Paul Rudolph the Artist? -or- When is a "Rudolph" not a Rudolph?

Definitely designed by Paul Rudolph: the General Daniel “Chappie” James Center for Aerospace Science and Health Education, at Tuskegee University—a architectural project from the early 1980’s—shown here being dedicated by President Reagan.

Although it has similarities to a number of Rudolph buildings (and the architect-of-record, Desmond & Lord, was a close associate of Rudolph on several projects), our assessment is that this college library is not a Paul Rudolph design.

IS IT A REALLY A RUDOLPH? - THE TASK OF ATTRIBUTION

From time-to-time, the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation is asked whether something is really a work of Paul Rudolph’s. That “something” might be from any facet of the great range of work to which Rudolph applied his creative energies: a building, a drawing, an object (i.e.: a light fixture), or—most intriguingly—an artwork.

In fact, we’ve recently been asked to comment on whether a painting is (or is not) by Rudolph. We’ll examine that possibility—but first: We’ll need to consider some of challenges of attribution, and also look at Paul Rudolph’s relationship to fine art.

There seems to be some cachet in having Rudolph’s name is attached to a house that’s for sale—and this even applies to houses that are not on-the-market, as some enthusiastic owners may want their home to be associated with the great architect. But not every such claim is true—and sometimes our assessment is that a building—to the best of our current knowledge—is not a Rudolph.

A CHALLENGING CASE

There are also cases where the relationship of Paul Rudolph to a project is not abundantly clear—and the matter needs investigation.

A drawing of a college library, done in Paul Rudolph’s perspective-section technique. Close inspection led us to assess that this is probably not actually a drawing by him—but rather: a drawing done in Rudolph’s spirit, possibly by someone that had worked closely with him.

For example: A staff member from a college library approached us. Their building was about to celebrate a half-century “birthday”—and they’d heard that it was designed by Paul Rudolph, and they asked us about it.

So was it? Well, it wasn’t on any of our lists of Paul Rudolph projects—but those lists were, over decades, edited and re-edited numerous times by Rudolph himself—and it’s possible that a project of his might have been left off those lists for any number of reasons. Another factor we considered was that the building’s architect-of-record had done other, important projects in close association with Rudolph. Moreover, the library building did exhibit some very Rudolph-like features. Also, the perspective-section drawing of the building was done in a manner resembling Rudolph’s graphic technique. But, after carefully looking at the building and the documents available to us, and also after consulting with some of Paul Rudolph’s past staff members, we concluded that the building was: “Rudolphian—but not a Rudolph.”

MULTIPLE RUDOLPHS?

There are other factors which, when working out an attribution, can lead one astray. One of them is when another person, with the same name, is also working in the same field and during the same era.

For example: For a long while, we were wondering about a rendering of a large, wholesale market facility for NYC: the Hunts Point Market. That’s a project which Rudolph had been asked to design—and we had documentation to prove that: the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation has an official press release from Mayor Lindsay’s office, explicitly announcing that Rudolph had received the commission.

The only image we’d ever seen of the proposed project looked nothing like a Rudolph design, nor was it done in his rendering style. Moreover, the rendering was done in tempera-gouache—a drawing medium which Paul Rudolph reputedly detested. Yet the drawing was signed “Rudolph”! Here was an architectural mystery.

ABOVE: A rendering found when researching Rudolph’s Hunts Point Market project. It is signed by “Rudolph”—but is nothing like a Paul Rudolph drawing. LEFT: A book celebrating winners of the Birch Burdette Long Memorial Prize for architectural rendering. The work of two different “Rudolphs”—the maker of the rendering above, and Paul Rudolph—are both in the book.

So was it? Only later did we come to understand that the Hunts Point Market rendering was by Rudolph, but a quite different one. The mysterious drawing was by George Cooper Rudolph (1912-1997)—an architect who was an almost exact contemporary of Paul Rudolph. George Cooper Rudolph’s main professional activity was as a renderer: he and his office were primarily engaged in making perspectives of proposed buildings for other architects and designers. He provided views for a large number of projects—and his prime medium was tempera-gouache, which was very popular at that time for such presentation drawings (although he did other things too.)

There’s another connection (beside the Hunts Point Market project) between the two Rudolphs. The Birch Burdette Long Memorial Prize was awarded annually for excellence in architectural rendering, and a book was published in 1966 showing drawings by 22 prominent winners. This work shown was by some of the best draftsmen/renderers of the 20th century. Here the two Rudolphs came together: included was a selection of work by George Cooper Rudolph—and on the book’s cover showed Paul Rudolph’s proposed design for the tower of the Boston Government Service Center [but, ironically, it was rendered someone else: Helmut Jacoby—yet another prize winner]

WHAT ABOUT FINE ART?

In the last few years, we’ve encountered several paintings which were attributed to Paul Rudolph. We believe these claims are made with total sincerity, and that the galleries offering these works have had some reason to assert that these are by the famous architect..

We’ll look at the three examples which we’ve come across—but before we do, we have to ask:

WAS RUDOLPH EVER KNOWN TO MAKE ART?

We come across little evidence that, as an adult, Paul Rudolph engaged in the making of fine art—and in the rare cases that he did so, it was only in connection with an architectural commission. It’s true that he appears, in his youth, to have loved to make art—and the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation has a vintage newspaper clipping showing a young Rudolph with a figurative sculpture that he’d made (for which he had won an award.) A memoir by his mother (also in our archives, and which you can read here) further testifies that he loved to make art when young. Doubtless, his higher education—including at architecture school—included one-or-more fine arts courses.

PAUL RUDOLPH BROUGHT ART INTO HIS BUILDINGS

An interior, circa 1963, within the recently completed Yale Art & Architecture Building—showing a large wall mural which Rudolph included in the building.

You can find Rudolph, several times, inserting art into his architectural renderings, showing where artworks might be located as part of a project’s overall design.

Not all such proposals were fulfilled, but some of his buildings did have art prominently incorporated into the architecture—like the two large murals by Constantino Nivola in his Boston Government Service Center. Artworks were also part of his interior design for his Yale Art & Architecture Building (wherein contemporary and ancient art were placed throughout the building) and in Endo Laboratories. Moreover, to the extent he could afford to do so, Rudolph included artwork in his own residences.

One further bit of data we’ve come across: there’s an interview with Rudolph—well into his career—during which he’s asked if he’d like to do fine art. He answers: Yes, he might like to do so—but doesn’t have the time.

RUDOLPH’S FIGURATIVE ART

The only times (post-youth) that we’ve found Rudolph making fine art are in two professional projects: one at the very start of his career, and the other during the decade of his greatest creative output:

ABOVE: Paul Rudolph’s Atkinson Residence, in which Rudolph’s mural was above the fireplace. BELOW: A longitudinal-section construction drawing of his Hirsch Townhouse. That house’s mural, also by Rudolph, was located in the large, open atrium space, shown in the left half of the drawing.

• Rudolph’s very first professional project was the Atkinson Residence of 1940, built in Auburn, Alabama when he was 22 years old. The living room features a 6' high x 10' wide ornamental mural above the fireplace—most likely a consequence of Rudolph attending a required class on 'Mural Design' while in school. The mural’s linework is composed of V-shaped grooves, cut directly into the plaster.

• The next time (and the last time that we know of) when we see Rudolph-as-artist is at least a quarter-century later: in his 1966 design for the Hirsch Townhouse in Manhattan (the residence that was later to become famous as the home of fashion designer Halston.) Rudolph covered a prominent wall in the living room with a large mural—about four times the area of the one done in Alabama—but also done in with the same technique: making lines by the cutting of grooves.

What the two artworks share in-common are:

• both artworks are figurative,

• viewers can readily discern several people and objects

• they both have a dream-like (or story-book) quality

• both have highly stylized imagery

The mural from Rudolph’s 1940 Atkinson Residence, in Auburn, AL, located above the Living Room’s fireplace.

The mural from Rudolph’s 1966 Hirsch Townhouse. Its scale can be judged by seeing the client standing in-front.

HIS PROFESSIONAL ARTISTRY

Paul Rudolph did engage in 2-dimensional artwork—but of an applied, professional nature.

We’re referring to his famous perspective renderings (especially section-perspectives). An entire book was devoted to these drawings (see cover at right)—with his section-perspective drawing of the Burroughs Wellcome building being given the front cover.

In Paul Rudolph’s renderings after he left Florida, he generally eschewed the use of continuous tone (a position consistent with his dislike for gouache renderings.) His fine control of linework (often linear, but sometimes flowing) was what Rudolph utilized when he needed to generate tonality—and he achieved that through hatching and line density, to arrive at the effects he desired.

Interestingly, Rudolph’s line-oriented techniques, which he used for his architectural renderings, are not-so-different from the techniques utilized in his two murals.

PAUL RUDOLPH AND TOPOLOGY-AS-ART

The relationship of a topo map’s curved lines (bottom) with the layers of a 3D model version (top.)

A portion of the Stafford Harbor model. The model’s topo layers, reflecting the hilly nature of the inland part of the development’s site, are most evident in the upper-right area of this photograph.

Before a more direct consideration of Paul Rudolph’s engagement with fine art, it’s worth noting the formal affinity between the sinuous sets of closely-spaced lines (that one finds in Rudolph’s two murals,) and the lines produced when making topo maps and topo models. Using a topo system, in drawings and models, was a standard practice in architectural offices—including Rudolph’s.

Most sites are not flat—so architects study such sites with “topo maps.” These maps have numerous lines, whose closeness-or-distance to each other graphically convey an area’s steepness-or-flatness. When this gets translated into 3-dimensions—to create a “topo model”—the model is made of a series of layers (of boards), the edges of which follow the curves of the map.

Rudolph’s office produced numerous models of his proposed designs—and when a site was hilly, the buildings were set upon such “topo model” bases. The flowing lines of these models (the result of showing the contours of the land in this way) was visually pleasing to Rudolph—so much so, that Rudolph “decorated” his work spaces with those models.

A prominent example of the use of the topo technique is his large model for Stafford Harbor, a project of the mid-1960’s. The Virginia project comprised a master plan, and the design for townhouses, apartment houses, a hotel, boatel, as well as commercial spaces. It embraced the site’s topography—and one can see in the model which Rudolph’s office produced for the project that each layer conveys a change in height.

The full model was gigantic—and Rudolph suspended it, vertically, in the entrance to his architectural office. He used the model’s aesthetic appeal (and surprising orientation) to create a wall-sized, art-like “hanging” that brought additional drama to his office’s multi-storey space.

Moreover, when Rudolph was Chair of the School of Architecture at Yale (in the Yale Art & Architecture Building that he designed, now rededicated as Rudolph Hall), he situated a topo-like mural by Sewell Sillman in the atrium of the main drafting space—both as inspiration and for its aesthetic appeal.

A topo-like mural by Sewell Sillman, placed above the main drafting room/atrium, in Paul Rudolph’s Yale Art & Architecture Building (now rededicated as Rudolph Hall.)

Rudolph “decorated” his work spaces with topo models—like this one of Stafford Harbor—placed dramatically at the entry of his Manhattan architectural office.

PAINTINGS BY RUDOLPH?

We’ve come across several works that have been attributed to Rudolph. Each have an aesthetic appeal—but are they really by Paul Rudolph-the-architect?

EXAMPLE ONE:

The painting at right has been claimed to be by Rudolph. The back is has two labels giving the attribution, and the front has a signature.

While we cannot discount all possibilities, we’d say this painting’s compositional strategy is one characterized by the fracturing of the image—an aesthetic that Paul Rudolph does not usually follow. Rocco Leonardis (an architect and artist who had worked for Rudolph) says “Architects make Wholes”—and that well characterizes Rudolph’s work. In contradistinction, this painting’s collage-like conception is closer to the approach taken by Robert Delaunay in his famous depiction the Eiffel Tower (see below-left): a breaking-up of the object.

Paul Rudolph, in his perspective renderings, was noted for his linework—and the painting certainly relies on a multitude of lines to convey the subject. But whereas one senses that Rudolph’s lines are well-controlled—in the service of creating precise images of a projected architectural design—the lines in the painting are explosively staccato.

The painting’s “line quality” has more of an affinity with the work of Bernard Buffet, whose drawing-like paintings (and even his signature) are filled with a shrapnel-like energy (see below-center).

Combining the painting’s fragmented forms and line quality, we can see them used simultaneously in a canonical work of 20th century Modernism: Lyonel Feininger’s 1919 cover design for the manifesto of the Bauhaus (see below-right.)

Of course we’re not suggesting that any of those artists had a hand in the making of the painting (except, possibly, as inspirations)—but only point out that their artwork is closer to the painting than any of Paul Rudolph’s work.

A painting by Robert Delaunay

A painting by Bernard Buffet

A print by Lyonel Feninger.

Signatures on an artwork count for a great deal, and here we can see a close-up of the one on the painting:

Paul Rudolph’s actual signature.

In the course of our work at the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation, we’ve seen Paul Rudolph’s signature hundreds of times—and at right is a representative example.

As with any signature, one can find a bit of variation in Rudolph’s signatures—but our observation is that his signature is fairly consistent over his lifetime—and it does not seem to resemble the one in the painting. There’s also a label attached to the back, with a note on it, and it appears to be in another language (German). The name “Paul Rudolph” appears within the handwritten note—but it too does not match Rudolph’s signature.

Based on the discrepancies between the painting and Paul Rudolph’s work and signature, we do not believe the painting is by Paul Rudolph (at least not our Paul Rudolph)—but we are open to a reassessment if additional information is discovered.

EXAMPLES TWO AND THREE:

If you do a Google search for “ ‘Paul Rudolph’ painting ” only a couple of other artworks show up—and below is a screen grab of the results:

A screen capture of a portion of a page from Google Images, showing results when the search request is set for “ ‘Paul Rudolph’ painting”

Both are attractive works, and each is done in oil (the left is oil-on-canvas, and the right is oil-on-paper)—and both were attributed to Paul Rudolph. They were offered or sold through galleries/auction houses who are distinguished for the quality of the artworks they offer and the depth of their knowledge. So, as with the painting in Example One, we conclude that such attributions were made in good faith, and to the best of the seller’s knowledge.

So might these be by Paul Rudolph?

We have a date for the right-hand one: 1958. The 1950’s was the era in Rudolph’s work when he began to move from Bauhaus orthogonal rectilinearly (as exemplified by the Walker Guest House, 1951-1952) towards a more muscular (and even sculptural) manifestation of that aesthetic (the most powerful example is his Yale Art & Architecture Building, 1958) and he was also beginning to incorporate dramatic curvilinear forms (as in his Garage Manager’s Office project, 1961). These Rudolph works don’t have a formal vocabulary which resonates with those paintings.

Walker Guest House

Yale Art & Architecture Building

Garage Manager’s Office

FINE ART OF THAT ERA: THE DOMINANT MODE

ABOVE: Harry Bertoia’s altar screen within the MIT Chapel; BELOW: Jackson Pollock’s painting.

But, no matter how much Rudolph explored architectural forms, it must be acknowledged that he was still a child of the Modernist era—and that included being educated by the founding director of the Bauhaus itself—Walter Gropius.

When the paintings attributed to Rudolph were being made, abstraction and abstract expressionism were the popular style among painters and sculptors.

Two artists who manifested the sprit of that period were the sculptor Harry Bertoia (1915-1978) and the painter Jackson Pollock (1912-1956)—both born within about a half-decade of Paul Rudolph, and coming to prominence about the same time.

Consider two works by those artists: Bertoia’s altarpiece screen (reredos) for the MIT Chapel (the building was completed in 1956, and its architect was Eero Saarinen), and a 16 foot wide painting by Pollock from 1952.

Those two works share several characteristics—ones seen with some frequency in the artwork of the era:

• energy/movement

• fragmentation

• linearity—but often without alignment

• a discernable design—but one that embraces a mixture of chaos and order

• generally they are non-non-figurative—or, if the figure (a building or body) is included, the imagery is pushed towards abstraction

• a restricted palette (or limited range of tones/finishes/materials)

All of these are also shared by the paintings attributed to Paul Rudolph. You could say that those two works are consistent with the fine-arts style of the era in which they were created. In other words: they truly “make sense” for their time. But they don’t match Paul Rudolph’s form-vocabulary of that era.

THE QUESTION REMAINS: ARE THEY RUDOLPHS?

We can’t rule out that Paul Rudolph, some time mid-century, may have briefly tried his hand at painting. But, given all we know—

• his practice was feverishly busy at the time

• his work, at this time, does not have any formal resemblances to the artworks

• linework—a significant part of all the artworks—is unlike the the type of linework which Rudolph used extensively in his work

• he was simultaneously leading a major educational institution (as Chair of Yale’s School of Architecture from 1958 -to-1963), as well as engaged in the titanic work of designing its famous school building

• his two known artworks (the murals) are figurative, and of an utterly different character

• the signature we’ve seen (on the first painting shown above) doesn’t match the many signatures on Rudolph documents in our archive

• no other Rudolph artworks of a similar style have come to light

So the “balance of probabilities” leads us to conclude that those paintings may be by a Paul Rudolph, but not likely by the architect Paul Rudolph.

BUT PAUL RUDOLPH DOES INSPIRES ARTISTS…

Rudolph himself might never have made two-dimensional artworks on paper or canvas—but he may have inspired the artwork of others, and below are two examples where that seems to be the case.

EMILY ARNOUX

Emily Arnoux is an artist from Normandy, and she has exhibited with the Fremin Gallery in New York City. Her recent show there featured vividly colored images of pool-side scenes, and her gallery says of her:

“From a young age, she became fascinated by the ocean and the laid back lifestyle surf-culture engenders. Her work captures the divine energy and the jubilation experienced when diving into cool water. . . . Arnoux’s [work feels]. . . .at once contemporary and modern, recalling beach-side postcards of the 1950s & 60s.”

What intrigued us is some of the architecture which is included in her works, and one of her wonderful paintings in particular—“Cubes Game”—seems quite resonant with Paul Rudolph’s Milam Residence of 1959, in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Above is a mosaic of images from Ms. Arnoux’s paintings—and, below, you can see her “Cubes Game” side-by-side with Rudolph’s Milam Residence.

Paul Rudolph’s celebrated Milam Residence in Florida

Emily Arnoux’s superb painting, “Cubes Game”

Emily Arnoux’s paintings are full of life and color—and if Rudolph’s work was of any inspiration to her, we are delighted.

SARAH MORRIS

Sarah Morris is a New York based artist whose works are in major museums throughout the world. Her paintings embrace color and geometry. Occasionally they utilize forms from typography, but most often they are abstract, relying on composed linear and circular elements and areas of color.

Morris’ 2018 exhibit at the Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco showed then-recent drawings and paintings (as well as a film by her.) Her gallery said of Morris (and of that exhibit) that she is:

“. . . .widely recognized for her large-scale, graphic paintings and drawings that respond to the social, political, and economic force of the urban landscape through a visual language grounded in bold and ambitious abstraction. Her probing of the contemporary city inspires a consideration of the architectural and artistic climate of modernity and humanity’s footprint—a subject that Morris energizes and invigorates through a distinct use of geometry, scale, and color. . . .Asymmetrical grids form futuristic compositions of sharply delineated shapes separated by rigid borders and acute transitions between colors.  The grid-like quality of her work evokes city plans, architectural structures (including a staircase designed by Paul Rudolph), tectonic plates, or industrial machinery. . . .”

That text referred to a work by Sarah Morris titled “Paul Rudolph”. The painting’s medium is household gloss paint-on-canvas, and it is 84-1/4” square, and was created in 2017. In this work, too, we see Rudolph inspiring an artist’s creativity.

Sarah Morris’ fascinating painting from 2017, “Paul Rudolph”

RUDOLPH AND ART

Paul Rudolph engaged with art in various ways—his medium is architecture—but, to the best of our knowledge, we believe that the paintings that have been attributed to him are not by Paul Rudolph-the-architect.

But we are happy to see Paul Rudolph inspire others working in the fine arts!

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IMAGE CREDITS

NOTES:

The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation (a non-profit 501(c)3 organization) gratefully thanks all the individuals and organizations whose images are used in this non-profit scholarly and educational project.

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

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

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

Tuskegee dedication by President Reagan: source unknown;  Library building, for which Desmond & Lord was the architect: photo by Daderot, via Wikimedia Commons;  Section-perspective drawing: screen grab from Framingham State University web page;  Architectural Renderings book: a copy is in the collection of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Rendering of Hunts Point Market: Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division;  Interior with mural of the Yale Art & Architecture Building: photo by Julius Shulman, © J. Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles;  Atkinson Residence: photograph by Andrew Berman, from the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Hirsch Townhouse longitudinal construction section drawing: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Atkinson Residence mural: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Hirsch Townhouse mural: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Paul Rudolph drawing book: a copy is in the collection of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Topo map diagram: Romary, via Wikimedia Commons;  Stafford Harbor model: photographer unknown;  Main drafting room of the Yale Art & Architecture Building, 1963: photo by Julius Shulman, © J. Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles;  Paul Rudolph’s architectural office’s entry area: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Tall painting attributed to Rudolph: supplied to us by owner;  Robert Delaunay painting: via Wikimedia Commons;  Bernard Buffet painting:  AguttesNeuilly, via Wikimedia Commons;  Lyonel Feninger print: Cathedral (Kathedrale) for Program of the State Bauhaus in Weimar (Programm des Staatlichen Bauhauses in Weimar)1919;  Close-up of painting with signature: supplied to us by owner;  Paul Rudolph signature: from the archives of the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Paintings attributed to Paul Rudolph: screen grabs from Google Images;  Walker Guest House: photo by Michael Berio. © 2015 Real Tours. Used with permission;  Yale Art & Architecture Building: photo by Julius Shulman, © J. Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles;  Garage Manager’s Office: © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation;  Bertoia altar screen within MIT chapel: Daderot, via Wikimedia Commons;  Pollock painting: via Wikimedia Commons;  Mosaic of Emily Arnoux paintings: screen grab from Fremin Gallery web page devoted to the artist;  Milam Residence: Joseph W. Molitor architectural photographs collection. Located in Columbia University, Avery Architectural & Fine Arts Library, Department of Drawings & Archives;  Arnoux painting, “Cubes Game”: from Emily Arnoux web page;  Sarah Morris painting, “Paul Rudolph”, screen grab from Berggruen Gallery web page devoted to Sarah Morris’ 2018 exhibition.

Not Just Perspectives (Rudolph Could Draw In Other Ways Too): The Axonometric FACTOR

A detail from Paul Rudolph’s drawing for the Colonnade Condominiums in Singapore (a project built in the final phase of Rudolph’s career, when he was doing much work in Asia.) While Rudolph is famous for his perspective drawings, here he is using an “axononmetric” drawing technique—which was unusual for him, but is not unknown in his graphic oeuvre. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

MASTER OF PERSPECTIVE

Well of course Rudolph could draw—beautifully, masterfully, with stunning skill. His fame is intertwined with his brilliant perspective drawings (including, and especially, his perspective-sections). He made them starting right from the beginning of his career—indeed, while he was still a student, as the below example shows:

“Weekend House for an Architect”—a school project of the mid-1940’s, when Rudolph was finishing his Masters at Harvard—and an early example of the intense perspective rendering style which he’d use for the rest of his half-century career (and for which he became famous.) © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

While much has been written about Rudolph’s drawings, little-known is Rudolph’s own text on the topic, which speaks of his overall approach and attitude to drawing. The essay, “From Conception to Sketch to Rendering to Building" forms the introduction to the magnificent book, Paul Rudolph: Architectural Drawings. The book came out in the early 1970’s, and was published by the great Japanese architectural photographer, Yukio Futagawa. Futagawa had, in previous years, extensively photographed Rudolph’s work, and had also created a publishing firm (still extant) focused on architecture.

The best presentation of Paul Rudolph’s drawings is this large-format book, “Paul Rudolph: Architectural Drawings.” The cover features one of the perspective-sections for which the architect was so well-known—this one through the body of the Burroughs Wellcome headquarters building. The book was published by Yukio Futagawa (who had made superb photographs of Rudolph’s work—and whom Rudolph greatly admired.)

In that essay, Rudolph says:

“It should be noted that the drawings and renderings shown here were done over a period of almost thirty years, but the technique used for them has changed very little. During my school years and immediately thereafter I searched for a technique of drawing which would allow my personal vision to be suggested, and after a period of searching, arrived at the systems shown in this book.”

Rudolph’s drawings (and especially his use of perspective-section drawings) has been widely remarked upon—most extensively written about by the author of the comprehensive study of Rudolph, Timothy M. Rohan—particularly in an essay by him in a recent book devoted to Rudolphian studies. In an earlier post we addressed Rudolph’s focus on sections—and there you can find further information on that topic.

Perhaps Rudolph’s most famous drawing is this one, done near the height of his career: his perspective-section through the Yale Art & Architecture Building (now known as Rudolph Hall). Space, light, scale, and structure are conveyed simultaneously. There is a vivid sense of depth—and a strong effort is made to communicate spacial relationships among the various levels. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

BUT RUDOLPH DID USE OTHER TECHNIQUES…

A review of Rudolph’s drawings—which number in the hundreds-of-thousands—show that he used a variety of techniques:

• Plans

• Sections (including Site-Sections)

• Elevations

• 1-Point Perspective

• 2-point Perspective (including—though rarely—where the 2nd perspective is a vertical one, with the vanishing-point below-ground)

• Plan-Perspectives

• Section-Perspectives

• Diagrams

• Quick Sketches (ranging from schematic doodles to more advanced studies—the sorts of visual overtures a designer makes, for themselves, when considering an idea)

• Isometrics

• Axonometrics

That’s the graphic tool-kit of any architect—the “armamentarium” of all designers. Such techniques are used to solve problems, to present proposed solutions to clients and government bodies, and ultimately to communicate instructions and intentions to builders [and when H.H. Richardson said that the first principle of architecture is “Get the job!”, he could well have added that drawings are a marketing tool.]

Rudolph is most well-known for his section-perspectives—but he wielded all of the above. It is the last type of drawing on that list, axonometric—one rarely discussed in Rudolphian studies—which deserves attention.

PERSPECTIVE IS NOT THE ONLY WAY

Perspective drawing—that great innovation of the Renaissance—uses lines which seem to converge, and spaces the lines so that objects which are further away are drawn smaller. This gives perspective drawings a similarity to the way we naturally see.

But there are other ways to draw, used by designers, which don’t act in the same way as perspective drawings. It may seem counter-intuitive to use anything but perspective drawings, as they create a simulation which is closest to the way we perceive things—but there are times when one can covey a great deal of complex information by using other-than-perspective approaches.

Isometric drawings and Axonometric drawings are the main alternatives—and they can be combined with other techniques (like sections). Auguste Choisy, an historian and teacher of the French Beaux-Arts era, was famous for his ability to combine plan, section, and elevation into a single drawing—and thus convey architectural information about a building in a coordinated and concise way. Here’s an example from one of Choisy’s books of architectural history:

In the late 19th and early 20th century, Auguste Choisy (1841-1909) published several architectural history books, in which he used his technique of combining the plan, section, and elevation of a building (or a representative part of a building) into a single drawing. This example shows how informationally potent such a combination could be: much is conveyed—particularly how each aspect of the building coordinates with the others. In this drawing, Choisy is showing the various planes (plan, section, and elevation) as isometric views. Thus areas that would be squares or rectangles are modified into diamond-like shapes—but that seeming “distortion” allows Choisy to fit all the planes together in a coordinated way. Choisy also used axonometric drawings in his books.

How would Rudolph have come to know about such other-than-perspective drawing techniques?

Rudolph’s disparaging remark about his first architecture school (in Alabama, before he went to Harvard) has been frequently quoted. He is reported to have said that their “faculty was best when they left you alone.” That’s been taken to mean that he got nothing out of the traditional, classically-based curriculum which the school offered. Yet in his extended conversation with Peter Blake, another side emerges. Rudolph declared:

“I have always felt lucky that I started studying architecture in a school that followed the Beaux-Arts system.”

Choisy’s architectural history books were well-known within Beaux-Arts educational culture. It is possible that, in such a traditional school as Rudolph attended, he would have been exposed to them—including their drawings with their use of isometric and axonometric techniques.

ISOMETRIC VS. AXONOMETRIC

There’s some controversy about the exact terminology for those two related-but-different drawing techniques—but one thing is clear: they’re both part of the same family: Paraline drawings. Without getting into a full tutorial on drawing methodologies, it’s useful to distinguish them:

• In the family of Paraline drawings, sets of lines—for example: the lines that define all the vertical edges of the walls) are parallel to each other.

• With Isometric drawings, one main plane (like the plan or the roof) is distorted—for example: if a part of the plan would in reality be a square, then on the drawing it would be shown as a diamond-like shape. Also, all the vertical edges of the walls are perpendicular to the bottom of the drawing.

• With Axonometric drawings, the main plane (for example: the plan) would not be distorted: so a square would remain a square, and a rectangle would remain a rectangle. Also, the other sets of lines (like the vertical edges of the walls) are all parallel to each other.

Here’s a drawing that shows the difference between Isometric and Axonometric drawings.

Two approaches to drawing a rectilinear volume (which could be a brick, a building, a part of a building, or a room…):

The isometric Drawing, at the far-Left, distorts the top and bottom [plan] surface, and all the other planes too—making them into diamond-like shapes.

But the two examples of axonometric drawings shown here preserve the exact shape of the upper and bottom planes. Two variants are shown here: the Middle version, where the angle of the plan is tipped up equally on both sides (at 45 degrees); and the one at the Right, where the plan is tipped up un-equally (which leads to a more realistic look).

In both these versions of axonometric drawings, the vertical edges of the walls are perpendicular to the ground (the bottom edge of the drawing)—but sometimes, for clarity, other angles are used (like in the Edersheim Apartment example, below.)

AXONOMETRIC DRAWINGS BY ARCHITECTS

Axonometric drawings are beloved by generations of architecture students: they allow one to quickly create a convincing-looking drawing (one that has a sense of volume, but also maintains all the parts and proportions in proper relationship to each other). All one has to do is draw a plan, and then draw (“pull”) lines down from the corners to show the walls. Presto!—the drawing is ready to bring to class.

But professionals have also been using axonometric drawings for decades—and they’ve come in-an-out of popularity during the Modern movement in architecture. Some designers, like the ones associated with De Stijl, favored it (as it probably corresponded well with their overall rectilinear aesthetic.) Here’s an example from Theo Van Doesburg:

Study for “Design for Cité de Circulation,” a district with residential blocks by Theo van Doesburg: a pencil and ink drawing made circa 1929. It is a good example of an axonometric drawing: the planes of the buildings’ roofs and bases remain undistorted (in this case, a composition mainly of squares). The drawing shown, via Wikipedia, is in the public domain, as per PD-US or other provisions.

In the 1960’s-70’s, axonometric drawings came to prominence again, most notably in the work of James Stirling and Peter Eisenman (in the drawings for Eisenman’s early series of numbered houses).

Here’s a well-known example by Sterling:

James Stirling’s drawing for the Engineering Building at Leicester University—one of the most famous axonometric drawings of the post-World War II era. As with all axonometric drawings, the plan shapes (for example the rectilinear top surfaces the towers and terraces) are un-distorted: if they’re rectangles or squares in reality, then they’re shown as rectangles or squares in this axonometric drawing. As is frequently the case, the vertical lines of the walls are shown perpendicular to the ground.

RUDOLPH’S USE OF tHE AXONOMETRIC tECHNIQUE

Paul Rudolph did, from time-to-time, turn to axonometrics. But why, with his profound mastery of the perspective technique, did Rudolph sometimes use this alternative way of drawing?

To answer that, it would be good to look at some examples:

The Edersheim Apartment in New York

When we were creating 2018’s Paul Rudolph centenary exhibition, Paul Rudolph: The Personal Laboratory, one of the projects included was the apartment he had created for the Edersheim family: a complex of rooms occupying a full floor in a Manhattan apartment house. The program is complex, the rooms are plentiful, and each room is shaped to match its function (as was the custom furniture—built-in and freestanding—which Rudolph designed for those rooms.) Moreover, as is typical in New York City (even in luxury apartment houses like the one in which this apartment sits), there’s little room to spare. So all the above must be densely packed together—a challenge for any designer to work out. Then, once the design is solved, as it is a further of a challenge convey such a complex design to the client.

To make this whole assemblage of spaces understandable to the Edersheims, Rudolph created this drawing—an axonometric!

The Edersheim apartment, on New York’s Upper East Side—a Rudolph project from 1970. Rudolph used an axonometric view: and it looks as though the roof has been lifted-off and one is looking down into the apartment’s many multi-shaped spaces. Despite the complexity of the design, it is still understandable—and what helps create clarity is the fact that Rudolph here used the axonometric technique: the plan-shapes of the rooms are un-distorted, and also the building’s perimeter walls are drawn true to their actual shapes. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

Below is an enlarged portion of the above drawing, showing one of the most complex parts of the apartment. It’s a fine example of how an axonometric drawing can be used to show, with clarity, even intricate arrangements of spaces and architectural elements.

An enlargement of a portion of the above axonometric drawing of the Edersheim Apartment. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

The Colonnade Condominiums in Singapore

The Colonnade is one of the most sought-after places to live in Singapore, with each high-rise apartment demanding luxury-level prices. In this 1970 project, Rudolph wove together a multitude of multi-level apartments into a rich composition, whose overall effect is a shimmering geometric dance.

Paul Rudolph’s Colonnade Condominium in Singapore—a project of the early 1970’s. In the subsequent decades, he would do numerous projects throughout Asia.

To communicate his intentions—which included a complex arrangement of interleaving balconies and windows—Rudolph used a variety of types of drawings: plans, perspectives—and the axonometric drawing seen at the top of this article.

The Orange County Government Center in Goshen, NY

In the middle-1960’s, Paul Rudolph started upon one of his most compositionally and spatially rich government buildings—a civic brother to his Yale Art & Architecture Building. The structure—or rather, compound of structures—that he built in Goshen embraced a complex program to answer the civic needs of the region’s citizens: one could do anything there from getting a marriage license to being tried for serious crimes.

Paul Rudolph’s Orange County Government Center in Goshen, NYC—as seen before it was demolished and/or altered to the point where Rudolph’s design has been all-but-erased.

For this project, Rudolph used a variety of drawings to explore the design and convey his intent.

Did he use perspectives? Certainly—and here’s his perspective drawing for the exterior:

Paul Rudolph’s perspective rendering of the Orange County Government Center. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

Did he use any isometric drawings? Yes—and here’s his study of projecting and receding masses and window openings—a tour de force of levitating masonry.

An isometric drawing, by Rudolph, looking up at a portion of the Orange County Government Center building. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

But when it came to the roof—a complex landscape of rising, overlapping, and interpenetrating rectilinear masses (in a plenitude of sizes)—he used an axonometric view:

Paul Rudolph’s drawing of the roofscape and masses of Orange County Government Center. The three main masses of the building—left, top, and right right—surround a courtyard. Rendered as an axonometric, probably no other drawing technique would have as clearly conveyed the overall conception of the building’s massing, as well as the complexity of its composition. Rudolph, aware that dignity is as important as basic function (especially in civic buildings), created a modern version of a stately entry: there is an elongated plane, set high, spanning across the southern side of the courtyard (shown at the bottom-center of this drawing)—and that created a space-defining gateway to the complex. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

Paul Rudolph’s site plan for the Orange County Government Center. Something of the richness of the design is communicated by his using an axonometric view (conveyed by the shadows) to render the variety of masses from which the building is composed. N.B.: in this drawing, the body of the building has been turned 90 degrees, clockwise, from the view above. © The Estate of Paul Rudolph, The Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation.

AXONOMETRICS FOR RUDOLPH?—iT’S A mATTER OF PRACTICALITY

Rudolph is sometimes characterized as the very embodiment of the heroically individualist genius architect. There’s a lot of truth in that—with consequences, good and bad. One of the negatives is that one can then get tagged as being impractical or hard to work with.

Paul Rudolph shows that this is not necessarily the case: he had a 50-year career, with over 300 commissions—and some clients report on what a pleasure it was to work with him (and some became repeat clients—the ultimate accolade in client relations.) Moreover, Rudolph got things built—all over the country, internationally, doing numerous types and sizes of building, and at every budget level—so he had a track record of being practical.

Architectural drawings—though they are artistic creations—are equally tools: the means by which an architect conveys his ideas to clients and builders. Edwin Lutyens, speaking of construction drawings, likened them to writing a letter, telling the builder what to do. Drawings must communicate with clarity, whether it be the specifics of a construction detail, a building’s overall composition, or even the flavor of a design. Rudolph most often chose perspective drawings as the most effective way to communicate his intentions—but as a practical architect, he knew there were other techniques which could be more effective in specific situations. Rudolph mastered those techniques and used them too—and as a result we have some fascinating axonometric drawings from him.

Paul Rudolph: Section-Master

Rudolph’s unbuilt Wayne State University Humanities Building. Image: Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation Archives

SECTION DRAWINGS ARE GETTING ATTENTION

 We’ve recently seen an on-line article from the news site, Architizer, “Architectural Drawings: 10 Cultural Landmarks in Section.”  In it, marvelously done section drawings are shown, along with the photos and info on the buildings they depict.  Here’s a fine example: a fascinating design for the Louisiana State Museum and Sports Hall of Fame by Trahan Architects 

Image: Trahan Architects

A celebration of section-drawings is always welcome - but we wonder: where is any acknowledgment of Rudolph? - truly, one of the masters of the form.

SECTION STUDY

A recent book, Manual of Section, by Paul Lewis, Marc Tsurumaki, and David J. Lewis, was published by Princeton Architectural Press.

Image: Paul Lewis, Marc Tsurumaki, and David J. Lewis

The publisher’s page on the book shows that it has an extensive selection of building sections—all redrawn to a uniform standard (which facilitates comparison).  Though the book’s selection of buildings is generally skewed to rather recently constructed ones, happily they do include a Rudolph building: his Yale Art & Architecture Building:

Section of Paul Rudolph’s Art & Architecture Building (now Rudolph Hall). Image: Paul Lewis, Marc Tsurumaki, and David J. Lewis from Manual of Section.

One of the best aspects of the book is its opening sections, which give a well-illustrated introduction to the history of the use of sections in architecture, and the development of this kind of drawing.

[And, as an additional treat, the authors—who are partners in an eponymously named architecture firm—are also offering a coloring book version of their book.]

The Coloring Book version. Image: Paul Lewis, Marc Tsurumaki, and David J. Lewis.

RUDOLPH DRAWING

The Library of Congress has the largest collection of Rudolph’s drawings & papers, and they’ve put online good scans of several hundred of his drawings. These include numerous examples of his famous sections - and below are several examples:

The Cohen Residence. Image: Library of Congress

A section through Rudolph’s architectural office in Manhattan. Image: Library of Congress

Rudolph’s penthouse “Quadruplex” apartment, on Beekman Place, NYC. Image: Library of Congress

Burroughs Wellcome Company headquarters, North Carolina. Image: Library of Congress

The Concourse, Beach Road, Singapore. Image: Library of Congress

Of course, Rudolph’s most famous drawing is probably his own section through his most famous building—Yale’s Art & Architecture Building (now rededicated as Rudolph Hall). It is always worth taking another look at that drawing—appreciating its subtleties, the way that Rudolph conveyed light entering the space, and the way he was able to convey so much information into a single drawing (without muddying the overall message):

Art and Architecture Building, now Rudolph Hall, Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut. Perspective section. Photograph of drawing by Paul Rudolph, circa 1964, printed later. Image: Library of Congress

THINKING IN SECTION

To cap this off, here are two drawings shown in the Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation’s recent exhibit to celebrate the centennial of Rudolph’s birth:  Paul Rudolph: The Personal Laboratory.

In designing the Modulightor Building, Rudolph - as ever - explored many, many ideas: a variety of facade treatments, different uses for the various levels, alternative materials, varying building profiles—and sectional designs. While he never lived in the Modulightor Building, Rudolph did have his architectural office there for at least half-a-decade (where, most of the time, it occupied the building’s 2nd floor.) But Rudolph had alternative conceptions for the building, which included having a several-story atrium-like architectural office at the top.

Here is a Rudolph drawing which shows one such design with angled glazing and multiple levels. This colorful section is full of scale figures, and notes to himself and his team. It shows his concern about how light enters, vistas from various levels, structure, circulation, the placement of drafting boards for his staff - and even the practical consideration of drawing storage. Here, you can really see Rudolph thinking - thinking in section.

Paul Rudolph’s proposed upper level addition to the Modulightor Building. Image: Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation archives.

That drawing shows Rudolph concentrating on the uppermost levels of the building. But there’s another drawing which shows him considering the Modulightor Building as-a-whole. It’s not a very preprocessing graphic: it’s just some small, black & white pencil sketches on a letter-sized piece of paper. Indeed, when faced with the attractions of Rudolph’s other magnetically involving drawings, this is one most people would probably pass by.

Paul Rudolph’s study of the section of the Modulightor Building. Image: Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation archives.

But a careful look shows that Rudolph is trying-out alternatives for the sectional arrangement of the building. It looks like he’s taking a cue from the way Le Corbusier wove apartments together in his “Unite” apartment house designs. That’s shown in Le Corbusier’s section of two apartments, (over 3 levels), sharing a common corridor:

A section through Le Corbusier’s “Unite”

In the little Rudolph drawing, one can see a similar approach: he’s fitting the parts together like a puzzle, just-so—the various units are closely packed—but the arrangement allows each unit to have internal access to more than one level. Of course, Rudolph would not be satisfied with just one attempt at a design, and the drawing shows him trying varying approaches.

Once more we see: Rudolph is thinking in section.

How many other architects make that such a leading part of their design thinking?

P.S. — TAKING NOTICE

It’s nice to know that we’re not the only ones who have appreciated Rudolph’s section drawings. Here are some other resources:

• Fosco Lucarelli has written a fine appreciation for Rudolph’s drawings, and it includes a good selection of them to enjoy and study on this website.

• In the fascinating, recently-published collection of papers, “Reassessing Rudolph” (published by Yale University Press), the book’s editor—and preeminent Rudolph scholar—Timothy M. Rohan has an essay: “Drawing as Signature: Paul Rudolph and the Perspective Section.”

• And Tony Monk’s excellent study, “The Art and Architecture of Paul Rudolph” includes a consideration of Rudolph’s presentation techniques. You can read Tony Monk’s essay on our website here.

Rudolph's Orange County Government Center featured in 'Architectural Drawings: 8 Masterful Parallel Projections'

Paul Rudolph’s Orange County Government Center is featured in an article on Architizer’s website blog titled ‘Architectural Drawings: 8 Masterful Parallel Projections’ by Orli Hakanoglu.

Writes Hakanoglu,

Existing somewhere between plan and elevation, axonometric views allow complex spaces to coexist within a single frame. Though the rules for producing one of these projections are quite rigid, the techniques and styles with which designers choose to represent space are highly varied. This collection takes a look at several applications of the drawing technique that artists and architects past and present use to convey big ideas.

Image: Paul Rudolph Heritage Foundation

Hakanoglu says about Paul Rudolph’s axonometric and sectional perspective for the Orange County Government Center:

Rudolph’s masterful hand drawings are a testament to the power of combining representational techniques to communicate multiple aspects of a building. An axonometric view and a section perspective work in tandem to communicate the exterior façade’s protruding rectilinear volumes as well as the interior space within them. The axonometric drawing is quite unusual in that it rotates the entire drawing in space to provide a ground-up view, which presents the building from a believable human viewpoint.

Rudolph’s use of axonometric and section perspective drawings were a signature way he used to communicate his ideas of architectural space. As Laurence Scarpa noted in his article ‘Paul Rudolph: Metaphors, Paradoxes, Contradictions and Abstractions’,

Everything he did was an obsessive open-ended exploration. Rudolph explained this process: “Before making any sketches I will really think about it a great, great, deal and, finally, I will resolve that into essentially three or maybe four—it depends on the project—schemes.” Rudolph had the ability to work with multiple ideas simultaneously. These explorations resulted in extraordinary discoveries. This insight allowed him both the freedom to explore and to problem solve without being encumbered by either. Rudolph would say to me, “Buildings do not happen, they must be made to happen.” While working at his desk, he would move his hand over his drawing in such a way that he could better understand the actual scale and what it might be like to occupy the drawing, as if it were an actual building. He seemed as though he was actually inside the drawing. He would touch with his eyes and see with his hands. He always included human figures in his drawing, particularly in section and elevation drawings, to further understand how the scale of the space related to an actual person. For Rudolph the drawing was a building at full scale. This concept was the origin of his creative process.