An evocative balustrade

image001My favorite type of classical ornament has long been the baluster. I have a very small collection of balusters, including one from the Rhode Island State House, designed by Charles Follen McKim of McKim Mead & White and finished in 1901, and another from the John Brown House, also in the state capital, completed in 1788 and designed by Joseph Brown, whose client John, a rich China merchant, was his brother. They both occupy places of honor in my living room, the former serving as a table for an ornate lamp at the end of the couch, the latter leaning (alas, in broken pieces) against a charming cement frog just beneath our television set.

The balusters that welcome readers to this blog are arrayed along the front entrance, on Washington Street, of the Providence Public Library, designed by Stone, Carpenter & Willson and finished in 1900. A set of balusters that form a railing is called a balustrade.

I expect that some readers, as they plowed through the initial paragraphs of this post, will not have been able to prevent their attention from straying back to the photo of the curious balustrade that is its subject. Most balustrades feature a set of identical balusters in a row. This one features two alternating sets of balusters. Look at them closely.

Don’t look at the balusters themselves but at the space between each set. You will see that they frame a pair of figures facing each other with heads bowed. The balusters are not sculptures themselves; rather, they mold the space between them into sculpture. On each a sad look can be seen, half-imagined, on its downcast visage.

A tip of the hat to Roy Lewis, who sent the photo of the balustrade to the TradArch list back in March. Here are Roy’s notes about the balustrade in the photo.

I found this variant of the familiar Rubin Vase figure/ground illusion online, but have not yet found its source. [It is a] great balustrade that has a certain affinity with Jože Plečnik [the famous classical architect of Ljubljana, now in Slovenia]. Perhaps, in designing the fabric of an African American history museum, this could be a way of rendering visible the invisible African Americans who built much of America. All that is required to see is a change in focus, what could be a more apt expression Black History these days?

Roy’s comments manifest the eternally evocative quality of classicism, even though these balusters depart prominently from the Greco-Roman canon both in their moldings and in the stylized alternating pairs that form the balustrade. Roy sent them to the TradArch list during a string of threads about two museums that will commemorate the nation’s tragic legacy of slavery – the National Museum of African American History and Culture, under construction in Washington, and the International African American Museum, being planned in Charleston.

Are these balusters classical? That’s the question often posed to the TradArch list by Andrés Duany, who is working on a treatise, Heterodoxia, to expand the reach of the classical. He wants to include noncanonical orders that would expand the expressive range of classicism. These sad balusters demonstrate the emotive possibilities of their type.

Part of Duany’s quest is to recapture such storied architects as Plečnik, who are considered “pioneers of modernism” for breaking from the classical canon. Maybe he is that, but his work speaks more to the expansion of tradition than to the rejection of tradition that modern architecture represents, so it is appropriate to welcome Plečnik and others back into the fold.

And the balustrade above certainly testifies to the more sensitive language of architecture that ought to be used in the design of buildings whose symbolism will, or at least should, help to guide America’s thinking about slavery for centuries.

About David Brussat

For a living, I edit the writing of some of the nation's leading architects, urbanists and design theorists. This blog was begun in 2009 as a feature of the Providence Journal, where I was on the editorial board and wrote a weekly column of architecture criticism for three decades. Architecture Here and There fights the style wars for classical architecture and against modern architecture, no holds barred. My freelance writing and editing on that topic and others addresses issues of design and culture locally and globally. I am a fellow of the Royal Society of the Arts, and a member of the board of the New England chapter of the Institute of Classical Architecture & Art, which bestowed an Arthur Ross Award on me in 2002. I work from Providence, R.I., where I live with my wife Victoria, my son Billy and our cat Gato. If you would like to invest your prose with even more style and clarity, please email me at my consultancy, dbrussat@gmail.com, or call 401.351.0457. Testimonial: "Your work is so wonderful - you now enter my mind and write what I would have written." - Nikos Salingaros, mathematician at the University of Texas, architectural theorist and author of many books.
This entry was posted in Architecture, Architecture Education, Art and design, Development and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to An evocative balustrade

  1. Ompong says:

    The hidden figures were well placed in the spaces between the two sets of the balusters. I did initially focused on the balusters themselves but you directed me to look at the spaces instead… That’s when I saw the “illusion”. It’s so subtle… 🙂

    Like

  2. Steven Semes says:

    The balustrade is a marvel of design and deeply expressive. You are correct about it only requiring a “change of focus” to see the figures. Very appropriate to the theme. Is it classical? That is not a question that can be answered by referring to some predetermined rule. It is classical if classical designers see it that way. The tradition is not a set of rules but a set of models. Deciding which models are “in” and which are “out” is the life of the tradition, but it is a continuous and ongoing process. What was “classical” in fifth-century BC in Athens was not “classical” in seventeenth-century Rome. That is the beauty of a tradition. It is a literature, not a grammar textbook. Thank you for this arresting image and i hope someone will be able to identify it so we can give credit where it is deserved.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s