THEORY

THEORY

I recently came across two interviews on YouTube on “Theory of Architecture,” one by Mark Wigley, the other by Patrik Schumacher. Wigley sounded like a middle-aged architecture student. Schumacher was rather pedantic in his Germanic way, and he made some outrageous claims: Romanesque and Gothic buildings were not really architecture because they didn’t have architects, drawings, or texts. The last seemed important to him: you needed the “discourse” to make real architecture.

Schumacher did say one interesting thing. That the architect needed to understand his time in order to function properly. He did not elaborate, but the point is well taken—Mies said much the same thing: “Architecture is the will of an epoch translated into space.” It’s not what the architect wants, it’s what the times demand.

 But I wonder if Wigley, Schumacher and their ilk do really understand their time. Or is it Bob Stern, with his eclecticism and post-modern approach? 

What a sorry state our field has descended to when that is the choice!

VENERATION

VENERATION

I recently spoke in Charleston at the first national meeting of the Institute of Classical Architecture & Art. The ICAA is, in its own words, “committed to promoting and preserving the practice, understanding, and appreciation of classical design.” Exactly what is “classical design”? According to Wiki, “classical architecture usually denotes architecture which is more or less consciously derived from the principles of Greek and Roman architecture of classical antiquity.” That is the art historical definition, but judging from the Professional Portfolio regularly published in the ICAA’s journal, The Classicist, Gothic, Moderne, Art Deco, and various vernacular residential styles such as Shingle Style, Mediterranean, and Craftsman, also qualify. If this sounds reactionary—“anything but Modern”—well, maybe it is. But therein lies a challenge. Architects have always looked back in order to move forward, as James Stirling wisely observed, but move forward they do. This was true of Stirling, but equally true of his predecessors such as Bertram Goodhue, Paul Cret, and Raymond Hood, the last generation before Modernism’s ascendancy in the postwar era. These architects saw the past, including the Classical past, not as a strait jacket but as a springboard. The iconoclastic Goodhue once remarked, “All rules in architecture save absolutely basic ones are outside the subject. And the ‘five orders’ are entitled to no more veneration than all other good constructive form.” Just so.

MULTIPLE EXPRESSION

MULTIPLE EXPRESSION

I heard a new architectural term today: “multiple expression.” It refers to changing the architectural style of the facade of a large building to make it appear to be two or more smaller buildings. This strikes me as profoundly un-architectural. It’s true that architects in the past have sometimes combined different styles to give the impression that a building grew by accretion over a long period—Addison Mizner did this in his shopping alley in Palm Beach. But this had to do with chronology, not size. Generally architects have welcomed the challenge of designing a looong facade, whether it was Bernini in St. Peter’s Square in the Vatican, or John Nash in a Regency terrace in London (above). Not that I have any objection to visual trickery—trompe-l’œuil can be delightful. But somehow “multiple expression” bespeaks a lack of confidence, a poverty of the imagination.

LOOKING BACK

LOOKING BACK

For some reason the YouTube algorithm has been sending me videos of my old lectures: a recent lecture at Penn on ornament, a 2002 Toronto ideacity talk on Palladio, a 2013 talk at McGill University on architecture,and a talk about the history of the chair at the New York School of Interior Design. In 2011 I gave a lecture at the National Building Museum in Washington, DC. The occasion was the publishing of Makeshift Metropolis, a book about the ideas—good and bad—that have influenced the planning of our cities over the twentieth century. The four big ideas I talked about were: the City Beautiful movement; the garden city; Le Corbusier’s Ville Radieuse; and Jane Jacob’s idea of the humanist city. My main thesis was that American cities are driven by demand rather than supply, that is, by what people want rather than what city planners and architects suggest. I still think that’s true.

GOOD COMPANY

GOOD COMPANY

My friend Michael Imber sent me this. From Russborough House, a famous Palladian house in County Wicklow, Ireland, designed in 1741 by the German architect Richard Cassels, who introduced the style to Ireland. Cassels, known locally as Castle, also designed Leinster House, which was James Hoban’s model for the White House.

STREAMING

STREAMING

Wally Byam (1896-1962) built the first Airstream trailer in 1937 (it cost $795). He was trained as a lawyer but had a checkered career. In the 1930s there was a fad for travel trailers, and he tried that. The Airsteam was monocoque construction, streamlined and very light. Although the exterior looked like a Dymaxion car or an airship, there was no bare aluminum inside—wood paneling, over-stuffed seats, pretty curtains. Lots of plaid. Starting in 1951, Byam led “caravans,” groups of up to 200 Airstream owners, touring the US, Canada, Mexico, and Europe. The last caravan was from Capetown to Cairo! At night the Airstreams formed large circles, like Conestoga wagons.
 
I wrote about Byam and the Airstream in Taming the Tiger: The Struggle to Control Technology (1983). He was an unusual sort of architectural modernist. “Byam understood something his European contemporaries did not; while technology could be used to fashion a new way of life, it could also be used to redefine an old one.”
THE OLD URBANISM

THE OLD URBANISM

Traditional urbanism is an easy sell; most people favor treed squares, fountains, and benches. People in Philadelphia crowd Rittenhouse Square, which was laid out in the 17th century, and whose Parisian details were planned by Paul Cret in 1913. The buildings lining the square are of many historical vintages: modern, moderne, and neoclassical. In a hundred years, in 2123, I suspect there will be even more variety, reflecting changed architectural tastes, changed materials, and changed styles. But the square itself, and the streets that define it, will likely be familiar; it’s not so easy to alter rights of way. This underscores an important distinction. Urbanism and architecture observe different time lines. It may be a mistake to tie traditional urbanism to traditional architecture, as many proponents do. The two are entirely different animals.

REMEMBERING

REMEMBERING

I have different ways of remembering. I have framed an old sketch I came across that shows her in the first home we shared. “Shirley at the table with lots of things” I had written. “And Vitold” she’d added. I buy flowers; for the house, I say to myself, but really for her. I keep her favorite necklet on her night-table, sometimes I rotate it with bracelets and other pieces. Once in a rare while I spray her Sisley Eau de Soir—there is just a little left. What will I do when it runs out? We talk: Good morning I say. I tell her my plans for the day. I’m going shopping, I think I’ll stop at the wine store. I toast her when I open the bottle. I almost say “Santé,” but I stop myself. Not that.

NOTHING BUT THE FACTS, MA’AM

NOTHING BUT THE FACTS, MA’AM

When I started writing I found myself dealing with subjects about which I was not knowledgable: medieval history, economics, social mores. My habit was to go to the university library, find a relevant book in the card catalog, then go to that section of the stacks where I could leaf through many related books—old and new—on the same subject. I concentrated on reputable university and trade publishers, at least to start with. When I found a book that struck me as particularly apposite, I could make use of the writer’s reference notes and bibliography to dig deeper. 

Of course the library had curated its collection, an advantage I no longer have with Google, which is more like a huge information scrap heap, some useful, most not. Google Books includes manuals, government directories, obscure indie publisher. Yet once in a while I can still find gold. But I still miss wandering in the stacks.

Which brings me to ChatGPT. I hear many enthusiasts saying that it is a wonderful replacement for Google. The parlor tricks aside—a sportscast in the style of Jane Austen—for me the big drawback in the lack of sources. Information is presented in such an authoritative voice that it is easy to believe. But is it believable? I recently tested ChatGPT by asking about the architect Paul Philippe Cret. It answered with a largely accurate biography, but opined that Cret had collaborated with Kahn and Wright. When I pointed out that this was not true, the bot agreed and apologized for the error. But what if I had not known? I asked about the source of the error but did not get a response—the bot keeps that card close to its chest. We had an extended conversation on the question of why Cret, who had built such important national landmarks as the Fed headquarters in DC and the Valley Forge arch, was considered less important than Wright and Mies, who were best known for weekend houses. I concluded that ChatGPT had pretty conventional modernist opinions about architecture, i.e. the social role of a building counts for little in its “greatness,” innovation is all, light and space are the key elements of a building, and so on. I pointed this out but the bot answered huffily that “I have no opinions.” I am not convinced.

GUESS WHERE?

GUESS WHERE?

My friends Nancy and Randy Williams sent me this photo taken recently at the Villa Witold in Charleston, SC. The villa, inspired by the loggia of Palladio’s Villa Saraceno, was built in 2011 by Reid Burgess, George Holt, and Andrew Gould. Palladio built the original in 1548 outside Finale de Agugliaro, a small town in the Veneto. Described in detail in Charleston Fancy: Little Houses & Big Dreams in the Holy City.