the term is often dismissive. But in architecture, the opposite is true: the “details” are intensely important. When architects say “details,” they mean the particular ways that the parts (and assemblies of parts) and materials of a building are selected, shaped, located, and connected together.
Rudolph’s attention to the detail was comprehensive, and even extended to the drainage channels (which he used to form striking angled lines on the building’s exterior), aligning them with the window divisions (“muntins”) and designing a ground-level concrete element (“splash block”) that further carried out the linear theme. Photograph © PJ McDonnell, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation Archives
This can extend to from things that occupants would hardly ever notice (like how waterproofing materials are positioned), to things they directly see and engage with daily (like the design of railings, elevator buttons, and even the choice of typeface for the building address numbers.) These visual elements may, in themselves, be small—-but cumulatively they convey a sense that the building was designed with thoroughness and unflagging attention. It shows that the architect cared, and that each decision (whether it be about the shape of a stair nosing or the tint of the windows) is consistent with an overall vision for the building. [And if such care is not exercised, even a new building can convey a sense of disheartening sloppiness.]
Rudolph cared.
He learned this not only from his teachers, like Gropius (the drawings for whose projects are detailed with surprising care), but also from the beginning of his practice, when he had to become inventive with inexpensive materials in order to work within modest construction budgets. And of course, Mies van der Rohe—one of the titans of Modernism—had a famous saying that all architects knew well: “God is in the details.”
A building’s construction set, which includes drawings of all the details, occupies a large part of an architect’s (and their staff’s) attention. This can mean generating dozens (and for some very complex buildings: hundreds) of drawings. It’s a challenge to maintain the architect’s original “vision” of the building, so that it does not get distorted or diluted in the course of creating the construction documents from which it will be built.
A CASE STUDY: DETAILS AT BURROUGHS WELLCOME
At Burroughs Welcome, we can follow an example of the care which Rudolph and his team brought to the details.
Below-left is reproduced the right side of Rudolph’s perspective-section through Burroughs Wellcome. In it we can see that the edges of the floors typically terminate in a set of continuous architectural elements: a band of angled windows, a band of angled skylights, and a band of angled portions of the exterior wall.
Below-right is an enlargement of the uppermost example of that floor-window-wall-skylight assembly. The architect, in doing the construction drawings, will be concerned about each juncture:
Where the top of the skylight meets the building (in this case: there’s a small upright, at the end of the floor, at the top of the skylight—possibly forming a rainwater drainage channel.)
The bottom of the skylight, where it meets the top of the angled wall.
The bottom of the angled wall, where it meets the top of the angled window.
The bottom of the window, where it meets the angled skylight of the next floor down.
Left: a portion of Rudolph’s section-perspective, showing the the right side of the building. Above: an enlargement of one of the assemblies at the edge of the uppermost floor. It includes the angled skylight, angled exterior wall, and angled window. Both drawings © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
Exactly how each one of these adjacencies (architects’ term for them is: “conditions”) is to be detailed is one of the great challenges of an architect’s practice—especially if they care that the details are consistent with (and supportive of) their original vision for the building.
In working out the details, an architect will not only be conscious of their general concept for the building, but they will simultaneously be focused on a large number of practical questions, such as:
Can these conditions be made waterproof?
Is there sufficient thermal insulation?
Are the proposed materials available?
Will building this assembly fit within the construction budget?
Can the proposed arrangement be built by available construction methods?
Does the proposed design allow for regular maintenance to be performed?
If something needs replacement(like a window pane), can it be easily repaired?
Will the materials age well?
And—-
If any of the above presents a problem, what alternatives can be devised (which will not violate the architect’s overall conception for the building)?
Below is one sheet from the extensive set of construction drawings that Rudolph and his office prepared for the Burroughs Wellcome building—and it shows the very assembly we’ve been considering!
Detail of inclined window and skylight section and construction details, from the set of construction drawings prepared by Paul Rudolph and his office for the Burroughs Wellcome building. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation
Below is an enlargement of the right side of that drawing. It goes into great detail about all of the adjacencies (from top-to-bottom: roof to skylight; skylight to wall; wall to window, and window to skylight.) Materials, dimensions, connections, required features, and relationships to other parts of the building are noted with thoroughness.
But even that is not sufficient. To get the building built—in the way the architect envisioned it—even more information needs to be provided to the contractor.
An enlargement of a portion of the above drawing, focusing on the inclined window and skylight. The circled area indicates the areas of the assembly where the glazing meets the building’s walls—and those adjacencies are worked-out in great detail below, in a sheet from the same set set of construction drawings.© The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation
The great English architect, Sir Edwin Lutyens, said construction drawings were like “a writing letter to the builder” telling him what to do. For Burroughs Wellcome, even more detail had to be put into Rudolph’s “letter” to the contractor—and within the the area we’ve circled (above) are three conditions that needed to be magnified further, in order to really show how they’re to be built.
Below is the drawing which resulted—another sheet in the construction set. These details are drawn-full size, and show precisely the shapes, configurations, materials, and dimensions of every component—metalwork, structure, glass, waterproofing, drainage channel, glazing gaskets, connectors, and even an anchor for the window washer—needed to make the assembly buildable, and practical for ongoing life of he building.
Inclined window and skylight construction details, from the set of constuction drawings prepared by Paul Rudolph and his office for the Burroughs Wellcome building. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
Rudolph himself recognized the challenge of doing thorough construction drawings (including the detailing)—and the consequences if the challenge is not met and the vision is lost:
“Architecture is a personal effort, and the fewer people coming between you and your work the better. … This is a very real problem, and you can only stretch one man so far. The heart can fall right out of a building during the production of working drawings, and sometimes you would not even recognize your own building unless you followed it through.”
All that work, all that thinking, all that time—just to get the details right.
Easy? No. Important? Supremely! Did Rudolph do it? Absolutely!
SAVE BURROUGHS WELLCOME !
Losing Burroughs Wellcome would be a cultural disaster—a titanic loss to our country’s cultural heritage.
When a great building is destroyed, there are no second chances.
FOR NOW, THERE ARE TWO THINGS YOU CAN DO:
Sign the petition to save Burroughs Wellcome. You can sign it here.
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Models were also part of Rudolph’s design process. This would be a “presentation model”—shown to the client for their final approval, as well as for the corporate leadership to use to communicate about the project to stakeholders and the public. But “alumni”—former staff members of his office—have also told us that Rudolph also used models to develop his designs. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.
Burroughs Wellcome was a pharmaceutical company, whose corporate symbol was a unicorn. In Rudolph’s model of the building (at left), he proposed a large unicorn sculpture as part of the main entrance plaza. It did not work out to include that sculpture—so Rudolph developed and distilled the idea. What he came up with (and got built) is a prominent flagpole, angled and pointed to evoke a unicorn’s horn—a brilliant feature and detail.