Paul Rudolph goes to the Dentist (but actually, it's the other-way around!)

Paul Rudolph’s organically curved floor plan for the dental office of Dr. Nathan Shore, in NYC—a work from the mid-1960’s. While Rudolph was known as a master of geometry and form (and their application to architecture, interiors, and furniture), this sinuous approach to planning was one to which he turned only occasionally. This “poche” version of the plan was used as a decorative graphic on the dental office receptionist station’s glass enclosure.

CREATION WITHIN A VARIETY OF SCALES AND TYPES: TRUE MASTERS WILL TAKE-ON ALL CHALLENGES

One of the signs of a master architect-designer is their ability to create interesting work at all scales. English architect Charles Ashbee, the Arts & Crafts era designer, is a strong example: designing everything from a typeface -to-furniture -to- houses -to- the renovation of a war-damaged city. His American contemporary, Bertram Goodhue, worked in a similarly broad range of scales: from his design of a typeface that is still in wide use (“Cheltenham”) -to- his Nebraska State Capitol, a building big enough to be seen from a distance of 20 miles.

Paul Rudolph indicated that he would be willing to take on even humble projects, and said:

“‘It makes no difference to me the size of the project. I’ve always said, ‘I would be happy to make a dog house for you, if you would let me make it a unique and very good dog house.’”

And, in fact, some famous architects have applied their architectural skills to dog house design: Frank Lloyd Wright (who called such a commission “an opportunity” in design), and Philip Johnson.

Young Jim Berger lived in a house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright for the Berger family in San Anselmo—and, at age 12, he asked Wright to design a doghouse for his pet labrador retriever. Wright sent a construction drawing and “Eddie’s House” was built. Here, in 2017, Mr. Berger is seen with a reconstruction of it, which was on display at the Wright-designed Marin County Civic Center.

Philp Johnson’s 1997 design: a “dog house” on the Glass House estate. According to the National Trust for Historic Preservation’s website: “This small structure was created by Johnson as a conceptual project for a classically-inspired tomb. However, when completed the small wooden object turned out to be just the right size for his and [David] Whitney’s new puppies to inhabit. . . .”

To our knowledge, Paul Rudolph never designed a dog house, but—across his half-century career, in which he engaged in hundreds of commissions—he was not above taking-on projects of a less-than-glamourous nature, or for clients with limited budgets.

One of the happy surprises we’ve encountered in the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation is an article from the Journal of the American Dental Association—and it’s about just such a project: Rudolph’s 1967 design for a dental office for Dr. Nathan Shore.

THE DENTIST GOES TO RUDOLPH

Rudolph’s client, Dr. Nathan Shore, was a dental pioneer in working on TMJ —and wrote this key book on the topic.

Dr. Nathan A. Shore (1914-1984), was a dental specialist and pioneer in correcting a jaw condition called temporomandibular joint syndrome—known more widely as TMJ—-a subject upon which he wrote numerous articles and a book (and for which he devised a test to determine whether the pain was medical or dental in origin.)

In he 1960’s, Dr. Shore asked Paul Rudolph to design his dental offices: they were to be located within a nearly windowless 1,830 square foot space on Central Park South, in the midtown section of Manhattan. Rudolph divided this area into 19 spaces: 

• four dental operatories

• two hygienist operatories

• two con­sultation rooms

• an audiovisual room (for patient education)

• a business office

• a reception room

• a kitchen for staff use

• an X-ray room

• two laboratories

• two washrooms

• all the above spaces connected by a continuous corridor

• all remaining spaces, between the walls of the rooms, were utilized for storage.

Placing all these rooms and functions into the available square footage was an tour-de-force of space-planning efficiency. Although suite corridors were narrow, circular mirrors mounted on walls, and varied ceiling heights created an illusion of space.

Paul Rudolph’s floor plan for the Nathan Shore dental offices—probably the “presentation drawing” which was shown to the client (and/or other parties, such as the building management) to explain the design and obtain their approval. Each space in this quarter-inch scale plan is labeled; overall dimensions of the space are shown; and the entry is indicated by an arrow shown toward the bottom-center of the drawing.

A screen capture from the Museum of Modern Art’s website, showing a 1961 Jason Seley sculpture which is part of their collection: “Masculine Presence”. Like the sculpture that was in the Shore Dental office, this example is made from auto parts—Seley’s most frequent medium.

Furniture, in reception and some internal offices, included chairs by Charles and Ray Eames (from Herman Miller); and by Warren Platner (from Knoll International).

Desk lighting was provided by numerous “Lytegem” lamps (by Lightolier)—then and now, one of the most platonically pure lamp designs, made from a sphere and a cube—a composition strongly appealing to architects committed to the Modern aesthetic [This 1965 design, by Michael Lax, is in the collection of MoMA.]

The reception area contains a sculpture made of automobile hubcaps. It is by Jason Seley, a artist known for creating artworks from chromium steel automobile body parts.

The constructed design received coverage—perhaps the only article about it—in a 1971 issue of The Journal of the American Dental Association. The article, "Functional Design based on Pattern of Work in a Dental Suite", spoke of Rudolph’s design approach to meet the challenges involved in such a project, and included a description of the results, photos, and a floor plan. The article’s author, Eileen Farrell, had been an editorial supervisor at the American Dental Association, and some of her observations included:

"Dentistry in the round is one way to describe the unique dental suite designed for Dr. Nathan Allen Shore by architect Paul Rudolph of Yale. . . .The circular motif is repeated in various ways that add to the total effect. Lighting in the operatories, for instance, is diffused from a circular well in the ceiling across which the dental light slides on a track integrated with the ceiling diffusor. A curved Plexiglass screen divides the business office from the recep­tion room, making each space seem larger. A circular rendition of aspects of the temporomandibular joint decorates the door leading to the operatories.”

"Besides creating an illusion of space, the design aims at quiet and a sense of privacy. To this end, circulation of pa­tients and staff is kept to a minimum, and although there are eight staff members and a steady stream of patients, the suite never seems to be crowded. One reason is that the movement of traffic is in the round rather than back and forth. . . .When a patient arrives for his appointment, the secretary opens the door by remote control and admits him to the recep­tion area."

"Doctor Shore finds that his staff is happy in the well-designed quarters. . . .Functional design, he says, seems well suited to a most progressive profession."

Above are small screen-captures of the pages of the article about the Rudolph-designed Nathan Shore dental office. At the lower-right is a slightly enlarged portion of one page, showing the reception area—and, at its right side, one can see that the suite’s floor plan has been incorporated into the reception desk’s window, as an intriguing ornamental pattern. The full article can be accessed through the JADA website, here.

RUDOLPH AND CURVILNEAR DESIGN

The work of Paul Rudolph presents difficulties for historians—at least for the ones who are uncomfortable with the great range of forms in his designs, and the multiple approaches Rudolph used when answering hundreds of architectural challenges. Attempts to pigeonhole a great creative force like Rudolph are doomed to futility—but some observations on his formal vocabulary are worthwhile, like our analysis of his use of crystalline shapes at Burroughs Wellcome.

But what about Rudolph’s use of curved forms? Rudolph could hardly be said to be afraid of curves: they show-up early in his practice: most notably in the Healy “Cocoon” house of 1950. But projects where “free form” or “biomorphic” curvilinear elements and planning dominate are not all-that-frequent in his career. Some notable exceptions are his sculptural handling of concrete in his Temple Street Parking Garage and the forms and spaces of the Boston Government Service Center. But even in Rudolph’s Endo Laboratories—one of his finest projects from the beginning of the 1960’s, which is well-known for its curved elements—or his Daiei Headquarters Building in Japan, most of the curves are carefully controlled portions of circles or ellipses. Thus when we do encounter designs in which Rudolph uses free and energetic organic lines (as in Dr. Shore’s offices), there is good reason to give such projects extra focus—and even to celebrate this branch of Rudolph’s creativity.

In the spirit of our start of this article—pointing-out that design masters can productively focus on projects of all scales—we end with an example at the smaller end of the range of objects which Paul Rudolph designed: a desk for Endo Laboratories. Thoughtfully designed for efficient function, and carefully drawn, detailed and specified (as the drawing shows)—it also fully embraces “free form” curvilinear design.

An “executive desk”, designed by Paul Rudolph for the offices of Endo Laboratories, his 1960 project in Garden City.

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

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

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

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

CREDITS:

Floor plans of the Nathan A. Shore dental office (both “poche” and linework versions), and the drawing of the desk for Endo Laboratories: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Frank Lloyd Wright-designed doghouse: photo courtesy of Marin County Civic Center, as shown on the city’s website; Philip Johnson-designed doghouse: photo by and courtesy of Sean Sheer of Urban Dog; Jason Seley sculpture, within the collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City: screen capture from a portion of the MoMA web page devoted to that sculpture; JADA article on the Nathan A. Shore dental office: screen captures from the 1971 issue, Volume 83, Issue 1; Cover of Dr. Shore’s book: from the Amazon page devoted to that book.

Henry-Russell Hitchcock — ”The Dean of American Architectural Historians" — on Paul Rudolph

The chancery building on Grosvenor Square—a design by Eero Saarinen—was the home of the US embassy in the UK until 2017. This building—which, when it opened in 1960, was a strikingly Modern presence within a traditionally-designed city—was the likely venue for the exhibit on Paul Rudolph which took place in London in the 1960’s.

RUDOLPH’S REPUTATION: INTERNATIONAL

The United States Information Service was an agency under the United States State Department [it was later renamed, and better known as, the United States Information Agency]. Most well-known for their broadcasting efforts (such as the Voice of America, Radio Free Europe, and Radio Liberty), the agency also engaged in a number of other informational and cultural projects, such as setting up libraries of American books in other countries, English language instruction, and exhibitions. Their stated mission was ". . . .to understand, inform and influence foreign publics in promotion of the national interest, and to broaden the dialogue between Americans and U.S. institutions, and their counterparts abroad."

Among the exhibits that the USIS sponsored was one on the work of Paul Rudolph, which was held in the mid-1960's in London. The location would likely have been the American Embassy Chancery Building, which opened in 1960—and was designed by another famous mid-twentieth century Modern architect, Eero Saarinen.

Henry-Russell Hitchcock (1903-1987) was a distinguished and architectural historian—and an advocate for Modern architecture—and the writer of a fascinating text about Paul Rudolph.

HENRY-RUSSELL HITCHCOCK: “DEAN” OF AMERICN ARCHITECTURAL HISTORIANS

The archives of Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation has a copy of a flyer which was given to visitors who attended that Rudolph exhibit. To our surprise, we find that it was written by Henry-Russell Hitchcock (1903-1987).

Hitchcock was a formidable figure in architectural history—not only as a writer, but also as a teacher, lecturer, and exhibit organizer. His books and articles covered a great range of periods, styles, regions and architects (including one of the first major monographs on Wright). While he is known for his many scholarly historical works, his most famous (and probably most influential) publication was the book The International Style, which was researched and written with Philip Johnson and published in 1932. That book, published by the Museum of Modern Art, (in association with MoMA’s exhibit, “Modern Architecture: International Exhibition”) proclaimed and explained the new mode in architecture to an American audience.

To have an historian of this level of distinction and accomplishment be associated with Rudolph---and writing in such a direct, ‘pull-no-punches’ style---makes this a document of significance.

HITCHCOCK ON PAUL RUDOLPH

Below are excerpts from from the text that was given to visitors to the exhibit.

---

P A U L   R U D O L P H

An exhibition of his architecture 

Presented by the United States Information Service

It is not easy to present the architecture of Paul Rudolph to the British. He belongs to a line or group of American modern architects who have never received in England with much enthusiasm. . . .

The characteristic common to Wright, to Saarinen and to Rudolph can be most simply described as brashness, with all the connotations, many of them in England unfavourable, that brashness, implies. Wright and Rudolph, thought not so much Saarinen, have been notable for their brash statements, which often seem to manifest a somewhat juvenile delight in shacking and even offending. In Wright’s case this sort of juvenility was, certainly increased over the years of his 70-year-long public careers, as those who heard him speak on his visit to London a decade or more ago will well remember. But it is, of course, to the brashness of the architecture of these men that I more particularly refer. Brash architecture has not been unknown in Britain. . . . But it is out of favour today in architectural circles, if not in popular music and “pop art”, the very name of which was invented by an English critic before he moved to America.

The early work of Rudolph, the houses built in the late 1940’s and early 50’s in and around Sarasota, Florida, in association with the local well-established architect Ralph Twitchell, were not only calm and disciplined in their design, which was definitely by Rudolph and not by Twitchell. If they are far less American than, for example, Saarinen’s General Motors Technical Institute in Michigan or Johnson’s houses in Connecticut of these years, they none-the-less have a severity of outline and a stripped frankness of structural expression that contrasts somewhat with the Wrightian openness of the planning and their adaptation, visually and functionally, to the flat coastal scenery of the Keys, along the Gulf of Mexico with their damp climate and their exposures to such serious local plagues as insect hordes and annual hurricanes.

“He is, above all, in his failures and even more than in his successes, in his parking garages and his pharmaceutical plants as much as in his representational art buildings, an artist in architecture, concerned to dispose his spaces, to model his masses, to choose and treat his materials, as great architects have always done, in such a way as to achieve compositions, works of art, that are only possible to architectural scale. ”

— Hitchcock on Rudolph

Rudolph’s apprentice years beginning after his war-time service in the Navy, though less confined to a single line-than Wright’s with his “Lieber Meister” Sullivan, of Saarinen in the process of freeing himself from his father by a rather literal acceptance of the American discipline, were even more single-minded and self-consistent. But he was, of course, older than Wright had been in his eclectic period in the 1890’s and had no Oedipal problem such as Saarinen’s. 

Brash architects are to some extent gamblers: the sure fling soon ceases to interest them, so they must always be trying a more difficult throw of the dice or combination of the horses. But like professional gamblers, if the architects in question are trained and experienced professionals and not amateurs, the proportion and the size of their wins increases until the artistic profit overshadows the more comfortable earnings of the ploddingly respectable.  (It should be noted, however, that this may well apply in reverse to their respective financial rewards!) In Eero Saarinen’s case almost every new try was happily a success in his last years and all different from one another. The Yale Colleges, the Dulles Airport and the Deere Plow offices certainly more than offset the very debatable TWA building at the Kennedy Airport.

The Married Students Quarters, piled up in cubes like the towns on islands in the Aegean, has been especially influential with Yale students. To English critics it has usually, however, been offensive, because the brickwork is not “honestly” structural, but a mere veneer over wooden construction providing in a long-familiar American vernacular way a permanent weatherproof sheathing as tile-hanging frequently does in England. The parking-garage is one of the most successful of innumerable attempts since Mendelsohn’s Einstein Tower of 40 years ago to exploit concrete—in this case left raw—as a plastic or sculptural material in contrast to the more usual American expression as rectangular post-and-lintel construction.

The Art and Architecture Building, to judge from the latest to be completed of Rudolph’s buildings, that for the Endo Pharmaceutical Company at Garden City outside New York, and the project for the very large administrative building for the State of Massachusetts, occupying a considerable area adjacent to the new governmental centre in Boston (in association with the long-established local firm of Shepley, Richardson, Bulfinch and Abbott, professional heirs an actual descendants of H. H. Richardson) suggests that the gambler has, indeed, found the formula that assures a high proportion of wins, that the wheel has come a full circle, now that the modest beginner who designed the Sarasota houses has reached full maturity and can profit from all the varied experiments he has had along the road.

He is, above all, in his failures and even more than in his successes, in his parking garages and his pharmaceutical plants as much as in his representational art buildings, an artist in architecture, concerned to dispose his spaces, to model his masses, to choose and treat his materials, as great architects have always done, in such a way as to achieve compositions, works of art, that are only possible to architectural scale. 

No painter, as Le Corbusier has been throughout his career, no sculptor as Saarinen was before he turned to architecture, no theorist like Gropius though an active educator, he is one of several Americans who are attempting to prove, who on occasion in the last few years have proved, to most of those who were not prejudiced by a priori pseudo-historical considerations, that architecture can still be an art as well as technological process for solving problems of shelter.

---

THE COMPLETE HITCHCOCK TEXT

The full text of Henry-Russell Hitchcock’s exhibition essay can be found at the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation’s ARTICLES & WRITINGS page (which has a large collection of written resources on and by Rudolph)—and a direct link to the Hitchcock text is here.

Hitchcock himself is well worth study, and—though a full biography has yet to be published—Helen Searing has written insightful essays on him, particularly “Henry-Russell Hitchcock: The Architectural Historian as Critic and Connoisseur.” She has also edited a tribute volume to him, and contributed to an anthology of papers which focuses on the work of Hitchcock and his almost exact contemporary: architectural historian John Summerson of Britain.

ABOVE: a tribute volume to Hitchcock, which has essays that are about him. or which resonate with topics in which he was interested. It can be read, on-line, here. LEFT: an anthology of papers on Hitchcock and John Summerson—a contemporary (and equally distinguished) architectural historian from Britain. It can be read, on-line, here.

---

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

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

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

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

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

Former American Embassy Building, in London: photo by Ian S, via Wikimedia Commons; United States Information Service Emblem: US government graphic, courtesy of the National Museum of Diplomacy, US State Department; Henry-Russell Hitchcock, vintage profile photo: circa 1930’s, via the Archives of American Art; Cover of “Summerson and Hitchcock”: from the Amazon page for that book; Cover of “In Search of Modern Architecture": from the Amazon page for that book.

LONG ISLAND MODERNISM: a Book for Architecture Lovers (especially if you admire Paul Rudolph)

Paul Rudolph and Philip Johnson were friends for decades, and both are well represented in Caroline Rob Zaleski’s book on Modern architecture on Long Island. The book’s cover shows Johnson’s Leonhardt House, a work from 1956 in Lloyd's Harbor, NY—a design which combined platonic forms, structural daring, detailing elegance, and efficient planning.

“With eye-opening photographs and surprising discoveries from a forgotten past … Long Island Modernism: 1930-1980 surveys a wealth of pioneering architecture produced locally by famous builders from around the world.”
— The Wall Street Journal

A LINE-UP OF ARCHITECTURAL STARS—AND THEY ALL DESIGNED FOR LONG ISLAND

Wright-Mies-Gropius-Rudolph-Johnson-Breuer-Meier-Harrison-Sert-Johansen-Pei-Raymond-Goodman-Nelson-Stone-Neutra-Lescaze— When it comes to famous architects working in America, did we leave anybody out? .

Within a 50 year period, all of the above-mentioned architects—a constellation of some of Modernism’s most celebrated designers—designed buildings and interiors for sites on Long Island, that island landmass which extends eastward from New York City and into the Atlantic.

To have all the above listed designers working within in the same area is an indication that, with respect to Modern architecture, it must be one of the culturally richest regions in the country. Clearly, this concentration of stellar talent and superb design had a history that needed to be revealed—and architectural historian Caroline Rob Zaleski delves into it, in her fascinating and visually rich book, LONG ISLAND MODERNISM 1930-1980

A rendering of Endo Laboratories, which was built in Garden City, Long Island— a Paul Rudolph design from the first half of the 1960’s. In 1964 it was the recipient of an award from the Concrete Industry Board of New York as “Concrete Building of the Year” for “representing the best in conception, originality, and applicability of concrete in both design and construction.” Caroline Rob Zaleski’s book, “Long Island Modernism,” delves into this fascinating and complex project.

The Siegel Residence is one of several Paul Rudolph designs that are explored in “Long Island Modernism”

THE BOOK

LONG ISLAND MODERNISM 1930-1980 belongs in the library of anyone interested in the history of Modernism in the USA. It engages with the fascinating question: What motivated clients to commission Modern architects for their buildings—in a range of building types: commercial, residential, and institutional—and in an era when Modernism was still emerging as a style that was yet-to-be fully appreciated (and was not as comprehensively accepted as it is now.) As William L. Hamilton, in his positive review of the book in The Architect’s Newspaper put it:

“Zaleski rises to the occasion, as architectural writers so often don’t, when pressed into play to give social context to builders and their buildings.”

The book includes an abundance archival photographs and drawings—often of surprising projects: real “discoveries” that are little-known even to design aficionados. Moreover the book itself, designed by Abigail Sturges, has an expansive character: its reproduced images and large format manifests some of the highest production values in architectural publishing.

Author, scholar, and preservation activist Caroline Rob Zaleski did extensive research to bring forth this book—one that is rich in history, and design excellence.

THE AUTHOR

Caroline Rob Zaleski received her graduate degree in architectural preservation from Columbia University’s School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation, and soon after became a leading advocate for the preservation of modern architecture in New York City and on Long Island. Her book, LONG ISLAND MODERNISM 1930-1980, is based on her field survey for the Society for the Preservation Antiquities—recently re-named Preservation Long Island, where she is also a trustee. She has been chair of the Preservation League of New York State “7 to Save Endangered Sites Program” wherein she encouraged the inclusion of applications relating to twentieth-century Modernism and recent New York State history. Her proudest “Save” was working to place the Edward Durell Stone–designed A. Conger Goodyear House, in Old Westbury, Long Island, on the State and National Register and World Monuments Watch. She also led a successful campaign to raise awareness of and civic involvement in the preservation and repurposing of Eero Saarinen’s TWA Terminal at John F. Kennedy Airport.

ENDORSEMENTS & REVIEWS

LONG ISLAND MODERNISM has received significant, positive reviews—including:

“Not only highlights what the island offers in terms of modern architecture, it is an excellent primer on modernism itself.”
—  Regional Planning Association

“Stunningly illustrates how modernism is alive and well on Long Island.”
—  ON: A Global Lighting Publication

“Comprehensive, exhaustively researched, and carefully detailed . . . . This is a book that enriches our understanding of an important component of twentieth-century culture and belongs in the library of anyone interested in the history of Modern architecture in America.”
—  APT Bulletin: Journal of Preservation Technology

“A sweeping and authoritative new book, Long Island Modernism 1930-1980, by Caroline Rob Zaleski thoughtfully covers the astonishing architectural and landscape architectural achievements in the area.”
— Huffington Post

BOOK AVAILABILITY

Long Island Modernism is available through a variety of sellers—but a limited number of copies are still available at a significant discount through the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation’s “Shop” page, HERE.

BOOK DATA

• Title: Long Island Modernism 1930-1980

• Author: Caroline Rob Zaleski

• Publisher: W. W. Norton

• Publisher’s web page for the book: here

• ISBN: 978-0-393-73315-D

• Cover Size: 12-1/4” tall × 9-1/4” wide

• Format: Hardcover

• Pages: 336

• Illustrations:  200 black-and-white illustrations, 20 color illustrations

---

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

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

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

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

CREDITS, FROM TOP-TO-BOTTOM:

Book cover: provided by author; Perspective rendering of Paul Rudolph’s Endo Labs: rendering by Brian Conant, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Paul Rudolph’s Siegel Residence: photograph by Donald Luckenbill, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Author’s photo: provided by author

Celebrating Ralph Twitchell, Architect: With and Beyond Paul Rudolph

The plan of the Twitchell Residence: Ralph Twitchell’s residence in Sarasota, Florida, a design of 1941. It is Paul Rudolph’s second built design, and his first in association with the senior architect. What might one learn (or speculate about) from studying such a floor plan?

Ralph Spencer Twitchell, Architect (1890-1978)

RALPH TWITCHELL

It is the birthday of Ralph Spencer Twitchell (July 27, 1890 – January 30, 1978)—and we take this moment to celebrate this architect, one who not only played a key part in the life and career of Paul Rudolph, but who contributed to the Sarasota community.

TWITCHELL AND RUDOLPH

Even to those who have a deep interest in the history of Modern architecture, Ralph Twitchell is not known much beyond a brief summary that peppers many biographies of Rudolph. What one often reads is that the senior architect gave Rudolph his start (Twitchell was nearly 3 decades older than Rudolph), bringing the young designer into his practice, and (and, as soon as Rudolph obtained his architectural license, taking him into partnership).

To this alliance, Twitchell is seen as having contributed an established position in the Sarasota community, a track record of successful projects, a way with clients, and a firm knowledge of construction—and Rudolph was the ultra-talented (and hardworking and prolific) youthful design genius. A productive period ensued, with many houses built and proposed—some of them among Paul Rudolph’s most striking designs, including: the widely-published Healy (“Cocoon”) House; the innovative Knott Residence; and the proposal for a complex of houses for the Revere Development (which showed Rudolph working skillfully within the vocabulary of Mies van der Rohe's “courtyard house” design experiments).

The Knott Residence, proposed for Yankeetown, Florida

The Healy (“Cocoon”) House, built in Sarasota, Florida

The Revere Development, proposed for Siesta Key, Florida

But, after about a half-decade of intense and successful work, Rudolph splits with Twitchell—apparently after a disagreement. Rudolph went on to found his own firm, attaining amazing success in the coming decades—both professionally and artistically.

ARCHETYPAL STORIES

So the impression one gets, from this highly condensed duo-biographical sketch, is that Twitchell provided the assets of the establishment: boring but practical and useful; whereas Rudolph injected the artistically energetic ingredients which really made their work interesting. Then, ultimately, it is the young genius who rebels and pursues his own path: an adventurous road to great achievement. From then on, we hear no more of Twitchell.

It is an appealing story, with its depiction of the talented and irrepressible “rebel”—and one wouldn’t have to search very hard into the work of Joseph Campbell to find, within the world of comparative mythology, that this is tale that can be found in all ages and cultures across the globe: the archetypal “Hero’s Journey”.

DEEPER AND BROADER

But, if there’s one thing that historians learn, it is that no story is simple—and, if one has the interest to dig, and to challenge the received wisdom, all stories keep opening up new questions and possibilities. The honest historian always wants—needs—to go deeper into the evidence, and look ever more broadly at what might have influenced/created a situation.

So let’s see if we can open-up (or as historians say, “unpack”) the above story. To do that, let’s consider the Twitchell Residence: how much is Twitchell and how much is Rudolph? We’ll probably never know the exact ratio and nature of their contributions to the design, but we can consider some of the factors that might have affected its planning and form. Items to consider include:

• This is Twitchell’s personal home—and it is a natural feeling to be particularly focused on the design of one’s own home—and that’s especially true for architects! No matter how talented his young associate (Rudolph), is it plausible that a senior architect would hand-over the full responsibility for the architecture of his own home to someone else? Or is it more likely that he had important and key input into the design?

• The building was completed in 1941. War is raging in Europe and Asia, and tremors of possible US involvement in the war—and a general national nervousness—are pervasive. Twitchell was old-enough to recall what happened during the previous World War: labor and materials had been in short-supply, and most construction was put on-hold for the duration of the fighting. Twitchell might have wanted to get his house built while it was still possible to do so—and he’d have only one chance to get it right. So—for this one chance—would he completely abdicate design responsibly for that to another?

• There are many striking similarities between the Living-Dining area of the Twitchell Residence, and the famous drafting room at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin West—too many to be just a coincidence [See comparison photos, below.]

• There are other Wrightian aspects of the Twitchell House: the compactness of the bedrooms (Wright thought bedrooms should be small, almost cabin-like, and primarily for sleeping—and that residents would/should spend their time outside of them); Dining and Living Room Areas that merge into each-other; the primacy of a solid, prominent fireplace wall, as one of the defining elements of the Living Room; and the set of visually solid piers which define the parking area, which create a strong entry sequence to the house.

• We know that Paul Rudolph was an ardent admirer of Wright—and that visiting a Wright home, at an early age, had been a decisive moment in Rudolph’s development. Rudolph’s devotion to Wright is something he’d acknowledge for his whole life. But—

The drafting room of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin West —and iconic part of the Taliesin complex. Key features—the ones that create it’s overall character are: the open, uninterrupted space; the inclined ceiling; the expressed structure inclined beams across that ceiling: the directionality of the space, with one side opening to the exterior; the V-shaped, angled columns, at the open side of the room, which support the beams above.

Both Twitchell and Paul Rudolph were aware of Wright’s work—and, from a young age, Rudolph was especially influenced by Wright’s designs (something he’d warmly acknowledge all his life). Above is the main living space of the Twitchell Residence: one is looking South into the Living Room, with the Dining area in the foreground. Was it Rudolph who urged that it follow so many of the features of Wright’s Taliesin drafting room?

• But Twitchell could equally have been aware of Wright. Frank Lloyd Wright was a relentless self-promoter and had been widely published for decades—so it would be impossible for any architect, of Twitchell’s era and age, to be ignorant of Wright. Further, given Wright’s decades of fame, Twitchell’s awareness of Wright’s work would have started well before he met Paul Rudolph.

• But, beyond familiarity, there’s a strong affinity between Wright’s work and another Twitchell project: one of his largest works, the Lido Beach Casino in Sarasota. The complex—an extensive structure with multiple parts and functions—was built in 1940, and probably planned in the previous year(s)—well before Rudolph was engaged by Twitchell. It was a venue for beach and pool swimming, dining, dancing, a nightclub, and shopping—and events of all kinds (beauty contests, swim meets, school and social) were held there.

• The project bears a striking similarity to Wright’s Midway Gardens: excluding swimming, both the Lido Beach Casino and Midway are of similar scale, encompass nearly matching programs, and were aimed at the same type of audience.

Frank Lloyd Wright’s Midway Gardens in Chicago

Ralph Twitchell’s Lido Beach Casino in Sarasota

• The two entertainment complexes share a “parti" (their basic architectural organization): both having a large, central, open space—which is enclosed and defined by structures for various functions, and which is anchored at one side by a taller main building.

Beachside view of the Lido Beach Casino—a view from circa 1956—showing the main, central structure that visually anchored the complex.

• Other aspects of the building display possible Wrightian influences, such as—-

• The pronounced horizontality of the composition—both overall, and in its elements: the low, hipped roofs of the two towers (and in the linear detail at their mid-areas), and the disc-shaped cantilevered roof at the center of the beach elevation

• The detailing of the columns

• The use of block—and prominently including a pattern of penetrations in the block masonry walls

• The creation of deep colonnades—not only offering protection from the sun, but also creating dramatically shadowed areas

• The almost Mayan “introverted” feel of the building—like Wright’s Hollyhock House, due to the solidity of the massing and of individual elements like the columns

• The display/celebration of structure—as in the rafters over the beachside elevation’s central roof, the hefty piers supporting that roof, and the line of columns

• Altogether, one cannot ignore the possible Wright influences in this Twitchell-before-Rudolph project.

• So the question becomes: If we see Wrightian influences here, could Twitchell also have brought such design input into his work with Rudolph?

WITHER RALPH TWITCHELL?

In the standard history of their Twitchell and Rudolph’s partnership, Twitchell is known as the “business partner” -or- the “public face” (who charmed clients) -or- “the [construction] site guy”. But though he was all those things (and, apparently, excelled in those roles), perhaps he was more than that. He had an extensive career both before and after his partnership with Rudolph, and—as looked-at in the above two cases (his 1941 Residence, and the Lido Beach Casino) there are reasons to contend that he might have had more of a design talent and sensibility than he’s usually given credit for. The import of this is: his input into projects in the Twitchell and Rudolph partnership might possibly have been stronger than previously assumed.

THE HISTORIAN’S PERSPECTIVE

To be fair to both sides, we should mention that we do have Paul Rudolph’s counter-testimony to such an idea (Rudolph said that whatever was good and interesting in their work was attributed to himself alone!). We don’t mean to assail the integrity of Rudolph’s claim—but part of the work of history is to question such self-contained, categorical statements. “Meta-narratives”—the big, central stories by which we’ve long understood the course of events (at world, local, and personal scales)—are never quite inclusive-enough of all the facts: there always dissonant evidence (“out-of-place artifacts”), clues, even “hints” that stubbornly won’t go away, and a real historian will never ignore them. So the question of Twitchell’s ability and input as a designer is an open one.

CELEBRATING TWITCHELL

So today,. on his birthday, we give Twitchell some renewed attention and consideration—”giving him a little love” that he’s rarely received in the soundbite assessment that he often gets.

A talented, energetic, and enterprising figure—and one who may have had more focus on design than usually acknowledged—it is worth celebrating this important architect: RALPH SPENCER TWITCHELL

Ralph Twitchell (center) consulting with builders on-site. What’s intriguing about this image is that it shows the Healy (“Cocoon”) House under construction—and one can see the catenary metal straps, upon which house’s curved roof (its most pronounced feature) was to be suspended. Healy was the most famous building completed during Twitchell and Rudolph’s partnership, but after Rudolph departed, Twitchell continued to practice until at least the mid-1960’s, and lived until 1978—long enough to see his former partner, Rudolph, achieve stratospheric success and fame. One wonders what Twitchell thought of that: was he jealous, bitter, tranquil—or glad that he’d fostered such a profound and prodigious talent as Paul Rudolph?

---

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

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

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

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

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

Floor plan of the Twitchell Residence: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Photo portrait of Ralph Twitchell: by Joseph Steinmetz, from the State Library & Archives of Florida, via Wikimedia Commons; Perspective renderings by Paul Rudolph of the Knott Residence, Healy (“Cocoon”) House, and the Revere Development: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Taliesin West drafting room: photo by Steven C. Price, via Wikimedia Commons [Note: to help facilitate comparisons between this space and the Twitchell Residence Living Room (the next picture), this photo of the drafting room has been flipped, and color was removed.]; Ralph Twitchell Residence Living Room: by Joseph Steinmetz, from the State Library & Archives of Florida; Midway Gardens: vintage post card. circa 1915, via Wikimedia Commons; Beachside view of Lido Beach Casino, circa 1956: photo, circa 1956, via Wikimedia Commons; Post cards and photos of Lido Beach Casino: vintage images; Photo portrait of Ralph Twitchell at Healy construction site: by Joseph Steinmetz, from the State Library & Archives of Florida, via Wikimedia Commons

Rudolph On Fire: July 14th, 1969

Saturday, 3:38 AM, July 14, 1969 — the moment that New Haven police were alerted that the Yale Art & Architecture Building was on fire. The blaze was quickly contained, but serious damage —from fire, smoke, and water—extended across several floors of Rudolph’s most iconic building.

When we say that someone’s “on fire”, it usually means something positive— that they’re in a state of great productivity, or they’re achieving their goals, or they’re becoming famous—or sometimes all of those. In that sense, the late 50’s and the 1960’s was certainly a period when Paul Rudolph was “on fire”: important commissions—often large scale, with significant budgets, and in a variety of building types—were coming into the office in abundance, and Rudolph was creating some of his most iconic buildings.

Rudolph was widely published, and seen as the face of a lively and creative American Modernism—and in 1957, at age 39, he was appointed Chair of the school of architecture at Yale (taking office in 1958). Soon after his appointment, he was given the commission to design Yale’s new Art & Architecture Building.

In February, 1964. something occurred which had probably never happened in the history of architectural publishing (and may never happen again): All three major American architectural journals—Architectural Record, Architectural Forum, and Progressive Architecture—had the same building as their cover story: Rudolph’s Yale Art & Architecture Building. John Morris Dixon, an editor at Progressive Architecture at the time, told us that there was no coordination for this—and, given that magazines generally avoid covering the same projects (and would certainly never want to make the same project their “cover story”), it is all-the-more evidence that this building was powerful enough to warrant such across-the-board coverage.

Rudolph’s Yale A&A Building on the cover of the February 1964 issue of ARCHITECTURAL FORUM

Rudolph’s Yale A&A Building on the cover of the February 1964 issue of ARCHITECTURAL RECORD

Rudolph’s Yale A&A Building on the cover of the February 1964 issue of PROGRESSIVE ARCHITECTURE

Reports on the building were nearly ecstatic—and the venerable critic Sibyl Moholy-Nagy—whose Modernist credentials could not be questioned—had an essay in Architectural Forum that can be taken as emblematic of the design’s initial reception. With insight and numerous historical references, she plumbed the building’s formal and spatial roots—and offered some qualifications—but her overall assessment was glorious. Here ae some of her remarks:

Architectural Forum’s February 1964 issue gave extensive coverage to all aspects of the Yale building. Shown here is a page from that issue, with Rudolph’s famous perspective-section drawing, as well as the main floor plan.

“It is gratifying to know that the world of academic honors and medals has so profusely acknowledged the Bauhaus doctrine of architectural education as taught at Harvard since 1937; because never before has a curriculum turned out such a star roster of infidels. Johnson, Lundy, Barnes, Rudolph, Franzen, and others have revered their teacher [Gropius—ed.] while confounding his teaching. They all have left the safe anchorage of functionality, technology and anonymous teamwork to start the long voyage home to architecture as art. A few faithfuls still repeat the old incantations, but the guns by which they struck have stopped firing while those of the apostates are blazing.”

“. . . . [Rudolph’s] latest building. It is a splendid achievement, crystallizing potential solutions for some of the most vexing propositions facing architecture today.”

“The concrete surface has been widely criticized as being arty in an age of technology. However, the visual relief from the beton brut cliché of random formwork in the wake of Le Corbusier's revolution is so pleasing, and the purpose of the building so nontechnological, that the artifice seems wholly justified.”

“Space is an abstraction that must be conceived for its specific purpose. Every user is a judge. It is from their total involvement in this dichotomy of idea and realization that the architectural students will learn the essence of their profession. The Yale school is Paul Rudolph's confessional proof that architecture is not a commodity but an infinite potential of art, and therefore free and imperishable.”

“Earthrise”—probably the most famous photograph to come out of the US space program. The photo was taken in 1968 during the Apollo 8 mission—the first time a manned ship had gone to the moon-and-back.

GOOD TIMES, AND…

After 6 years as chair, during which he revolutionized architectural education at Yale, Rudolph left in 1964—relocating his home and office in New York City (where he’d reside for the rest of his life). The later 60’s continued to be a good period for him, and in a previous article we surveyed how a representative year—1968—was both a time of cultural and political churning in the country, and a creatively rich time for Rudolph.

Things were going well in the US economy, and technology and culture [including architecture] were advancing in multiple directions—but that cultural & political “churning” (referred-to above) also involved protests of increasing number and intensity: of the war in Vietnam, the lack of rights for Women and minorities, the devastation of the environment, and of inequalities in wealth and community resources.

The Yale’s Art & Architecture Building’s main atrium drafting room, after the 1969 fire. The space’s signature statue of Minerva, though streaked by smoke, was undamaged.

…FIERY TIMES

Moreover, the very consumer/conformist culture which was so celebrated in mainstream media—and the values on which it was founded—were being questioned by a younger (and increasingly activist) generation. This led to campuses ablaze with protest.

The 1960’s—with all its growing openness and freedoms, as well as its clashing bitterness—is the subject of numerous historical-cultural studies, and has been dramatized in literature. For our purposes, we just want to note that it is within this heated atmosphere that Rudolph’s Yale Art & Architecture Building caught fire.

[RETROSPECTA 40 (the 2016-2017 issue), published by the Yale School of Architecture, has a section on the campus cultural context within which the fire occurred—as does Robert A. M. Stern and Jimmy Stamp’s history of a century of architectural education at Yale, “Pedagogy and Place” (which also covers the fire’s aftermath).]

Paul Rudolph, in the uniform of an officer in the US Navy during World War II. He was stationed at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and engaged in the repair of damaged ships.

DID RUDOLPH CAUSE THE YALE A&A FIRE?

Rudolph left Yale in 1964, and his stated reason was to deal with his expanding professional practice—and, given the number and complexity of the commissions he was receiving, one can see that as a legitimate reason. Yet there may be an additional cause—emerging from Rudolph himself.

The sensitive and reticent country fellow, who went into the Navy during World War II, emerged as an experienced 0fficer who had commanded hundreds, working in a navy yard on the repair of damaged warships. Rudolph retained that mood and mode of command for the rest of his career. Even his look changed: gone was his pre-war bouffant, replaced by a severe flat-top cut that he wore for another half-century. While he was capable of showing warmth and generosity, he was known to students, faculty, and employees as a leader who was assertive and demanding. This brought forth superb achievements from students and staff—and often evoked life-long appreciation and loyalty to Rudolph—but, as the 60’s got going, the culture was changing: anything that had an authoritarian feel was ripe for questioning and push-back. Perhaps Rudolph began to feel this—and wanted none of it. So 1964 was the right time for him to depart.

Moreover, Rudolph’s own building—his great legacy to Yale—conveyed that same feeling of forcefulness. By the later 60’s, it too was being questioned—both functionally and conceptually—with its almost aggressive use of materials and “overdetermined” spaces were being undermined by the way it was used (and, some say, abused) during the chairmanship of Charles Moore, Rudolph’s successor as chair.

So if there was on-campus anger in the air (directed at a menu of legitimate grievances), there was also anger at the building—or rather, what it represented: power and authority, and the society (the campus and beyond) in which that was solidified and wielded.

Rudolph may have been gone, but his building felt like a tangible manifestation of what was wrong with the world.

The photographer of this scene, taken within Yale’s Art and Architecture Building in 2008, labeled it as having “crowded desks” and “littered with food, models, draft designs, and instruments of architectural design”. The studios in 1969—also a time of widespread smoking—were even denser with combustible materials.

WHAT REALLY CAUSED THE YALE A&A FIRE?

Many causes were advanced for the fire. Several that have been put forth are:

• The boiling, angry atmosphere, in that era of campus protest, was the context for student acts of violence and possibly arson.

• The above—a period of profoundly “anti-establishment” (anti-authoritarian) protest—combined with the almost aggressively powerful character of Rudolph’s design, made the building itself an attractive target for a protesting act of destruction.

• The building was permeable, and known to be subject to occasional petty theft, so local “kids”—delinquent teenagers—have been alleged to have started the fire.

• The studios were allowed—during Moore’s chairmanship—to become “favelas”: divided up by makeshift partitions of highly combustible materials—an environment of tinder, and in an era when smoking by students and faculty was still prevasive.

• The materials used by students—-paper, cardboard, glue, brushed and sprayed paint, wood, rubber cement…—are highly flammable. Moreover, as anyone who has ever visited an architecture school studio will report, these environments often become anarchic with scraps and debris on every surface.

Investigations of the fire were conducted, but never identified a distinct culprit. The local fire marshal said the cause was “undetermined” and possibly accidental, and cited the mass and density of combustible materials—but the local fire chief publicly said it was “of suspicious origin".

The Yale Art & Architecture Building did eventually receive a thorough renovation (and upgrading of systems), and was rededicated as Rudolph Hall in 2008.

REBIRTH OF THE PHOENIX

When Rudolph was asked about his reaction to the fire, he said:

“I felt as if somebody had died.”

Others reflected on the fire as symbol and message. A student said:

“. . . .the building burst into flames out if its own psychic guilt. It was the only solution.”

Peter Blake—an architect, journalist, and architectural magazine editor (and friend of Rudolph) wrote:

“The Yale fire did dramatize a state of concern. . . .a profound uneasiness among students (and some faculty) about the priorities that today govern American architecture and American architectural education”

In the fall of 1988, Yale students created an exhibit about the building—one to which Rudolph gave his full cooperation (including lending drawings.) The catalog had essays by Alan Plattus, George Ranailli, and Thomas L. Schumacher—each expressing their insights about (and appreciation of) the building—but the contribution by the late Michael Sorkin, “Auto da Fe”, meditated on the fire, and ends by evoking the mythical and immortal phoenix bird that regenerates out of fire:

“Too soon, but not too late for the Phoenix. The ruin waits to blaze again.”

The fire left the building was unusable, and the school had to move-out while repairs were done—not returning until 1971. Even without the fire, Rudolph had not been happy with way the building had been left subject to poor maintenance, and allowed to fall into disrepair. This was compounded by the way the subsequent administration (Moore’s) seemed to encourage a disrespect for the building and the values—Rudolph’s values—it represented. It was many years before Rudolph would even visit the building.

The building continued to decline, and Yale even considered demolition. Fortunately, it eventually received a complete and respectful interior & exterior renovation, undertaken with the support of Sid R. Bass (for whom Rudolph had designed an elegant residence, as well as other projects)—and in 2008 it was rededicated as

RUDOLPH HALL

Another view, taken after the 1969 fire, showing internal damage to the Art & Architecture Building. When Rudolph later remarked about his reaction to the fire: “I felt as if somebody had died.”

---

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

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

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

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

CREDITS:

Yale Art & Architecture Building, during the 1969 fire: courtesy of Yale University; Photo of earth from space: photograph by US astronaut William Anders; Covers of the February, 1964 issues of Architectural Forum, Architectural Record, and Progressive Architecture, courtesy of USModernist Library; Yale Art & Architecture section and plan: page from Architectural Forum, courtesy of USModernist Library; Interior views of the Yale Art & Architecture Building, showing fire damage: courtesy of Yale University; Rudolph in US Navy officer’s uniform: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Renovated Yale Art & Architecture Building (Rudolph Hall): photo by Sage Ross, via Wikimedia Commons; Studio interior, within the Rudolph Hall (the Yale school of architecture building): photo by Ragesoss, via Wikimedia Commons

Celebrating I. M. PEI

I. M. Pei’s Dallas City Hall, completed in 1978. Of this project, he said: “When you do a city hall, it has to convey an image of the people, and this had to represent the people of Dallas. . . .The people I met—rich and poor, powerful and not so powerful—were all very proud of their city. They felt that Dallas was the greatest city there was, and I could not disappoint them.”

CELEBRATING I. M. PEI

I.M. Pei (1917 – 2019) as photographed in 2006.

IEOH MING PEI (April 26, 1917 – 16 May 16, 2019) lived a long and celebrated life. Well before his passing at age 102, he had received about every award and prize offered within in the profession of architecture.

While some of his projects had problems in their initial acceptance, usually they went on to be prized and a source of local pride—the Louvre Pyramid (part of the Grand Louvre project) being the prime example (and the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum being another.) Other projects were well appreciated from the start, like the Mesa Laboratory of the National Center for Atmospheric Research in Colorado, the East Building of the National Gallery in Washington, the Myerson Symphony Center in Dallas, the Dallas City Hall, and the OCBC Centre skyscraper in Singapore.

These are buildings whose ideas remain FRESH - one of the highest values to which a Modern architect could aspire - and one rarely achieved.

THE SPECIAL COMBINATION WHICH IS PEI’S ARCHITECTURE

Initially, it is not easy to identify what distinguishes Pei’s oeuvre from the other prominent architects working in his era—-the second-half of the 20th Century: firms which also received commissions of prominence, high cultural status, and significant budgets. One of the the terms that keeps coming up, when looking at Pei’s work, is “tailored”: his buildings are as carefully planned and crafted as a custom suit—and they have that quality of “Opulent Restraint”. Pei and his team focused upon every detail—not only the parts themselves, but also making them harmonious with the building-as-a-whole. Materials were chosen that both convey an investment in the present and also an eye to the future (they are substantial and wear well.) Craftsmanship is prized—and execution is carefully monitored. His buildings are much in-character with the I. M. Pei that most people encountered: a refined and charming gentleman—who was articulate and highly persuasive when “making the case” for his design decisions. But also he seemed to be someone that was personally reserved: a man whom you observe and listen-to with attention, and to whom you would not push too many questions—out of profound respect.

SOM’s Republic Newspaper Plant & Offices. As with Pei’s work, it exemplifies elegance in conception and execution..

Yet other architects, contemporary with Pei, could (and did) produce designs as refined and as “tailored.” The best of Skidmore Owings, and Merrill’s corporate office buildings—like their Lever House, or their Pepsi Cola Building on Manhattan’s Park Avenue, or One Liberty Plaza in downtown Manhattan, or their Republic Newspaper Plant & Offices in Columbus, Indiana—could rival Pei’s work in the thoughtful way that each structure solved problems, and the elegance of the detailing and execution. Other architects also worked in this direction—Craig Elwood, and the early work of Paul Rudolph, are examples. Since Pei has rivals in the domain of well-crafted Modernism, what raises his profile must be something in addition to those architectural values.

The other vital ingredient of what made a Pei building a “Pei” might be called The Grand Gesture. We are familiar with “grand gestures” in life: it might be a philanthropist donating a stunning sum to erect a needed facility (like a hospital or playground), or an employer granting an surprise bonus and holiday to her team—or even Oprah giving a car to every member of her studio audience. These “Grand Gestures” all share several characteristics:

• they are Big (and vividly noticeable) in the expenditure of resources, effort, or time

• they are Unexpected

• they have emotional Impact

• they Delight

• and they are Beautiful in the way they lift the spirit

It is architectural Grand Gestures which Pei, in combination with the caring “tailored” quality of his work, used to make his work rise above just being “elegant”—and we see such gestures in every one of his most memorable buildings:

• the inverted geometry of the Dallas City Hall

• the timeless platonic power of the Louvre Pyramid

• the relentless and striking angles of the National Gallery

• the unexpected-form of his Macau Science Center

• the collage of masses, emerging from the water, of his Rock & Roll Hall of Fame

• the vertiginous space of the JFK Library

• the curved glass “lens” floating upward from a rectilinear form, at the Myerson Symphony Center

• the knife-edges of his Gateway towers in Singapore (even more famously used at the National Gallery)

It is worth noting that Pei himself never identified this recipe as his modus operandi. In presenting his work—to clients, stakeholders, and the public—Pei consistently maintained that his forms and spaces were the logical outcome of a careful analysis of the programmatic challenges of each commission. His presentations were masterpieces of persuasiveness-through-clarity: when presenting, he took the clients step-by-step through the development of the designs, so that they saw (or believed they saw) the inevitableness of Pei’s architectural decision. While this too is a kind of showmanship, the clients evidently appreciated the pragmatic mode in which Pei communicated—and strongly supported him through some challenging building projects.

“The essence of architecture is form and space, and light is the essential element to the key to architectural design, probably more important than anything. Technology and materials are secondary.” — I. M. Pei

The most famous of I. M. Pei’s buildings—the ones referenced above—are well-known to most people. So we’d like to celebrate his birthday with some Pei designs that you might not be familiar with, or show some fresh views of well-known ones…

The William L. Slayton House is one of the very few residences that Pei designed, and an early project (being completed in 1960). Its signature system of roof vaults is evocative of one of Le Corbusier’s buildings: the Maisons Jaoul (a design from about a half-decade before the Slayton House)—with which Pei probably was familiar. The Slayton House is on the National Register of Historic Places, and you can see the full report on it (which includes drawings and photos) here.

The Louvre Pyramid—the main entry to the Louvre Museum—must be one of the most known images in Paris. What makes this photograph of it—sitting within the courtyard of the hundreds-of-years-old Louvre Palace—so striking is that it feels like a vintage engraving.

A comparison of the size and silhouettes of pyramids around-the-world—from ancient-to-modern. The smallest, on this chart, is the Louvre pyramid (the small, blue triangle at the bottom-center.) A larger, easier-to-read version of this chart can be seen here.

The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, in Cleveland, was dedicated in 1995. Even though it is one of Pei’s most well-known late projects its striking collage of nearly clashing masses never ceases to startle - as can be seen in this photograph by Lance Anderson.

The Gateway is a commercial development in Singapore which was completed in 1990.. It consists of two towers that are trapezoidal in plan. Both of the towers are 37 storeys tall, and the wedge-shapes of their corners creates a striking effect..

The Macau Science Center is a science museum and planetarium not far from Hong Kong. The project—with its unusual forms, set by the water—began in 2001 and was opened in 2009.

A night-time view of the Macau Science Center.

Pei’s Bank of China Tower is famous for the the large diagonal geometry of its facades, almost always seen in distant views. But most people are not familiar with it close-up, and we thought it would be worth showing that aspect of the building—the one that impacts Hong Kong residents and the building’s users. Above is view of one of the building’s sides, near the bottom—showing the refinement of patterning and attention to material and detail which Pei brought to every project.

I. M. Pei’s Bank of China Tower (center-left) in Hong Kong, identifiable by its’ diagonal/triangular geometries, was completed in 1990. We thought it would be good to show it in proximity to one of the pair of towers of Paul Rudolph’s Bond [Lippo] Centre (center-right), which were completed a few years earlier in 1988.

---

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

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

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

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

CREDITS, FROM TOP-TO-BOTTOM:

Dallas City Hall: photo by Loadmaster (David R. Tribble), via Wikimedia Commons;  Photo portrait of I. M. Pei: U.S. State Department photograph, via Wikimedia Commons;  Republic Newspaper Plant & Offices, by SOM: photo by Don47203, via Wikimedia Commons;  William L. Slayton House: photo by Smallbones, via Wikimedia Commons;  Louvre Pyramid: photo by Christopher Michel, via Wikimedia Commons;  Comparison of size of pyramids chart: by Cmglee, via Wikimedia Commons;  Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, photo by Lance Anderson, via Wikimedia Commons;  The Gateway, Singapore: photo by Someformofhuman, via Wikimedia Commons;  Macau Science Center: photo by AG0ST1NH0, via Wikimedia Commons;  Macau Science Center-night view: photo by Diego Delso, delso.photo, License CC-BY-SA, via Wikimedia Commons;  Base of Bank of China tower: photo by Emasmeso, via Wikimedia Commons;  Bank of China tower and Bond Center tower: photo by Bernard Spragg. NZ, via Wikimedia Commons

Celebrating EZRA STOLLER

The famous architectural photographer (with his famous subject) himself gets photographed: During the 1963 New Haven session, during which Ezra Stoller made his iconic photographs of Paul Rudolph and his Yale Art & Architecture Building, Judith York Newman captured the two of them in action.

We celebrate the 106th Birthday of EZRA STOLLER (May 15, 1915 – October 29, 2004) — one of America’s greatest architectural photographers.

Anybody who has tried to capture a good image of a building (or architectural interior or detail) will know that there is no such thing as a purely objective photograph. Instead: the photographer makes significant decisions about composition, lighting, depth-of-focus, proportion, distance, contrast, framing, and other factors. Both the architect and the photographer have to deal with practical requirements but, no less than with the architect, the result of the photographer’s efforts is an artistic work: one which can be both expressive and meaningful.

What photographer operated at the highest level of this simultaneously practical and artistic discipline? When one thinks of architectural photography in America, the name—or rather: the images—of Ezra Stoller are what probably first come-to-mind. For decades, Stoller photographed many of the 20th Century’s most significant new buildings in the US and thereby created an extensive archive of the achievements of Modern American architecture. More than that, Stoller’s views are some of the most iconic images of that era of design, or of particular buildings.

EZRA STOLLER AND PAUL RUDOLPH:

Of the several photographers that Rudolph worked with, Ezra Stoller is likely the one with which he had the most involvement and lasting relationship. Stoller photographed much of his residential work in Florida—including some of Rudolph’s greatest and most innovative houses like the Milam Residence (as seen on the cover of Domin and King’s book on the Florida phase of Rudolph’s career (see image at right), the Walker Guest House, the Umbrella House, and the Healy “Cocoon” House. He also captured the Yale Art & Architecture Building (see below), Sarasota Senior High School, the Temple Street Parking Garage, Endo Labs, the UMass Dartmouth campus, the Tuskegee Chapel, the Hirsch (later: “Halston”) Townhouse in New York City , the Wallace House, Riverview High School , the Sanderling Beach Club, and numerous others—including the Burroughs Wellcome US headquarters and research center.

Ezra Stoller took a series of photographs of Paul Rudolph’s Yale Art & Architecture Building (now rededicated as Rudolph Hall)—including the above portrait of Rudolph with the building in the background. Decades later, Stoller issued a set of monographs on key works of Modern architecture—his “Building Blocks” series—and the Yale building was selected to be one of the structures upon which the books focused (see image at right.) One of Stoller’s photos of the building—taken when it was freshly finished, in 1963—was to become an iconic image, and was used on the cover of the book.

STOLLER: ON-EXHIBIT, IN-PRINT, AND ON-VIEW

EXHIBITIONS:

Ezra Stoller’s work was exhibited numerous times: we know of at least ten solo exhibitions (listed here)—and the countless times when his photographs were included as parts of other exhibits, around-the-world (including in major museums).

BOOKS:

His photographs are in magazines and journals, as well as books that cover architecture (and, significantly, they’re in the monographs of individual architects—including Paul Rudolph). Several books have been published which focus exclusively on Ezra Stoller’s work, from “Ezra Stoller: Photographs of Architecture” (1980) -to- “Modern Architecture: Photographs by Ezra Stoller” (1999). The latter’s cover features a stark photograph in color—and that illustrates an important point: although Stoller is most well-known for his work in black & white photography, he could also create striking images in full color.

More recently, his work has been collected into extensive, large-format monographs—which allow one to comprehend and appreciate his full career: “Ezra Stoller, Photographer” (2012); and “Ezra Stoller: A Photographic History of Modern American Architecture” (2019). At 288 and 416 pages, respectively, these two volumes offer comprehensive views of Stoller’s oeuvre—and of the Modern era, subjects, and architects upon which he was focused.

EZRA STOLLER — TODAY:

A screen capture from the ESTO website, of the page focusing on Ezra Stoller. It includes a portrait of the famous photographer himself, as one of his iconic images of a building by Louis Kahn: the Salk Institute.

ESTO, the organization founded by Ezra Stoller, continues to operate, and is now directed by his daughter, Erica Stoller. It provides access to their extensive photographic archive: a treasury of images of unique importance to the history and understanding of Modern architecture, and which documents the work of key architects of the 20th Century.

Within that archive are images of compelling photographic power. One can see its holdings via the Esto Stock collection here—and an indication of the depth its holdings can be judged by the fact that it includes nearly 800 photographs of Paul Rudolph’s work; as well as the work of Wright, Saarinen, SOM, Breuer, Meier, Kahn, Aalto, Johnson, Warnecke, Mies, and numerous others.

ESTO also continues to be the home of a group of professional. design-focused photographers who work in Stoller’s tradition of clarity, expressive imagery, and compelling vision—whether capturing a building complex, a set of interiors, or singular objects. At their website, one can can see these photographers’ portfolios.

---

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

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

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

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

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

Ezra Stoller photographing Paul Rudolph: photo by Judith York Newman, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation; Cover of “Paul Rudolph: The Florida Houses”: from the Amazon page for that book; Photo portrait of Paul Rudolph, with the Yale Art & Architecture Building in the background: photograph by Ezra Stoller;  Cover of “The Yale Art + Architecture Building”: from the Amazon page for that book;  Cover of “Ezra Stoller: Photographs of Architecture”: from the Amazon page for that book;  Cover of “Modern Architecture: Photographs by Ezra Stoller”: from the Amazon page for that book;  Cover of “Ezra Stoller, Photographer”: from the Amazon page for that book;  Cover of “Ezra Stoller: A Photographic History of Modern American Architecture”: from the Amazon page for that book;  Esto page with Stoller portrait and Salk photo: screen capture from Esto website

A Paul Rudolph Landmark: the DANA ARTS CENTER at Colgate University

The Charles A. Dana Arts Center is a Rudolph masterwork of the mid-1960’s.

PAUL RUDOLPH: A CAREER THAT DEFIES CATEGORIZATION

The Paul Rudolph Project Atlas—an ongoing project of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation—is an example of applying several layers of analysis to Rudolph’s work (by geographical region, by building type, and chronologically.) You can explore the Project Atlas here.

Rudolph’s career has been analyzed and classified in numerous ways:

• by decade

• by style

• by region

• by climate

• by building type

• by physical context

• by scale

• by type of client

• by recurrent forms

• by historic context

• by amount and type of innovation

• by materials and/or construction methods

• by discipline (planning, lighting, siting, inclusion of art, energy efficiency…)

• by what issues Rudolph thought he was investigating (during different eras)

While each of these are illuminating pathways into Rudolph’s work, none of these schemas can ever be ultimate and final—and that’s because Paul Rudolph was too creative to ever fully pin-down. Even though his career is receiving increasing attention from historians and critics, he still remains resistant to categorization (or even characterization!) Der Scutt - an architect who studied with and worked for Rudolph - encapsulated the issue when he wrote:

“One can copy Mies, emulate some Le Corbusier, and replicate some Wright ideas, but no one can copy pure Rudolph!”

rUDOLPH: PRIME YEARS aND PRIME PROJECTS — A CONTEXT FOR COLGATE’S DANA ARTS CENTER

Acknowledging the above, even so we still try to arrive at useful distinctions about Paul Rudolph’s half-century career and well over 300 commissions. Rudolph created amazing designs in all phases of his work—from his beginnings in the 1940’s, to the very end in 1997—but the part of Rudolph’s work that is highlighted in most history books were designed during a period from the late 1950’s through the 1960’s. That’s the era in which some of his most famous buildings were designed and built—e.g.: the Yale Art & Architecture Building, the Temple Street Garage, the Milam Residence, the Tuskegee Chapel, Endo Labs, and the Burroughs Wellcome Headquarters—to name just a few, from his most creative period.

1958: Yale Art & Architecture Building

1959: Temple Street Garage

1959: Milam Residence

1960: Tuskegee University Chapel

1960: Endo Laboratories

1969: Burroughs Wellcome

It is in this context—this concentration of creativity that few designers achieve - that the 1963 Charles A. Dana Fine Arts Center came to be. To explore this, it’s worth looking at two of Paul Rudolph’s drawings for the project.

The overall form of the building is already well-developed in the perspective rendering below—probably the version that was shown to the client. One can see resemblances with other works Rudolph designed during this period: the bold, expressive use of concrete; the rhythmic placement of vertical elements; a dramatic use of cantilevers; the articulation of various functions, which are communicated on the exterior; the careful handling of light, sun, and views, through the shaping and location of openings; and the the Mondrian-esque aesthetic.

Paul Rudolph’s early perspective rendering of the arts center building [the medium appears to be colored pencil on a diazo “whiteprint”]—possibly done as a presentation drawing for the client and/or other stakeholders. While there would be changes made (between what’s shown in this drawing and the final design) this shows that the overall form and organization of the building has been well established.

The final version—shown in Rudolph’s later (and well-published) perspective drawing below, and in the photo at the top of this article—maintains all of those values, but the building is further refined so that all the parts work in a more disciplined way within the geometric frame. Also, Rudolph shows that he is incorporating textured concrete block—a material he developed as an economical alternative to all poured-in-place concrete construction. In the drawing, areas of block are shown as planar infill within the concrete frame.

Paul Rudolph’s perspective rendering drawing of the Charles A. Dana Arts Center—the version most frequently published, and the one that Rudolph included in his own monograph of his drawings. One can see (when comparing this drawing to the photo at the top of this article), this final drawing closely matches the as-built facility.

The plans and sections are also intriguing: they show Rudolph simultaneously able to handle a complex program in a practical way, and yet introduce interesting spatial experiences throughout the building - even for common functions.

AN OUTLINE OF THE DANA ARTS CENTER’S HISTORY

INITIAL PLANNING

• In 1962, Charles A. Dana (1881-1975), a successful industrialist and philanthropist, visited the campus of Colgate University, the prominent liberal college located at the geographic center of New York State. After observing that art classes and studios were in less-than-optimal spaces (like the basements of class buildings), he saw the need for a facility that would provide the appropriate locations and the right atmosphere for the creative arts at the university.

• Through the offices of his Dana Foundation, he challenged the college to find matching funds to supplement an initial grant of $400,000—and the challenge was taken-up by a group of volunteers and contributors to raise the necessary funds for such a building project.

• A university committee was formed to work on a “creative arts center”—it would be the first building on campus designated for that explicit purpose. The committee was composed of representatives from various departments, and was chaired by Dr. Herman Brautigam—and had a project budget of $1,200,000. They formulated a program for the building, and had “three or four” architects in mind—and a member of the Board of Trustees, suggested Paul Rudolph after being impressed with Rudolph’s Mary Jewett Arts Center at Wellesley College and the chapel at Tuskegee Institute. Although not all of the other committee members agreed, but Rudolph was finally chosen to receive the commission.

• Rudolph came to Colgate and found “one of the most handsome campuses in the country.” He engaged in preliminary discussions and left with a detailed list of the building’s needs and a projected budget. He later returned to walk the campus and study its existing architecture which reflected almost 150 years of growth and redevelopment at the university. With a site in mind, Rudolph returned to his office—probably the one located in New Haven, as Rudolph (in addition to his architectural practice) was also Chair of Yale’s school of architecture. There, he sketched a building that would fit into the terrain, relate to the existing campus, fit the flow of student traffic, and house the creative arts.

Rudolph’s model of his design for Colgate. The proposed building is shown at the bottom center. It is also meant to act as a visual gateway to the campus—and a key pathway flows below its “porte-cochere.” Just behind the building is a depressed area in the terrain—the ravine (for which a footbridge was proposed.) At the top of the photo is the steeple of the campus chapel.

PAUL RUDOLPH’S DESIGN

• Rudolph’s plan meets both practical and aesthetic requirements of the project. The building Rudolph designed is striking and original, yet compliments the existing campus architecture. The roof repeats the contours of other rooftops on the hill, the location of the building effectively extends the lines of the existing college quadrangle, and the texture as well as the color of the new building represents a modern interpretation of older university buildings’ stone (which had become too expensive.) It was close-enough to the existing classrooms and the library to be easily accessible—but separate-enough to be distinctive.

• Rudolph stated that he “was given a free a hand as possible.” “They were really quite wonderful,” he said, “but of course there were budgetary and other restraints.”

• The choice of the project site, according to Dr. Brautigam, “was left pretty much up to Rudolph himself.” According to Rudolph: “the site was very significant for the whole structure,” adding, “It is intended to be both a symbolic gate to the campus and to effect a connection between the upper and lower parts of the campus.” “I don’t believe in inspiration,” he said, “but I felt it was a remarkable site.” and, “the older buildings on campus were my point of departure, and my building was intended to reflect the silhouettes of the earlier buildings.”

• The roof of the building adjoins a hill providing access to the first and fourth floors, and is designed so it can be used as a gallery for sculpture and art shows

• The roof design also features several dormers to provide natural light for art studios and classrooms and to blend with the lines of the Student Union building situated to the immediate right of the building.

• According to Rudolph, the original plan was “for a staged building project with the possibility of two or three, or as many as five stages.” The first phase proposed to be built was the main stage, and the other further additions are postponed due to budgetary limitations. [According to Dr. Brautigam, Rudolph had some very specific ideas for a second stage which never materialized.]

Rudolph’s Site Plan for the Dana Arts Center: the proposed building is in the center, and on can see a pathway bending to flow through it. A new campus library is at the lower-left; the chapel is near the top, at he left edge of the drawing; and a residence hall is above the arts center. Part of Rudolph’s design was a proposed footbridge, whose purpose was to cross the ravine on the left side of the building (it is shown as a dark zig-zag diagonal line, to the center’s left.) The bridge displeased the center’s prime benefactor, and was deleted.

PRESENTATION AND RECEPTION

• In April, 1964, the design was presented to Dana and architectural critics at the University Club. According to a New York Times article about the event, everyone expressed admiration for the plans—except Mr. Dana. He suggested that the principal architectural feature of the building—the prominent three-story “port-cochere”—be deleted, and that the site be changed. Rudolph told Dana that the design change would ruin the building, and explained that the port-cochere shelters the building’s entrance and bears an extension of the fourth floor in which a painting and sculpture studio will be located—and added that it will have the additional value as a gateway to the old Colgate quadrangle of traditional buildings, seen up a hillside, with the spire of the chapel in the center. Mr. Dana, after Rudolph finished, asked him, “You are one of the drawers of this building?” He then asked about the proposed footbridge behind the building (which connects the back of the building with the old quadrangle at the top of the hill.) “Why have that bridge? Walking is good for students.” Rudolph acknowledges that the bridge is an optional addition that could be removed from the design. [Note: it was not built.] Mr. Dana told everyone he approves the various features but asks to hear more about the port-cochere. He finished by advising, “You can save money on these extremities.” University officials explain there were reasons to not change the site but agree to examine Mr. Dana’s suggestion.

• The building was occupied in January, 1966.

• On September 08, 1966 Rudolph delivered the speech ‘Urban Design’ at Colgate’s annual Founders Day Convocation about urban planning and the basic elements that need to be expressed in urban design. After the address, members of the administration awarded Rudolph an Honorary Doctor of Fine Arts Degree.

EXPANSION OR ADDITION

• In 1972, Brooks Stoddard, Chairman of the Fine Arts Department, decided to review the original proposal to build Phase 2 of the Dana Arts Center project, due to feeling the pressure of limited space in the original building. After looking at the possibility to re-use and rehabilitate another building on campus, a decision was made to construct a new but inexpensive building to provide studio space next to the original Rudolph building. “It was our feeling,” said Stoddard, “that the Rudolph building itself was such a strong structure that it could withstand the presence of another structure nearby, even though it would be nice to keep it isolated. I think the academic realities are that students are coming here, they need space to work in, and it makes sense to have them working in an area with some proximity to the other arts.”

• Two architects were considered for the new studio building, and a local Utica firm was given the contract. Although a simple loft building, there was an attempt to maintain a style similar to that of the original Rudolph building—the use of split-face concrete block is one example of this effort. “The judgement of history will show how that studio building relates to Dana,” said Mr. Stoddard. “I rather think it does.”

THE FUTURE?

2018: Dean Lesleigh Cushing announced that the university planned to renovate the Dana Arts Center, with the aim of increasing the visibility of the arts in Colgate’s curriculum. The plan then contemplated was to construct multiple new structures in the area around Rudolph’s building, in order to alleviate the need for additional space (as the result of the expansion of the university’s arts program.)

2021: The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation learns of a new initiative at the Dana Arts Center (changes? alterations? expansions?)

We look forward to finding more about what’s intended for the Charles A. Dana Fine Arts Center.

MAINTAINING RUDOLPH’S LEGACY

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation advocates for the preservation and proper maintenance of buildings designed by Rudolph. As stewards of the largest body of knowledge about the work of Paul Rudolph, the foundation makes itself available to consult with the owners of buildings and interiors designed by Rudolph, as well as conferring with the designers and builders engaged by those owners.

In a way that many would see as a beautiful enhancement-through-time, Nature has asserted itself: partially covering the building in a garment of green. In this photo, one can also discern Rudolph’s use of a mixture of materials at this project: a concrete frame which is infilled with textured (split-rib) concrete blocks—a cost-saving material which he developed.

---

IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

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

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

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

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

Exterior View of Dana Arts Center: color postcard by Bob Wyer Photo Cards, © Bob Wyer, from the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Paul Rudolph Project Atlas: screen grab from the Project Atlas page on the website of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Yale Art & Architecture Building: photo by Sage Ross, via Wikimedia Commons;  Temple Street Parking Garage: photo from the New Haven Redevelopment collection, New Haven Museum;  Milam residence: photo by Joseph W. Molitor. Image courtesy of the Joseph W. Molitor architectural photograph collection, Columbia University, Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library, Department of Drawings and Archives;  Tuskegee University Chapel: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Endo Laboratories: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Burroughs Wellcome Headquarters: photo by G. E. Kidder Smith, image courtesy of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology;  Color perspective drawing of Dana Arts Center: rendering by Paul Rudolph, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Black & White perspective drawing of Dana Arts center: rendering by Paul Rudolph, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Model of proposed Dana Arts Center, photo by Daryl Jackson, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Site plan of proposed Dana Arts Center, © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Exterior of Dana Arts Center, partially covered by plant growth: photographer unknown

Celebrating MIES van der ROHE

Mies van der Rohe’s Seagram Building, on Park Avenue in New York City. This photograph is unusual in that it allows us to see the building as-a-whole, in a straight-on elevation view. That’s something almost impossible for a camera to capture in a conventional photograph (and even difficult for the human eye when viewing the building in-person.) But, through artful enhancements, this photographer has allowed us to see the building as a unique objet d’art—perhaps as Mies envisioned it!

CELEBRATING MIES vAN dER ROHE’s 135th BIRTHDAY

It’s no secret that Ludwig Mies van der Rohe (March 27, 1886 – August 17, 1969) is one of the 20th century’s most important architects. But let’s amend and extend that to included the 21st—our—century too, as his influence continues ever onwards.

When, in he mid-1950’s, Phyllis Lambert was seeking an architect for her father’s company’s headquarters building—which all-the-world now knows as the Seagram Building—she considered a large number of names. The candidates ranged from the world-famous (Wright and Le Corbusier) —to— the established (Harrison & Abramovitz and Skidmore, Owings & Merrill) —to— the up-and-coming (Johnson, Saarinen, Pei, and Rudolph—and we wrote about Rudolph’s brief candidacy here). After much research and thought, the architect whom she ultimately arrived at was Mies—and she explained her conclusion with insight and forthrightness:

“Mies forces you to go in. You have to go deeper. You might think this austere strength, this ugly beauty, is terribly severe. It is, and yet all the more beauty in it.”

“The younger men, the second generation, are all talking in terms of Mies or denying him.”

It’s that second point which is pertinent today—even well into a new century. One might love or hate Mies (and all that was created in his wake), but he’s still one of architecture’s compass points: whether we sail toward-or-away from Mies, we still navigate by him.

REVISITING AN ICON

We all know the Barcelona Chair (and its matching stool)—but are you aware of another furniture design whose association with Mies is lesser known—and which, ironically, is an equally famous design? We’ll look at that, below.

Most of us are familiar (maybe too familiar?) with Mies van der Rohe’s most famous designs - the Barcelona Pavilion, Seagram, the Farnsworth House, the Tugendhat house, Crown Hall, the New National Gallery in Berlin, the Monument to Luxemburg and Liebknecht, the Brick Country House, and his now-ubiquitous furniture. While scholars, critics, and philosophers will probably never run-out of things to say about these icons, perhaps it’s time for a “refresh”

The first major monograph on Mies was written by Philip Johnson—who was soon, with his own “Glass House” (done in the Miesian manner) to also become an internationally famous architect. The book was published in association with the 1947 Museum of Modern Art’s retrospective exhibition on Mies van der Rohe’s work.

To do that, we’d like to introduce you to some Mies designs which you may never have heard of—or, if you have come across them, they may be ones to which you’ve not given much attention. Bringing forward these lesser-known works helps rejuvenate in our view of Mies’ already well-studied oeuvre.

Note: Several of these projects were shown in the book MIES VAN DER ROHE, published on the occasion of MoMA’s 1947 exhibition on Mies’ work. While the museum’s press release characterized the exhibit as a “retrospective,” Mies still had two decades of important work ahead of him—and many subsequent books have been written about his oeuvre. Even so, the 1947 volume still has fascinating material (and you can see it in-full here.) Written by Philip Johnson, it remains an significant contribution to studies of Mies and Modernism.

The six projects we’ll look at are:

• TRAFFIC CONTROL TOWER

• NUNS’ ISLAND GAS STATION

• DRIVE-IN RESTAURANT

• FURNITURE—The original “Parsons Table”?

• “CHURCHILL VILLA” (VILLA URBIG)

• REFRESHMENT STAND

TRAFFIC CONTROL TOWER

Mies’ tower design is in high contrast to the ones that had traditionally been used to control vehicular traffic. An example is this Beaux-Arts styled tower from the 1920’s. A distinguished structure (made of bronze,) it was one of seven placed along the center of New York’s Fifth Avenue.

When we hear the term “traffic control tower,” we think of the kind one finds at airports, from which flights are directed to take-off and land. But the term had an earlier use; it also designating tall structures which controlled “traffic”—but that vintage meaning referred to the flow of ground-based vehicles: cars and trucks.

Today, such structures have been replaced with automatic traffic light systems, but (about a century ago) one would see such towers at major traffic intersections—like the example at right, which was situated at New York’s Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street. Police officers, stationed in the booths high above above street level, could accurately see and assess the traffic situation—and then utilize stop-and-go signals to regulate flow.

The design of these towers could range from utilitarian and banal -to- traditional and ornate. This was a new building type, and Mies van der Rohe offered his own Modern design design solution—as seen below. One reason this project is striking is that it almost seems like it could be the result of the Streamline Moderne approach to design. That movement was a cousin to Art Deco—coming later, and embracing an aesthetic of mechanized movement..

With that style’s inclusion of symbolism and ornament, it would be a mode which we’d expect Mies to avoid. Yet Mies’ tower has several of the key characteristics often found in Streamline Moderne designs: sweeping curves (at the front edge); the triplet of parallel lines that’s found so often in Deco/Streamline design (in this case: the railing, which merges into a triad of ribs on the base of the cabin); and an overall sense-of-movement and speed—even while standing still!

Perhaps, considering the overall thrust of Mies’ work, the tower’s non-purist look is why it was excluded it from the “definitive” Mies book mentioned above. Even so, it is a fascinating design—and it is fun to imagine what it would be like if the street intersections of major cities had these towering metallic sentinels.

Mies van der Rohe’s design for an automobile traffic control tower.

NUNS’ ISLAND GAS STATION

Mies’ oeuvre certainly contains the highest level of “building types”—he even built a space for worship (the Carr Memorial Chapel on the campus of IIT)—as well as several monuments/memorials (both built and unbuilt.) He is often quoted as saying ”God is in the details.” That might refer not just to Mies van der Rohe's refined and superbly crafted construction details, but also to the details of the everyday life—including the design of less “noble” types of buildings.

Apropos the first design shown above, we’ll stay with the theme of vehicular traffic. Thus we present Mies’ design for a building of lesser “nobility”—but one that is elegant in conception and execution.

The Nuns’ Island Gas Station was built at the end of the 1960’s as a station for Esso (the firm now known as Exxon.) It is located on Nuns’ Island (an island located in the Saint Lawrence River), and is part of the Canadian city of Montreal. Joe Fujikawa, who worked for Mies, was the project architect. According to an article in the the Journal of the Society for the Study of Architecture in Canada, Fujikawa had been an architectural student of Mies, and later became one of his partners in his Chicago firm, and the local architect overseeing the project was Paul Lapointe. The article reports:

Fujikawa, now 67, still practices architecture in Chicago, and still remembers in detail the 23-year old Nun's Island project. He speaks affectionately about Mies, whom he describes as modest and human, in spite of others' assessment of him as cold and impersonal, like his architecture. Fujikawa noted that Metropolitan Structures [the developer which commissioned the project, as well as other buildings by Mies on the island] had worked with Mies on other projects, so it was natural they called on him to design their Nun's Island buildings. Of the station, Fujikawa stated it "is not very large, and it was never designed to be monumental. Imperial Oil was given the exclusive right to build a service station and they wanted it to be a prototype station, unique among stations."

e-architect gives the following description and speaks of its later use:

The station consists of two distinct volumes, one for car servicing and the other for sales, with a central pump island covered by a low steel roof that unifies the composition. The beams and columns were made of welded steel plates painted black that contrast with the white enameled steel deck and bare fluorescent tubes.

Over the years, the interiors have been modified to incorporate a car wash on the sales side, the finishes, built-in furniture and equipment have been replaced and the custom made pumps removed. It ceased to be commercially operated in 2008 and the city of Montreal listed it as a heritage building in 2009 before initiating the project of a youth and senior activity center.

The conversion was completed in 2011, and the center is now known as “La Station.” The architect of the conversion was Éric Gauthier of FABG—and you can see their page about the project (with photographs of the station’s converted state) here; as well as a news story about it here.

By-the-way: Mies was not the only distinguished architect to take-on the challenge of such auto-oriented building types. Frank Lloyd Wright designed at least two gas stations (one in Cloquet, Minn., and one in Buffalo, NY) as well as an auto showroom in Manhattan; and Paul Rudolph designed a parking garage and a garage manager’s office (both for New Haven).

The Nuns’ Island Gas Station, a design by Mies van der Rohe—which is now used as a community center.

DRIVE-IN RESTAURANT

We associate Mies van der Rohe with rather serious building types: office buildings, banks, schools, monuments, and exquisite residences (wherein one can only imagine lives of great refinement are being conducted!) But Mies did take-on the challenge of more utilitarian buildings (like the IIT campus Heating Plant), and more “democratic” buildings (as we can see, above)—-and what can more for the people than a drive-in, fast-food restaurant!

The design was intended for Indianapolis, and the circumstance of the commission was described by in an article, “Mies van der Rohe and the Creation of a New Architecture on the IIT Campus” by Lynn Becker (Chicago Reader, September 26, 2003). Becker writes:

An unlikely client had provided the precedent for the radical design [of IIT’s Crown Hall]. Lambert [a friend of the architect] describes how Mies was enlisted in 1945 by Indiana movie-house mogul Joseph Cantor to design a fast-food drive-in restaurant that would stand out from the banal clutter along the highway. Mies came up with a dramatically long, lanky building whose interior space was free of columns. Its all-glass walls let the interior glow, drawing diners in from the darkness like bugs to a zapper. The most stunning element was the ingenious structure: a pair of huge open trusses mounted on four thin end columns that spanned the entire length of the building and carried below them a flat slab roof that cantilevered out over the driveway.

The restaurant building was never constructed, but the design has an interesting afterlife: Becker contends that the exposed, raised horizontal structural members—originally proposed for this design—-were the seed for the similarly exposed & prominent structure Mies used for his Crown Hall architecture school building on the IIT campus.

Front view of a model of a drive-in: the Cantor “HIWAY” restaurant, designed by Mies Van der Rohe. The roof is supported by two large open trusses, and the roof plane cantilevers outward.

Mies van der Rohe’s floor plan and elevation of a drive-in: the Cantor “HIWAY” restaurant, circa 1945-1950. The elevation (at the right edge of the paper) shows the broad cantilevering roof. Other than the layout of some of the “back of the house” food preparation areas, the entire design is classically symmetrical.

FURNITURE (The origin of the “PARSONS TABLE”?)

There’s an ancient Roman saying, first appearing in Tacitus—and famously also used by President Kennedy:

The Parsons Table—a furniture “type” with its design distilled to its very essence (this creating a “platonic” or “ur” table)—here shown at the scale of a living room side table.

“Success has many fathers, while Failure is an orphan”

This applies to the PARSONS TABLE, for no genric design has had as much (or as long-lasting) success: it shows-up in every kind of interior, and is capable of endless adaption via variation in size, proportion, and finish. And—like all success stories—there are numerous claims to its authorship:

• Some design historians claim its origin in the thinking of Jean-Michel Frank (while he was teaching at the Parsons design school’s branch in France).

• There’s also evidence of a design like this for children’s furniture by Marcel Breuer, circa 1923, during his time at the Bauhaus.

• William Katavolos, who had taught at the Parsons School of Design in New York City, asserted that students would frequently insert such tables into their project drawings (since it could be conveniently drawn with their T-squares with little effort)—and that a building janitor, seeing so many of these diagrammatic tables in the students’ drawings, went ahead and constructed one.

But— Did Mies have anything to do with its origin?

The MoMA book on Mies shows examples of his famous chair designs (the Barcelona, Tugendhat, and Brno chairs), as well as sketches of some speculative designs for furniture to be made of plastic. But the most intriguing image in the book’s furniture section is the one below. It shows Mies’ couch—a design which became iconic from being seen in endless photos of the interior of Philip Johnson’s Glass House. Shown next to it is what can’t be called anything but a Parsons Table.

The image is dated 1930—and that’s well after Breuer’s 1923 children’s table—but the book doesn’t tell us any more bout this particular piece. While the text makes praising statements about Mies’ furniture, it does not address the table in particular, so we don’t get any information on when Mies started using this form of table . We also see this table design—in larger, taller versions—for other spaces which Mies designed in the same era.

Of course, there was also a constant and lively exchange of design ideas throughout the international design community—and that always makes it hard for historians to ultimately determine who influenced whom. Mies might possibly have seen the design elsewhere, and adapted it. Or perhaps the Parsons Table—a design of platonic essence—was bound to be “discovered” multiple times, by several designers? [This happens repeatedly in scientific and engineering invention—and why not in furniture design as well?] A further question is: Was Lilly Reich (1885–1947)—Mies’ close collaborator on exhibition and furniture design—involved in any way? So: Was Mies van der Rohe the/an originating designer of the Parson Table? That’s remains a question to be explored by design historians. We however, find this image endlessly intriguing.

Mies van der Rohe’s couch design is shown here—and it became famous for its inclusion in Johnson’s Glass House. Next to it is a table that has not often been remarked upon: a design which is usually labeled a “Parsons Table”. Its stripped-back, purist form makes one wonder: How much might Mies van der Rohe have had to do with that design’s origin?

THE “CHURCHILL VILLA” (VILLA URBIG)

Churchill, Truman, and Stalin at the 1945 Postdam Conference. While there, Churchill resided in Villa Urbig.

ABOVE: A vintage view of the front of the Villa Urbig.. BELOW: The house’s ground floor plan. with the main entry located at the bottom-center.

Before Mies launched upon his Modernist career, It is generally known that he designed some traditionally-styled residences. They often have massing or details of interest, and a few of his early (pre-World War One) works—like the Riehl House—have received some greater attention. Mies’ “Churchill Villa” (more formally known as Villa Urbig) has not received as much focus as Mies’ other architectural works, yet it is of historical as well as formal interest.

It is located on the shores of a lake in Potsdam (a municipality which borders on Berlin) and was built from 1915 -to -1917 for Franz Urbig (1864-1944), a prominent German banker—hence the name of house: Villa Urbig. While the house was named after the family which commissioned and originally occupied it, it is more frequently known as the “Churchill Villa”—and that’s because Winston Churchill resided there during the nearby Potsdam Conference—a key meeting, among the leaders of the allies (Churchill, Truman, and Stalin) for planning the post-war world. But Churchill was there for less than ten days. A new Prime Minister had been elected: Clement Atlee, and so Churchill departed the house and that historic conference—and Atlee replaced him at both. Subsequently, the house, which was within the borders of the German Democratic Republic (“East Germany”), was used for guest accommodation and classrooms for an academy. It is now privately owned.

Between the two World Wars, one of the things which Mies focused upon was asymmetrical planning—and this is most clearly manifest in his several layouts for courtyard houses (as well as his celebrated plans of the Barcelona Pavilion and the Tugendhat house.) But Mies never completely abandoned a classical approach to planning—one that relies on symmetrical orderliness—and this can be seen in some of his larger projects for European sites, and in much of the work he did after his emigration to the United States (i.e.: Crown Hall on the IIT campus, and the Seagram Building in New York.) The Urbig Villa is wonderfully planned, and partakes in that classical orderliness: the layout has clarity and is easy to navigate, rooms are generously sized and well proportioned, door and window openings are arranged on axis (“enfilade”), and the most important walls have symmetrical elevations—all features which a careful/caring architect like Mies would bring to his designs, whether they be traditional or Modern. In addition, the exterior elevation, even though it uses traditional and ornamental elements, is handled with Miesian distillation and rigor.

A more recent, color photo of the villa. Though clearly a design which relies on traditional organization, hierarchies, and ornament, the house also shows the geometric discipline and restraint to be found in Mies’ later work. One can even see this in Mies'’ handling of ornament, whose use is contained within a tight grid of frames; and in the intensely simplified pilasters.

REFRESHMENT STAND “TRINKHALLE”

Of all of Mies van der Rohe’s many works, designed over a period of 60 years, perhaps the most surprising for us was the discovery of a little building that he designed in 1932: the “Trinkhalle” in Dessau, Germany. The literal translation of “trinkhalle” is “drinking hall”—but this was really a small refreshment stand (a kiosk), where patrons would go up to the window to place their orders.

MIes was the director of the Bauhaus from 1930, until its closing in 1933. When he started his directorship, the school was still located in Dessau (in its famous complex of buildings designed by Walter Gropius)—but political pressure led Mies to move the school to Berlin in 1932. Before leaving Dessau, the “Trinkhalle” was the only building realized by Mies van der Rohe in Dessau during the time he was associated with school. According to the official website of the Bauhaus Dessau Foundation:

This book, by Helmut Erfurth and Elisabeth Tharandt, is an in-depth study of the history and design of Mies’ intriguing little building.

The idea of having a kiosk in this location came from the city of Dessau’s urban planning authority. It was the Lord Mayor of Dessau himself, Fritz Hesse, who asked Mies van der Rohe to come up with a design, because he considered another work of Bauhaus architecture near the Bauhaus buildings a must—even if it were only a kiosk. Under supervision, Mies’ student Edward Ludwig drew up the plans for the architectonically distinctive Kiosk, which was built in 1932.

The Kiosk was not designed as a standard pavilion, but effectively builds on the two-metre-high garden wall surrounding the Gropius House. From outside the wall, all one sees is a window opening with a roof above it; from inside the garden it cannot be seen. The Kiosk became a point-of-sale for alcohol-free beverages, confectionery, tobacco goods and postcards.

The Kiosk survived the war largely intact, but for unknown reasons it was then demolished in the 1960s and replaced by a fence. With the repair of the urban planning environment of the Masters’ Houses completed in 2014 by Berlin-based architects BFM the kiosk also returned to the junction, reduced to its pure form in a contemporary interpretation.

The Kiosk opened again in June 2016 after having been closed for over 70 years. It has now regained its former function and supplies refreshing drinks and coffee at weekends throughout the summer months.

We are glad that Mies little building survived!

After being closed for nearly three-quarters of a century, Mie van der Rohe’s “Trinkhalle” in Dessau has reopened.

LUDWIG MIES Van Der ROHE, WE WISH YOU A HAPPY BIRTHDAY !

P.S. A LITTLE MORE ON MIES: HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH PAUL RUDOLPH

This snapshot was found in the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation. We recognized Mies sitting at the right, but what was the occasion?—and whose arm is that coming out of the left side of the photo?) In an earlier article, we looked into this Miesian mystery…

In addition to our article about how Rudolph was, briefly, considered for the Seagram Building commission (mentioned earlier, and which you can see here), we’ve written several other times about the relationship between Mies and Rudolph.

We’ve addressed Paul Rudolph’s appreciation for Mies most profound work, the Barcelona Pavilion; the influence Mies had on Rudolph’s design work; and about a time Mies and Rudolph encountered each other.

You can read those 3 articles through these links:

• Rudolph and Mies’ Barcelona Pavilion

• Rudolph and Mies: Composition and Inspiration

• Rudolph and Mies: A Mystery Solved

---

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:

Seagram Building: photo by Ken OHYAMA, via Wikimedia Commons;  Barcelona Chair and Stool: photo from moDecor Furniture Pvt Ltd., via Wikimedia Commons;  Cover of 1947 Mies van der Rohe monograph: published by the Museum of Modern Art, in association with their 1947 exhibit on Mies;  Traffic Tower perspective rendering, designed by Mies van der Rohe: original source unknown;  Nun’s Island Gas Station: photo by Kate McDonnell, via Wikimedia Commons;  “HIWAY” drive-in restaurant model, designed by Mies van der Rohe: as shown in the 1947 Mies van der Rohe monograph: published by the Museum of Modern Art, in association with their 1947 exhibit on Mies;  “HIWAY” drive-in restaurant model, designed by Mies van der Rohe: pencil drawing by Mies, in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art;  Parsons Table: Woodwork City;  Couch and Table, as shown in the 1947 Mies van der Rohe monograph: published by the Museum of Modern Art, in association with their 1947 exhibit on Mies;  Churchill, Truman, and Stalin at the Potsdam Conference in 1945: U.S. National Archives and Records Administration, via Wikimedia Commons; Churchill Villa (black & white photo): as shown in the 1947 Mies van der Rohe monograph: published by the Museum of Modern Art, in association with their 1947 exhibit on Mies; Churchill Villa (floor plan): as shown on the archINFORM page devoted to the building; Churchill Villa (color photo): photo by Heike Vogt, via Wikimedia Commons;  Ice Cream Stand: photo by airbus777, via Wikimedia Commons;  Snapshot of Mies van der Rohe, seated at table: from the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation, © The estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation

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