Art as Microcosm (2004)

[James Shay]

I'm not trying to discredit your views. I'm asking for simple, specific examples in which Gehry has not taken the needs of his building's occupants into consideration, and I'm asking precisely because I want to be illuminated. Are the ceilings so low that the occupants' taller-than-average guests are uncomfortable in the building? If so, that might be an example of how human needs were not fully considered. Does "Fred and Ginger" have darkened hallways with grease and ball bearings on teflon floors which slope downward toward open elevator shafts into which people can fall and impale themselves on spears at the bottom if they're not extremely careful? If so, that would probably be a good example of why the building is nihilistic architecture.

I'm simply asking if you've answered the questions that you've suggested we ask. In what ways does "Fred and Ginger" not serve the needs of its occupants?

All of your questions focus on the physical needs of the occupants. While I do believe that many or most of his buildings fall short of great architecture in that area, what I am primarily focused upon is the spiritual side of the work. What human values do you think his work conveys? How does it mesh with your value system? I find much of his work (and this building is a prime example) to convey messages that are antithetical to my own values.

Let's take Frank Lloyd Wright again as a point of contrast. Wright's buildings were unique, sophisticated and complex and when initially presented, I'm sure that uniqueness and complexity puzzled and confused many people who didn't have the skill to "read' the buildings' language. I'm sure many people were horrified and had strong negative responses to his work. Yet, despite this problem, there were people who did respond positively to his early work, and these clients tended to by strongly individualistic entrepreneurs as identified in the book Two Chicago Architects and Their Clients: Frank Lloyd Wright and Howard Van Doren Shaw by Leonard K. Eaton. It is not a mystery to me why this was the case, as Wright's buildings project a message of strong individuality and independence (through their uniqueness), integrity (through the fully integrated nature of the building, its details and the site), strength (through the way the building elements are assembled and the way the structure was anchored to the ground), intelligence (through the originality of the ideas), serenity (through the manner in which spaces were organized, details were integrated and the interior was connected to the exterior natural landscape), intellectual challenge (through the many surprises that await the patient an alert observer - such as the way light interplays with the interior space, to name but one example of many) and seriousness (as all of this was done without any self-referential joking). It seems clear to me that these are all things that a confident, independent business man at the turn of the century would appreciate as it reinforced and honored values he possessed and which guided his life. I too respond to these values and that is what has attracted me to Wright's work.

Now, in contrast, I have a completely different reaction to Gehry's work. I do favor the rational over the irrational and I find Ghery's work to be exemplary in projecting the irrational through the disorder and seeming arbitrariness of the many design decisions. This should not to be confused with complexity. As I said, Wright's work is extremely complex and I love the interplay of sophisticated jazz. But in these cases I am able to discern the theme of the work and come to see the complex interplay of components in support of the overall theme. Of course, as I said previously, this takes some time and study to train oneself to be able to read the language. In the case of Fred and Ginger, I don't find the design adding up to anything positive other than a big joke. Now, I like a joke as well as the next guy, but I do get offended when maybe $30-$50 million dollars get spent in service of whimsy and humor. I see structures like this as a huge lost opportunity to be an advocate for those types of values that I find in Wright's work. The overall message I get from this building is that we should laugh at ourselves and our foolish attempts to achieve greatness by applying our rational minds in service of rational goals. Let's let it all hang out - especially our guts, which we will rely upon to design for our infrastructure needs. This is about as far as you can get from the aesthetic goals of Objectivism, and this is why I consider the building to be nihilistic. Unlike Wright's work, it does not command me to rise up to meet its challenge.

OK, maybe I'm the uninitiated one this time that hasn't learned to read Gehry's language. So I would like to ask anyone who likes this building to try and enlighten me as to what it's theme is and what messages it conveys with regard to human values.

Regards,

--

Jeff

Jeff, I think your comments about Wright and Gehry are quite well expressed and thought through. Having said that, I cannot agree with your benchmark characteristics for fine architecture listed above not being contained in some of Gehry's work. I think Gehry's Guggenheim/Bilbao is great architecture . To a lesser extent in my opinion, so is the Disney Concert Hall in LA, which I have visited. The rest of his work seems like that of an artist/hobbiest applying forms to functional diagrams. In his office, the assistants create basic volumetric relationships, which he then bends, shapes and decorates with his loops. With regard to Fred and Ginger, I was initially seduced by it's wit. It was an architectural breath of fresh air. As time has gone on I no longer like it, because it is so very out of context with Prague's beautiful streetscapes. Not that he should have aped what was there, by any means, but his building is too far out of place for me. And it's too jokey.

Here is my brief reading of the Guggenheim Bilbao, according to your criteria listed in your posting. I believe it meets your criteria.

1. The building has an extraordinary degree of strong individuality and independence, as does Wright's Guggenheim. They are both unique in beautiful ways. Personally, I prefer Bilbao. I think Wright's building is not well massed or shaped.

2 Gehry's building fits its site beautifully. From the initial, large massing of the entry area, it swoops out along the river and ducks under an existing roadway. It absolutely commands its site without destroying the character of the neighborhood. The titanium surfaces sparkle in the greyness of Bilbao and complements the river next to which it sits. Formally, spatially, and materially, the building is quite internally consistent, and, to the extent there are details (which are few and far between, as is the case in Wright's Guggenheim), they are well done and fit into the building's overall grammar.

3. Strength is a trickey one for me to apply to an art object. But, you call for its consideration with regard to how the building meets the ground and and how the elements of the structure are assembled. First of all, the long form stretching between the entry area and the automobile overpass has a beautiful downward arc built into it that masterfully melds it into the ground. That base detail is carried on beautifully throughout the other forms. When you talk about how the elements are assembled, I'm not sure if you mean structurally, aesthetically, or a combination of those and perhaps other characteristics. I think the elements of form fit together quite nicely. And, when you see the interior photographs, the collisions of the shapes create fascinating forms, slices, and skylights. I don't happen to like the mood of the entire ensemble, but it's extraordinarily well thought out and executed.

4. The building is extrairdinarily intelligent in its complete integration of form, function, structure, massing, finishing and so on. No question about it. The ideas in Bilbao are unique without being freakish, and are well articulated. To me it's rational.

5. To the extent any architecture is required to be serene, it seems to meet your requirements for that quality. I'm not sure that serenity is a requirement of good or great architecture.

6. Here we are debating it - it's intellectually challenging. The light inside, to meet one of your requirements, mysteriously floats down from skylights and sculpts the exotic shapes.

7. With regard to seriousness, this is in no way a jokey building in the way that Fred and Ginger is.

Many, many kudos to Gehry and his staff, the engineers, contractors and everyone else who got it built. It is an extraordinary achievement. Nihilistic, to me yes, but still extraordinary in the same sense that Fallingwater, medieval cathedrals, and ancient Egyptian temples are extraordinary. It is timeless.

I will probably be less clear in answering you with what I think about its theme and human values. To me it's exuberant, yet contains dread. It sparkles, but the forms from which the light leaps are distorted in ways that are almost painful to see. Within the building, the central space leaps up with great audacity to seize daylight and allow it to stream within. And yet, within that joyful set of gestures, a great unease seems to lurk. You're probably going to strongly disagree with me here, but I think the massing of the building, in its asymmetry on the exterior, is quite Wrightian, abstractly, and somewhat like that of the Robie House. The building is surrounded by Bilbao's very rough industrial district, and one its great virtues is that it takes many of the same materials used in the factories next to it and reinvents their usage, so that it says to the surrounding mediocrity, look what can be done with some imagination! I love that about the Guggenheim/Bilbao. That characteristic almost reads as something out of The Fountainhead.

Frank Lloyd Wright had his list and rules about what was and was not great architecture, but it was too moralizing for me. But, if you want to say something about a great building commanding you up to meet its challenge, the Bilbao building does that just as well to me as anything by Wright, who is, by the way, my favorite architect, hands down. But, without all the preachiness and moralizing in his books.

I think architecture journals would be well served to include commentaries of the sort you write, so that the essence and heart of a building might be discussed. I like what you have to say and look forward to seeing more of your buildings, as well.

Jim Shay

[Ellen Stuttle]

I think you're now understanding my reaction to the scene. I wasn't saying that it's bad art, just that I don't like it.

Yes, yes...it is that line between "not liking" and "objecting on artistic grounds" that is tripping me up for various reasons.

For example, I can say that I don't like the scene for completely personal, subjective reasons, but I can also say I don't like the scene because of its specific artistic qualities.

Hypothetically, I could make the statement that I don't like the scene because Rand writes it with too much relish, and if she had changed her wording I wouldn't then find it so objectionable, further, if she changed her wording, the scene would support/reflect/serve the overall theme better (or so I could argue).

Now that seems to me like an fully normative aesthetic judgment which judges the technical aspects of the scene against the context of the theme of the novel (the standard) and prescribes an alternate method in support of that standard.

Would you agree?

Yes, I'd agree, almost. Since you're trying for precision here, I'd change the wording of one clause, which is: but I can also say I don't like the scene because of its specific artistic qualities.

If you'd said instead but I can also say that I think the scene falls short because of its specific artistic qualities, then I'd classify this as a "normative aesthetic judgment." The question of whether or not an alternate wording of the scene "would support/reflect/serve the overall theme better" could then be argued as a normative question.

Complicating matters, I think in the end the assessor is still going to have to fall back on a judgment call which could be different from person to person and would inevitably reflect individual taste in and experience with writing. I don't think there's any way of getting rid of an ultimately subjective factor. Standards of writing are built up from long practice and assessment by many people over many years -- even centuries -- of literary judgment. Someone who's practiced at the craft and has a wide range of reading experience might make a different assessment from a novice writer/reader, and at each level of background there might be disagreements. In the final analysis, saying that X work of literature or Y segment of a literary work "works well" or doesn't is going to reflect a degree of personal preference. But we can try to learn to separate "I like it" from "it's well done" and to see that these are different assessments which aren't made by the same standards.

With regard to "theme" as the technical standard, I think I understand were you (and Rand) are coming from when you say it is the only way to "objectively" (Rand's) judge the technical merits of the work (its aesthetics), since technical aesthetic merits are relative to the artist's particular purpose, his theme, as it were. We can't quite define, for example, what "good painting" is without referencing a context or purpose. "Good painting" for Picasso wouldn't be same as "good painting" for Vermeer...

Now we're getting really complicated... ;-)

Jonathan quoted a passage from Rand in which she presented her view of "an objective evaluation" of an artwork. To requote:

[AR] "In essence, an objective evaluation [of a work of art] requires that one identify the artist's theme, the abstract meaning of his work (exclusively by identifying the evidence contained in the work and allowing no other outside considerations), then evaluate the means by which he conveys it — i.e., taking his theme as criterion, evaluate the purely esthetic elements of the work, the technical mastery (or lack of it) with which he projects (or fails to project) his view of life..."

I said about that, in part:

I agree with the spirit of it but not with the letter of it, since I think what she's requiring isn't necessarily possible even in regard to literature let alone non-verbal art forms.

I have serious reservations about the idea that one necessarily can identify "a theme" even in regard to literature, and with the idea that going about trying to identify "a theme" -- especially going about trying to do that as a base line -- is a good way to approach "aesthetic judgment" (meaning judgment of how well done an artwork is).

For instance, Atlas Shrugged: What does she say is the "theme" of the book? "The role of the mind in human affairs," am I right? I don't think I've ever had "What is the theme of this book, and how well is it expressing that theme?" as part of my thoughts in approaching the book.

I have to go way back here, dredging through memory, my first reading of the book. The first literary evaluation I formed, within a few paragraphs, was the assessment "This author can write." The way the words were being put together, the quickness with which a strange unreality, a question of "What time frame is this happening in?," was set up. A feeling of mystery suggested. From the beginning I was getting the impression of both an experienced writer and an exceptionally deliberate writer. The sequence had no explorative feel, but instead a quality of having all been worked out in its progression prior to the detailed writing. Thus from the start, from within only a few paragraphs, I already had in mind a certain type of parameters by which what came afterward would be judged. Suppose, for instance, that in a subsequent chapter the meticulousness of wording had been dropped and/or the book had begun to seem to meander in direction, then I would have thought the author had fallen below the standards she'd set for herself and was capable of achieving.

By the end of the first chapter I had the awareness that the author of this book was doing characterization in a different way from any novel of my experience to that time. There personal liking/disliking of characterization techniques was entering. Plus the anticipating of an unusual experience, one for which my prior reading habits wouldn't be an adequate guide -- new "rules of the game" being followed. I was noticing characterization details which didn't sit well with my understanding of psychology (and which never have come to sit well), but I realized that I'd have to put that reaction aside to approach this book on its own terms, that the question would have to be how consistent a method was employed not how believable I found the results.

So you see there that even on first reading two tracks were operative, a personal track and a track of taking the author's perspective on human nature as the basis of judging the book's internal consistency.

The progression became much more complicated as I continued to read. For one thing, I could see that the author was presenting an ideational challenge to various frequently accepted beliefs, and that the book had a deliberate largeness of scope, that a philosophic message was at work. At this point the question of how well the ideas were being carried through became a criterion of assessment. So I suppose in a sense I could have been said to be evaluating in terms of "a theme," but only in a sense. I was still in process of reading. I wouldn't have been able to narrow down the central focus of the book to "a theme" until I was done with the whole book. And if it had occurred to me (which it did not) to try to do that -- i.e., to have asked, What was the theme of this book?, I would have thought the question too narrow. The book had so many aspects, levels, factors, all of them interrelating. The question I'd have asked instead of "How well is the theme being realized?" was "How well did it all fit together?" Extremely well, I thought.

That's just a sketch of some of the considerations in regard to which I was judging. As Rand says should be done, I was judging degree of aesthetic merit on the basis of "evidence contained in the work." But in the particulars of the procedure, I was not doing it the way she says.

You continue:

Still, among other questions I have with this thinking, I want to be able to defend a kind of holoarchy in the creative process and in art appreciation with allows us to judge components independent of the whole. I'm struggling with getting this off the ground, but that's where I am coming from.

I think it's quite possible and valid to "judge components independent of the whole" up to a point. Not entirely independent. An artwork is a whole, each aspect of which is by reference to the whole. But some aspects can be better done than others and can be assessed for skill in a more delimited way.

E.g., consider Hugo's novels, several of which I know you've read. Often they can be judged lacking from the standpoint of tightness of plot. I mean, let's face it, he digresses. ;-) But the digressions are internally well written. I find them interesting for themselves. Indeed, as I've told you, that long passage about the Paris sewers in Les Miserables is one of my favorite segments in his novels. And here's another complexity: I like his digressiveness as a general characteristic of his work, even though from the standpoint of novelistic construction I do consider it a flaw. (In saying this, I'm not expressing agreement with Rand's view that the desideratum is "plot, plot, plot," but "sticking to the subject," whatever sort of subject is being pursued, is a consideration in evaluating a novel overall.)

A few other things that are tripping me up: if I lined up 5 individual brush strokes on 5 canvases, could we not discuss their "aesthetic" qualities in some objective way? Can we not objectively discuss the aesthetic qualities of the mountain range out my window? Or a field of tulips? If I don't have a "theme" to hang my judgments on, can I have "aesthetics" at all?

I think that "a theme" isn't required to hang judgments on. Indeed I think we don't have "a theme" in music in the same sense as we could, if we feel we must, identify "a theme" in literature.* And I have reservations about the idea of "a theme" in visual arts. But I think you've included two different meanings of "aesthetic qualities" in your list. With the mountain range and the field of tulips examples, you're speaking of aesthetic pleasure, finding a sight attractive. But I don't think the idea of "aesthetic judgment" applies to a mountain range, unless you believe that Colorado literally is "God's country." ;-) I mean, would you ask yourself, "How well designed is this mountain range?" Nor do I think aesthetic judgment would apply to "a field" of tulips. With a garden of tulips planted in just such spatial-and-color arrangement, then there is a question of skill of design. With individual brush strokes of 5 different canvases, I think it's meaningful to compare proportions, contours, grace of flow, probably other factors. I suppose it could even be that a single brush stroke is an artwork -- aren't there such artworks in Japanese and Chinese art?

* Roger disagrees with me about that, I'm aware. I'm waiting on the issue of music for the pending Schubert discussion.

Ellen

___

[reason.on]

I know I've posted some of this material before, but I can't for the life of me remember where...regardless, I thought that since some serious discussions of FLW's ideas have been in play, a few source quotes would be entertaining, enlightening, and perhaps may lead to more fruitful conversation.

"Ceiling or no Ceiling", by Frank Lloyd Wright (1945)

Unpublished Article, written for *Ladies Home Journal*, as a rebuttle to an article written by Dorothy Parker about a comment FLW made in reference to the Metropolitan Museum of Art's lofty ceilings as being, "undemocratic."

"The realization of human freedom is horizontal. Verticality is "tour de force," vertigo--or death.

Refuge for the soul of man in democratic Freedom is found in breadths: in the earth line not the sky line. Earth and sky travel together but never meet in this life. From both we may derive symbols. We are doing so now. For fun.

But let me maintain that when any ceiling is evident as low or lofty, then something is gone wrong whatever feet and inches may be.

The height of a ceiling should be such that appropriate human scale is maintained in a proportion that makes it unlikely (were one's attention ever directed to the matter) that anyone could guess its "height" in feet or inches.

[snip]

The modern tyrant is made by the "high ceiling" of credulous hero-worship; worship of force; worship of extremes of any sort. Perhaps it would be safe to say "worship" of any sort.

Inspiration is no matter of feet and inches. Wholly an interior affair, it is a matter of character and growth from within the nature of whatever is inspiring. First quality of inspiration is interior integrity: fitness to purpose that wears the exterior countenance of principle which we call beauty.

Tall or short has little (or nothing) to do with it all! Except as one lifts one's spirit with one's eyes to contemplate harmonious express of the spirit either of man (or mankind) as Entity, haven't we progressed beyond that point where a Gothic spire is needed to say that God is in his heaven and that his heaven is way off "up there"?

[snip]

William Blake said "Exuberance is Beauty." But he meant according to Nature without stint. The point at which exuberance becomes exaggeration is where Sentiment degenerates to sentimentality, where love becomes lust, and where Grandeur breaks down into grandomania. That is to say where good proportion becomes excess. High ceilings are not according to the nature and proportion of the figure of the human being. Exaggeration of the relationship is not exuberance. It is merely excess.

[snip]

Thomas Jefferson? Well...Thomas Jefferson is one of my adorations.

[snip]

A little mistake, however, getting his colored people in to play Mozart instead of refreshing his soul by having them sing their own spirituals to him. That "Mozart" was a little too high ceiling. Really.

[snip]

Now--let me contend that if the limits of Art are not "set in advance" the measure of appreciation accorded the artist will be mediocre. And I assure you he will deserve the mediocrity he will achieve. Because an artist's limitations are always his best friends! It is within them by way of his respect for them that he will rise supreme as creator.

All great Art does create in the beholder the "self-satisfaction" that was the artist's great joy in his work. That joy is reflected in the beholder's own satisfaction with the great artist's satisfaction.

Yes, the limits of all Art great or small, are severely set in place by the problem itself as presented to the artist for solution. Within those constitutional limits every problem carries its own solution.

"Walt Whitman?" Yes. Of course he knew the truth of what I am saying here if ever a man did know it. He said it much better than I can say it but no better than I can build it, thank you.

[snip]

...a proper ceiling over their heads might have saved us now from the loss of the moral leadership of a mortal world plunged into confusion and agony because "the sky is the limit."

[snip]

So (an architect speaking) let the ceilings of Democracy be in good proportion, there where they belong!

Democracy is the ceiling appropriate to true human scale! Therefore a natural challenge to the high ceilings of Stateism. A splendid heresy today!

RCR

Edited February 13, 2007 by R. Christian Ross

[cjsmall]

Jim:

Thanks for your thoughtful reply in your Post #151. I'm in agreement that the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain is Gehry's most successful work, at least from a sculptural perspective. I assume from your detailed comments that you have visited the building and I was interested in your observations. This is a project that I have only seen through exterior photos, and I have never really understood it in its urban context as it appears that it is very difficult to photograph from other than riverside. I do think the building benefits from the titanium cladding which I understand was surplus Russian material that they were able to obtain for a very very low price - otherwise the building's finish would have been some other material and might not have the same fantastic luster. I find the manner in which the forms intersect here to be much more organic than those in most of his other structures, although I still find the left-most tower in the photo below to be jarring and inconsistent with the rest of the building and the "eyebrows" over the central glass curtainwall seems weak and contrived.

I also have never seen a decent interior photograph of the building so I don't feel I am in a position to really comment on it or any functional aspects. I thought your observation about the building containing an element of dread was extremely interesting. That is not something I ever picked up from viewing the photographs but I hope to one day visit Spain and experience the museum first hand. I'm afraid my exposure to Gehry's work comes from other sources such his LA residence and the Experience Music Project in Seattle along with his own descriptions of his design methods.

Although Jim didn't actually raise this point explicitly, I would like to clarify that in my previous post where I delineated a number of human values that I found in Wright's work, I certainly did not mean this to be any sort of comprehensive checklist that could be used exclusively to evaluate all works of architecture in order to determine their worth. I was simply using Wright's work and these particular values to highlight my point that architecture, through its artistic aspects, could convey and reinforce human values. Just as with the ongoing discussion by others in this thread regarding works of art, I think that each building needs to be evaluated on its own terms as to what it has to say in the spiritual realm and how well it communicates those messages. Wright's work just happens to speak to me in the language of my highest values and that is one reason why I find it so appealing.

Since we are speaking of sculptural architecture, as a point of contrast to Gehry, I would like to offer a few of the works by the Spanish architect/engineer Santiago Calatrava.

To me, while Gehry's sculptural forms have the appearance of motion frozen in space and time, Calatrava's work projects flowing motion in action. And that is apt as many of his structures are engineering marvels with major components that actually operate to change the building's form in response to environmental or functional requirements. I believe that one of the primary reasons that Calatrava's works seems so alive while Gehry's is more static is that Calatrava's forms are derived from or relate to the the organic body of humans and animals while Gehry's source of inspiration comes from the abstract manipulation of materials such as paper and cardboard. With Calatrava we can relate to the "skin", "bones" and "tendons" of each work and sense the function that the structural components are expected to perform. We "know" why the building stands and functions because we have so much experience with our own bodies and those of other animals, and this connection to the organic makes the buildings come to life. If these images intrigue you, I highly recommend investigating his work further.

Regards,

--

Jeff

Edited February 13, 2007 by Jeffery Small

[cjsmall]

Christian:

Well, you really got me laughing with your post #153! I can make sense out of most (but not all) of this because I am so familiar with Wright, but really, I think much of Wright's writing should just be avoided. If you can wade through all the purple prose there may be a nugget of wisdom, but you really will need the hip boots!. Of course, I'm sure that is what some people think about my writing as well! :-)

Regards,

--

Jeff

[James Shay]

Jim:

Thanks for your thoughtful reply in your Post #151. I'm in agreement that the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain is Gehry's most successful work, at least from a sculptural perspective. I assume from your detailed comments that you have visited the building and I was interested in your observations. This is a project that I have only seen through exterior photos, and I have never really understood it in its urban context as it appears that it is very difficult to photograph from other than riverside. I do think the building benefits from the titanium cladding which I understand was surplus Russian material that they were able to obtain for a very very low price - otherwise the building's finish would have been some other material and might not have the same fantastic luster. I find the manner in which the forms intersect here to be much more organic than those in most of his other structures, although I still find the left-most tower in the photo below to be jarring and inconsistent with the rest of the building and the "eyebrows" over the central glass curtainwall seems weak and contrived.

I also have never seen a decent interior photograph of the building so I don't feel I am in a position to really comment on it or any functional aspects. I thought your observation about the building containing an element of dread was extremely interesting. That is not something I ever picked up from viewing the photographs but I hope to one day visit Spain and experience the museum first hand. I'm afraid my exposure to Gehry's work comes from other sources such his LA residence and the Experience Music Project in Seattle along with his own descriptions of his design methods.

Although Jim didn't actually raise this point explicitly, I would like to clarify that in my previous post where I delineated a number of human values that I found in Wright's work, I certainly did not mean this to be any sort of comprehensive checklist that could be used exclusively to evaluate all works of architecture in order to determine their worth. I was simply using Wright's work and these particular values to highlight my point that architecture, through its artistic aspects, could convey and reinforce human values. Just as with the ongoing discussion by others in this thread regarding works of art, I think that each building needs to be evaluated on its own terms as to what it has to say in the spiritual realm and how well it communicates those messages. Wright's work just happens to speak to me in the language of my highest values and that is one reason why I find it so appealing.

Since we are speaking of sculptural architecture, as a point of contrast to Gehry, I would like to offer a few of the works by the Spanish architect/engineer Santiago Calatrava.

To me, while Gehry's sculptural forms have the appearance of motion frozen in space and time, Calatrava's work projects flowing motion in action. And that is apt as many of his structures are engineering marvels with major components that actually operate to change the building's form in response to environmental or functional requirements. I believe that one of the primary reasons that Calatrava's works seems so alive while Gehry's is more static is that Calatrava's forms are derived from or relate to the the organic body of humans and animals while Gehry's source of inspiration comes from the abstract manipulation of materials such as paper and cardboard. With Calatrava we can relate to the "skin", "bones" and "tendons" of each work and sense the function that the structural components are expected to perform. We "know" why the building stands and functions because we have so much experience with our own bodies and those of other animals, and this connection to the organic makes the buildings come to life. If these images intrigue you, I highly recommend investigating his work further.

Regards,

--

Jeff

Definitely no "dread" in Calatrava, Jeff. I also like very much the organic nature of his structure, but miss texture, color, spatial progression, asymmetry. He's an engineer, as you know, not an architect. I think he needs to get up to speed with some more architectural values. Nevertheless, wonderful structures.

Some of the values in the work of Wright speak to me, as well. But, I like a little more gravitas in buildings, in general, than many of his have. A few years ago I visited many of the homes in Oak Park. "Too many notes!". A little too jolly for me. At his best, though, there's no one like him.

I think both Calatrava's and Gehry's buildings have movement within their forms. Calatrava's buildings soar. Unfortunately, most of Gehry's wriggle and writhe.

Jim

[Ellen Stuttle]

I find the manner in which the forms intersect here [the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain] to be much more organic than those in most of [Gehry's] other structures, although I still find the left-most tower in the photo below to be jarring and inconsistent with the rest of the building and the "eyebrows" over the central glass curtainwall seems weak and contrived.

I, too, find the left-most tower jarring, and I feel that I want to blot it out while looking at the rest of the building. It seems to me that the "eyebrows" look more proportionate if the tower is blotted out, although they still look somewhat too protuberant. What is the tower for, does anyone know? A parking garage or what?

To me, while Gehry's sculptural forms have the appearance of motion frozen in space and time, Calatrava's work projects flowing motion in action. And that is apt as many of his structures are engineering marvels with major components that actually operate to change the building's form in response to environmental or functional requirements. I believe that one of the primary reasons that Calatrava's works seems so alive while Gehry's is more static is that Calatrava's forms are derived from or relate to the the organic body of humans and animals while Gehry's source of inspiration comes from the abstract manipulation of materials such as paper and cardboard. With Calatrava we can relate to the "skin", "bones" and "tendons" of each work and sense the function that the structural components are expected to perform. We "know" why the building stands and functions because we have so much experience with our own bodies and those of other animals, and this connection to the organic makes the buildings come to life. [....]

I, too, get a sense of organic aliveness from the Calatrava photos, and I see what you mean about Gehry's "source of inspiration com[ing] from the abstract manipulation of materials such as paper and cardboard." A number of his forms look to me, as I think MSK has said they do to him, like crumpled paper and cardboard.

Btw, although I find the "Fred and Ginger" building fun, I agree with Brant in finding it "funny once" (to borrow a phrase from The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress). It seems to me amusing as a novelty, but I would not want to have Prague dotted with similar structures; they'd wreck the city's character.

Ellen

___

Edited February 13, 2007 by Ellen Stuttle

[reason.on]

I think both Calatrava's and Gehry's buildings have movement within their forms. Calatrava's buildings soar. Unfortunately, most of Gehry's wriggle and writhe.

I tend to agree. I was wondering when Calatrava would come into the discussion...

I've been to the museum in Milwaukee a couple of times, and it truly is an astounding building. I don't think I have ever had so much fun just walking around taking in the interior and exterior of a building. Every angle affords a new perceptual pleasure. I highly recommend that anyone in the area go for visit (and then head on up to Spring Green to visit FLW's northern home). Many of the pieces of art inside, well that's a whole different story.

I've also spent time in Millennium Park in Chicago, where Gerhy designed the band shell (and also the home of "the bean"). "The bean" is absolutely a fascinating and delightful piece to explore, looking at pictures of it doesn't even come close to replicating the experience of walking through and around it. People watching around the structure is also a treat.

I don't really like the Gerhy band shell in Millennium Park, nor do I like most of his work. I think the band shell looks like a puked-up pile of nonsensical forms, especially contrasted against the portion of skyline that stands behind it. It looks like some metal buildings fell apart, but stuck together during the collapse. To me, it just looks silly, and dumb. There is an interesting contrast between the band shell and the stage (which, for all the world looks very FLW'ish). The stage itself is very symmetrical and made of (or to look like) amber-stained wood. And of course, seeing concerts there is definitely a treat (regardless of the Gehry).

RCR

[reason.on]

I think you're now understanding my reaction to the scene. I wasn't saying that it's bad art, just that I don't like it.

Yes, yes...it is that line between "not liking" and "objecting on artistic grounds" that is tripping me up for various reasons.

For example, I can say that I don't like the scene for completely personal, subjective reasons, but I can also say I don't like the scene because of its specific artistic qualities.

Hypothetically, I could make the statement that I don't like the scene because Rand writes it with too much relish, and if she had changed her wording I wouldn't then find it so objectionable, further, if she changed her wording, the scene would support/reflect/serve the overall theme better (or so I could argue).

Now that seems to me like an fully normative aesthetic judgment which judges the technical aspects of the scene against the context of the theme of the novel (the standard) and prescribes an alternate method in support of that standard.

Would you agree?

Yes, I'd agree, almost....

Ellen, just a quick word of appreciation for the great responce. I'm working on a follow up reply...

RCR

[reason.on]

Christian:

Well, you really got me laughing with your post #153! I can make sense out of most (but not all) of this because I am so familiar with Wright, but really, I think much of Wright's writing should just be avoided. If you can wade through all the purple prose there may be a nugget of wisdom, but you really will need the hip boots!. Of course, I'm sure that is what some people think about my writing as well! :-)

FLW does have his own unique writing style. I'm not particularly averse to "purple prose", so I actually enjoy reading him, and I also find the nuggets of wisdom in his writing to be plentiful. A Testament was a joy for me to read, but I've also found it very worthwhile to study his many essays and articles. I'd recommend anyone who is interested in the man or the thinking behind his work to read at least some of what he wrote over the years.

RCR

Edited February 13, 2007 by R. Christian Ross

[reason.on]

as I think MSK has said they do to him, like crumpled paper and cardboard.

To me, the first thing I almost always think of when I look at Gerhy's work is a pile of half-digested scrap, gaked-up by some giant metal-eating monster, on his way home from a kegger. I tend to think his buildings are like metalic fur-balls littering the landscape.

RCR

[cjsmall]

Christian:

It is interesting that you have read A Testament and other works by Wright. If you don't mind my asking, what is your professional background?

Regards,

--

Jeff

[reason.on]

Christian:

It is interesting that you have read A Testament and other works by Wright. If you don't mind my asking, what is your professional background?

My "professional background" is mostly in software development/project management, but I also spent a couple of years working in construction project management (mostly with The Field Museum in Chicago), IT recruiting (yuck!), and a very short stint working in a graphics-production shop/consulting-firm for litigating attorneys. Right out of school, I also worked as a cubicle installer, teacher, and retail-schlep (clothes, cell phones, shoes).

My somewhat acute interest in FLW, btw, has less to do with "architecture" per say, and more to do with the creative mind at work in the world.

RCR

Edited February 14, 2007 by R. Christian Ross

[Jonathan]

I think both Calatrava's and Gehry's buildings have movement within their forms. Calatrava's buildings soar. Unfortunately, most of Gehry's wriggle and writhe.

I've sometimes thought that if Rand's description of Halley's Fifth were to be translated into architectural form, it would probably look like something designed by Calatrava.

And that makes me wonder about how Objectivists might imagine that Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead and We The Living would translate into other art forms. As buildings or musical compositions, would they "soar"? Would they be like bursts of joy with only faint echoes of that from which they escaped, or, considering all of the pain, repression, conflict and struggle within the novels, would they "wriggle and writhe"?

J

Edited February 15, 2007 by Jonathan

[James Shay]

I think both Calatrava's and Gehry's buildings have movement within their forms. Calatrava's buildings soar. Unfortunately, most of Gehry's wriggle and writhe.

I've sometimes thought that if Rand's description of Halley's Fifth were to be translated into architectural form, it would probably look like something designed by Calatrava.

And that makes me wonder about how Objectivists might imagine that Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead and We The Living would translate into other art forms. As buildings or musical compositions, would they "soar"? Would they be like bursts of joy with only faint echoes of that from which they escaped, or, considering all of the pain, repression, conflict and struggle within the novels, would they "wriggle and writhe"?

J

Jonathan, What you say about Calatrava is right on. In an earlier post I mentioned that Roark's buildings might look like Norman Foster's. But, I think Calatrava is a much better comparison. They're more structural. However, unlike Roark's, his structures have been celebrated from the get-go, deservedly. It's hard to imagine Roark doing that work and encountering the kind of opposition he meets in the book.

One of the pieces of art that in my imagination correlates with the spirit of her writing is the second movement of Beethovan's Seventh Symphony. It seems to approach victory, but at an enormous effort and price, and reminds me of the middle sections of Atlas Shrugged. I think whatever the assumed forms of her novels, they wouldn't soar, except perhaps as the endings of Atlas or the Fountainhead approached. But, they definitely wouldn't wriggle and writhe.

I wonder what the work of the sculptor (Steven Mallory?) in The Fountainhead would look like. Perhaps Rodin, in an earlier age, but not in the 40's when the book was written. I don't at all imagine his work as Grecian or Roman figures, which seem to be obliquely referenced via Dominique.

When I read the novels in my twenties I was influenced by Rand's high regard for Rachmaninoff, and I still imagine the beginning chapters of Atlas scored to the beginning of his 3rd Paino Concerto. It feels a bit odd to say that, though, because I'm very leery of the strange pantheon of "approved objectivist artists", including Rachmaninoff and Vermeer, for example. They're praised by many objectivists who don't, in my opinion, really listen to their own hearts and find their own loves in art. But I still see the association.

Jim

[cjsmall]

In an earlier post I mentioned that Roark's buildings might look like Norman Foster's. But, I think Calatrava is a much better comparison. They're more structural. However, unlike Roark's, his structures have been celebrated from the get-go, deservedly. It's hard to imagine Roark doing that work and encountering the kind of opposition he meets in the book.

Jim:

It's exciting to think of Calatrava's structures being used in the movie of The Fountainhead instead of the sad buildings that were actually featured.

I agree that Calatrava's work has been generally well received, but I wonder if that would have been the case if he had been producing these works in the '30s and '40s which is the time frame for Roark. I think a lot of groundwork has been laid over the past 50+ years to prepare the general public for the expressionism of Calatrava's buildings. And while I think, despite public outcry, that there might have been some brave souls that could have commissioned Calatrava to build these works in those earlier times (just as Wright found his clients), I seriously doubt that Gehry could have gotten anything built in that same period. I think acceptance of much of his work rests upon the public's exposure to the contemporary art scene (cubism, dadaism, surrealism, expressionism, abstract expressionism, deconstructivism) which paved the way for his work. I also think that professional architectural critics were also prepared for Gehry through a more recent chain of architects like Robert Venturi, Michael Graves and Peter Eisenman. I doubt that Gehry's work would have been well received in the 1960's for example. That, in itself, is not a criticism, just an observation on my part. What do you think?

Regards,

--

Jeff

[cjsmall]

For those that are interested, I found two more digital photos of my house that were taken by a friend. The first is of the mailbox while the second is a companion piece of sculpture at my entry. Both are visible from the road. The entry sculpture is actually a structural steel brace that is bolted into the rear of the glass wall and is designed to support the thin horizontal wood members which carry the weight of the glass. What you are actually seeing is the shadow of the sculpture which is cast on the frosted glass panels. At night this glass is back-lit and provides the illumination for the entry. On the mailbox the red cylinder to the left is for the newspaper, the large gold drum is for mail, and the small green tube to the right is actually the "flag". You can pull the front cap on that cylinder forward to reveal a red stripe which indicates to the mailman that there is outgoing mail to be picked up.

Regards,

--

Jeff

[Ellen Stuttle]

And that makes me wonder about how Objectivists might imagine that Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead and We The Living would translate into other art forms. As buildings or musical compositions, would they "soar"? Would they be like bursts of joy with only faint echoes of that from which they escaped, or, considering all of the pain, repression, conflict and struggle within the novels, would they "wriggle and writhe"?

Oy, what a question. I don't qualify to answer it, considering that it's a wonderment re O'ist reactions; however, I will answer as regards Atlas. If I were pushed to the wall being required to give a musical analogy, the Ring Cycle is the one which comes to mind. I'm not thinking of an immediate musical comparison to either of the other two.

E-

___

[Ellen Stuttle]

One of the pieces of art that in my imagination correlates with the spirit of her writing is the second movement of Beethovan's Seventh Symphony. It seems to approach victory, but at an enormous effort and price, and reminds me of the middle sections of Atlas Shrugged.

I hear a genuine core serenity as central to the almost-to-the-breaking-point bittersweet pain of that movement, a core senenity which I don't feel Atlas achieves, though it speaks of its achievement.

Ellen

___

[James Shay]

In an earlier post I mentioned that Roark's buildings might look like Norman Foster's. But, I think Calatrava is a much better comparison. They're more structural. However, unlike Roark's, his structures have been celebrated from the get-go, deservedly. It's hard to imagine Roark doing that work and encountering the kind of opposition he meets in the book.

Jim:

It's exciting to think of Calatrava's structures being used in the movie of The Fountainhead instead of the sad buildings that were actually featured.

I agree that Calatrava's work has been generally well received, but I wonder if that would have been the case if he had been producing these works in the '30s and '40s which is the time frame for Roark. I think a lot of groundwork has been laid over the past 50+ years to prepare the general public for the expressionism of Calatrava's buildings. And while I think, despite public outcry, that there might have been some brave souls that could have commissioned Calatrava to build these works in those earlier times (just as Wright found his clients), I seriously doubt that Gehry could have gotten anything built in that same period. I think acceptance of much of his work rests upon the public's exposure to the contemporary art scene (cubism, dadaism, surrealism, expressionism, abstract expressionism, deconstructivism) which paved the way for his work. I also think that professional architectural critics were also prepared for Gehry through a more recent chain of architects like Robert Venturi, Michael Graves and Peter Eisenman. I doubt that Gehry's work would have been well received in the 1960's for example. That, in itself, is not a criticism, just an observation on my part. What do you think?

Regards,

--

Jeff

Jeff, I think the art movements you list, with the exception of abstract expressioniism, definitely laid the groundwork for Gehry, as well as for Eisenman - who perhaps did help lay some of the initial groundwork ahead of Gehry as well. I don't see the connection, though with Venturi and Graves. Well, maybe I can see Graves - in his early work the extension of Corbusier's cubist values. Not in his more PoMo work, such as the Humana Building. I know, he's a "sheetrock classicist", but I still like some of it.

I don't remember exactly when Nervi practiced, but he was something like a Calatrava in his day, and I do think the American public would have been ready for him, had he practiced more in the States. I think America has always been ready for more "organic" architecture. For example, Goff had no trouble getting clients among the farmers and ranchers of the midwest. Unfortunately, aside from him and a few others there just have not been many "organic" builders. I wish more had become of Herb Green. The academy has preached straight-ahead modernism for decades, pushing everything else far to the sidelines for young students. Perhaps Calatrava's example will lead to more.

In your own home you've done a fine job of integrating two and three-dimensional art forms into your work so that they are real parts of the architecture in the best organic sense. Excellent work.

Jim

[cjsmall]

I don't see the connection, though with Venturi and Graves. Well, maybe I can see Graves - in his early work the extension of Corbusier's cubist values. Not in his more PoMo work, such as the Humana Building. I know, he's a "sheetrock classicist", but I still like some of it.

Jim:

I include Robert Venturi in this list for his theoretical monograph Complexity and Contradiction which laid the groundwork for buildings devoid of integration and values. I never though that his own built work lived up to his theory; that task was left to those who followed such as Graves and Eisenman. Graves was more important for the "dialog" that was carried out in the press regarding his work than for the actual buildings (now, thankfully, pretty much forgotten). Eisenman on the other hand, really knew what he was doing in his expression of anti-values and disdain for humanity. He comes the closest to Tooehy of any architect I am familiar with.

In your own home you've done a fine job of integrating two and three-dimensional art forms into your work so that they are real parts of the architecture in the best organic sense. Excellent work.

Thanks Jim.

Regards,

--

Jeff

[Ellen Stuttle]

Eisenman on the other hand, really knew what he was doing in his expression of anti-values and disdain for humanity.

From what I can see of the building shown above, I'm intrigued by the look of it, though I don't know how I'd react were I to see the building in full view, in context of the surroundings. Something about it brings the thought of certain of Escher's works to my mind. I'm curious: Did Eisenman's architectural theories make any reference to Escher?

Ellen

___

[cjsmall]

From what I can see of the building shown above, I'm intrigued by the look of it, though I don't know how I'd react were I to see the building in full view, in context of the surroundings. Something about it brings the thought of certain of Escher's works to my mind. I'm curious: Did Eisenman's architectural theories make any reference to Escher?

Ellen:

I don't remember ever seeing any reference to Escher. I don't know if Eisenman invented the idea of the rotated grid (probably not) but his early work was all about manipulating grids; either rotation them or transposing them - sometimes in 3D space. One of his first houses had stairways that went to nowhere or "inverted" stairs on the ceiling; columns that came down in all sorts of places (due to these transformations) that interrupted the ability to successfully use or navigate the building; "slots" that ran through the building that made it impossible for the clients to have a double bed so two twins were required in violation of the original requirements; and so on. The occupants of these buildings certainly were not the driving factor in the designs. These were studies of geometric manipulations and had about as much to do with architecture as Mondrian's red/blue/yellow/black compositions had to do with fine art. Here is the only other view of this building that I could find that shows something of the context, but I have no idea what side of the building we are seeing here. By the way, this is a Tokyo office building.

Regards;

--

Jeff

Edited February 16, 2007 by Jeffery Small

[James Shay]

From what I can see of the building shown above, I'm intrigued by the look of it, though I don't know how I'd react were I to see the building in full view, in context of the surroundings. Something about it brings the thought of certain of Escher's works to my mind. I'm curious: Did Eisenman's architectural theories make any reference to Escher?

Ellen:

I don't remember ever seeing any reference to Escher. I don't know if Eisenman invented the idea of the rotated grid (probably not) but his early work was all about manipulating grids; either rotation them or transposing them - sometimes in 3D space. One of his first houses had stairways that went to nowhere or "inverted" stairs on the ceiling; columns that came down in all sorts of places (due to these transformations) that interrupted the ability to successfully use or navigate the building; "slots" that ran through the building that made it impossible for the clients to have a double bed so two twins were required in violation of the original requirements; and so on. The occupants of these buildings certainly were not the driving factor in the designs. These were studies of geometric manipulations and had about as much to do with architecture as Mondrian's red/blue/yellow/black compositions had to do with fine art. Here is the only other view of this building that I could find that shows something of the context, but I have no idea what side of the building we are seeing here. By the way, this is a Tokyo office building.

Regards;

--

Jeff

What a hideous building. Eisenman did a convention center in Cincinnatti with diagonally rotated grids that was so uncomfortable for conventioneers to be in that it was extensively remodeled. His house "10", with the split bed, is quite beautiful in its own way, but unliveable.

The Mondrian, however, is sublimely beautiful. It conveys bravery, grace, resolution, adventure, and a degree of ruthlessness. It's a wonderful work of art. The sense of rational intelligence it conveys makes it a good candidate for the art sales link that this forum has. By the way, it pays to ignore Mondrian's writings. Like the great Kandinsky, Wright and many other artists, he did a poor job of explaining in words what he did. But, what a painter.

Jim Shay

[cjsmall]

The Mondrian, however, is sublimely beautiful. It conveys bravery, grace, resolution, adventure, and a degree of ruthlessness. It's a wonderful work of art. The sense of rational intelligence it conveys makes it a good candidate for the art sales link that this forum has. By the way, it pays to ignore Mondrian's writings. Like the great Kandinsky, Wright and many other artists, he did a poor job of explaining in words what he did. But, what a painter.

Jim:

I'm not questioning whether the Mondrian is pretty or not. I am only saying that it is not art. Personally, I would classify these works as studies in certain attributes of art such as balance, proportion, etc., and I would be willing to classify them as decoration, very much like Wright's abstract patterns for stained glass in his buildings. But I am at a loss to see how they are a recreation of reality with some value-based message to convey. Which of course brings us full circle to where this thread started! :-) I'm willing to be educated to see something new, so can you explain a bit more how you read the attributes of bravery, grace, resolution, adventure, and ruthlessness in the painting above? Thanks.

Regards,

--

Jeff