“Architecture is the picture frame and not the picture” is a memorable quote attributed to the mid-century California modernist, William Wurster. Wurster, a notable teacher as well as an architect, was reminding his students that architecture is always a setting, not the main event. I thought of Wurster’s observation recently when I was writing an essay for Architect on the challenges of architectural biography. Why are there so few first-rate biographies of architects, I asked? Or, to put it another way, why don’t first-rate biographers such as David McCullough, Edmund Morris, and Walter Isaacson, take the life of an architect as their subject? Is it that there are simply too few readers who are interested in what architects actually do? People are fascinated by cars, for example, but they are not that interested in how—and by whom—they are designed. You can count recognizable car designers on one hand: Ferdinand Porsche (Volkswagen Beetle), Alec Issigonis (Mini), Raymond Loewy (Studebaker Commander), Harley Earl (1953 Corvette), Pinninfarina (Giulietta Spider). Similarly, people recognize iconic buildings (the White House, the Empire State, San Francisoco City Hall) without necessarily knowing—or caring—who built or designed them. Or, as a friend suggested, perhaps architects are just not that important in the overall scheme of things. After all, what would you rather read about, the person who made the picture frame, or the one who painted the picture?
On Culture and Architecture
That is NOT where I thought this was going. I guess you’ll have to wright the biographies?
Thanks.
Terry
The forward to my book of photographs on the most humble examples of architecture.
Of all the people I would like to hang out for a day and walk the urban landscape is Witold Rybczynski. As an architect and teacher, he has the ability to disentangle all of the pre-conceived notions of what architecture is and return it to its true state as a frame crafted in time and altered in time. He appreciates the human scale and the human interface with architecture. There are surely well worn and well won guides on architecture. Although I admire the grand achievements and the aspirations of the grandiose in this frenzy of the modern age, it is the simple call of a small porch, doorway, or window that draws my attention. To witness craftsmanship in different materials and to engage architecture on the human scale is what gives me the most joy. Over time, the architecture of the city and the rural landscape change. The randomness of adjoining buildings or the reclaiming by nature on the built-environment creates a fabric of untold complexities. While we think our work will endure the ages, the relentless pace of time has its own agenda. Real estate values are the single most danger to architecture. Everything has to be new and much is lost in that impulse. I see my rural landscape diminishing into cookie- cutter homes. I see the urban landscape gentrified in the cold plague of bigger and higher that dwarfs our joy in diversity, traditions, and comfort in what we value.
I have been luck to work in the field of design and construction for thirty years. For me it is always understanding the vision of those that will live, work, or pray in that future place that you are seeking to create. I just love listening and I think the best architecture is born from listening.
I have been fortunate to have had the time to listen and walk the craftsmen style homes in Southern California, especially my home town of Redlands and Pasadena. I was also fortunate to save a bungalow and have it moved to a heritage park. I do think museums and heritage parks are extremely important during this time of erosion of traditions. A few photographs are from these places. As much as I don’t like the personality of Frank Lloyd Wright, I do think that despite his reputation, he did listen well. The modern day equivalent in stature is Frank Gehry. I love his early whimsical works. Now he has become a factory. I don’t trust factories.
So all this rambling is to take you back to my personal witness of what I enjoy in architecture. I do like the temporal quality of it. I do like the personal expression of color that are often applied. I love the murals that you find in the urban landscape. We often think that the urban environment is blighted and without hope. I find it completely different in the presence of a mural. They are most often clever, full of reality, and inject meaning into the blank walls left empty by demolition.
But my home is outside the cities, where I walk among the barns and the architecture of earlier times: some are in ruins, some are well preserved, and some recreated. In Southern Maryland, it is the churches that still stand tall. People invested everything in these churches. I am always drawn to the gravity of spirituality. These churches draw me in to find the better angels of my life and dispel the darkness that often overcomes me.
The final photograph is the least technically proficient, but it is all that I hold dear in values and the power of architecture. It was taken during a march for Black Lives Matter. The inscription carved into the marble reflects so much how architecture can drive the dynamics of our lives.
So these are the images of my witness to a world that is briefly mine.