The hegemony of architecture

Architecture may be suffering from a hegemonic conundrum that afflicts the major institutions of the whole world. It is not just hegemon vs. hegemon anymore, according to analyst Richard Fernandez in his recent essay “There Is Something Wrong with our Giant Institutions.” Instead, what we may now have is the slow-motion collapse of major societal institutions – whether in the realm of world affairs (such as the U.S. vs. China) or in the operation of one’s local Department of Motor Vehicles.
(We all know how the U.S. is collapsing. I would be interested in hearing how China is collapsing. But the CCP is unlikely to satisfy my curiosity.)
So what has that to do with architecture? First, please forgive me for using a ridiculously highfalutin word, hegemon, which means an entity of powerful influence in a particular field. Fernandez speculates that the big institutions that run our society have become too complex to manage effectively, leading to the “awareness that bureaucracies have expanded to their level of incompetence.” Fernandez concludes:
The world, like a team of wild horses, may have gotten away from the U.N., Xi, Vladimir, and Joe because it’s gotten too dang complicated to control. Going back to historical metaphors, humanity may be reliving, not the fall of Rome but the fall of Babel.
Architecture’s hegemon since World War II has been modernism. In the 1950s it replaced tradition’s dominance in building design that had lasted for centuries. Architecture used to be about designing buildings, but in recent decades the field has submerged itself in a broader realm of finance and industry, in which profits depend not on satisfying the needs of individual clients – whether of families or corporate boards – but on advancing interconnected corporate and institutional strategies and agendas having little to do with specific buildings or even, lately, the established purposes of those corporations or institutions.
The diversity of such agendas has undermined the single-mindedness of most advanced design firms. The firms themselves have grown exponentially as each item of their expanding agendas has required the hiring of employees to staff a cascading range of new offices and departments, some of which have little or nothing to do with architecture. Urban planning firms have always been more complex than architecture firms, but their expanding agendas also push them further toward unmanagability.
A good example, perhaps, is the new urbanism, which started out as a movement that in the 1990s gained popularity by designing new communities that appealed to families seeking traditional homes in walkable neighborhoods of a sort where “grandma used to live.” In recent decades, the new urbanists seem to have sunk their original thinking into a broader agenda where style and tradition are now secondary to such meta concerns as climate change and social equity. The new agenda has introduced complexity into the original movement’s simple program – “the old urbanism revived” – that so many Americans found so compelling.
This increased complexity has been embraced by modernist architectural firms but resisted by more traditional firms interested in offering the normal services provided by firms that build traditional houses and buildings. The existence of such firms was almost eradicated by 1960. Today, however, they are experiencing a reasonably robust revival. Such firms operate on a simpler, more direct agenda, that of designing houses and buildings for clients. They are an anchor of stability in a fast-changing field embedded in a fast-changing world. Ditto families who seek an oasis amid the churning sands of this complicated environment.
Simplicity is not simplemindedness. Traditional architecture springs from classical forms that are nothing if not complex, and require years of study for architects to master. Buildings without ornament turn out, however, to be more stunningly complex than buildings of refined embellishment. It is difficult for modernist architects to invent new forms without aesthetic precedent, involving novel materials and recourse to computerized manipulation of elements. On top of that consider the added difficulty of navigating the intersection of practicality with the broader agenda demanded of most architects. The head spins.
The public often feels alienated from their built environment, and increasingly from the design process at their local level. They feel helpless to press for beauty. Transparency is elusive. Nowadays, drawings of proposed development projects aim more to disguise than to reveal their intended appearance, if not from clients then from possible opponents in the community.
Each new attempt at novelty strains the relationship between a building and its intended use. Complexity of purpose challenges purity of form, defeating any pretext of straightforwardness in design. New modernist buildings of high aesthetic intent all bear this out.
Traditional architecture, on the other hand, consists largely of taking the same tried and true steps codified over centuries and applied, again and again, in the process of designing and constructing buildings that meet their avowed purpose. In the hands of generations of craftsmen on site, change operates more slowly in the development of traditional styles, materials, technologies and construction techniques than change in modernist practices, which are always in flux.
The late Roger Scruton wrote that “[t]he classical idiom does not so much impose unity as make diversity agreeable.” Bringing order and dignity to the stage of human endeavor – including public participation in solving problems from the local level to the global – could and should again become the purpose of architecture. It has been lost but it can be regained.
It is hard to know which direction these thoughts could lead if teased out beyond my level of competence. Still, it seems clear that in the battle of styles, in the war between a healthy simplicity and a dire complexity, traditional architecture may boast a decided advantage in challenging a modernist hegemon increasingly tangled in its own Peter Principle.
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Wharton’s “House of Mirth”

14 W. 23rd St., where Edith Wharton was born.* Bottom, two of 5th Ave. from 1905. (Untapped Cities)

Being about two-thirds through Edith Wharton’s 1905 novel, I am still not quite sure I’ve actually encountered the “house of mirth” she gives as its title. What follows is a passage in which a secondary character, Van Alstyne, in Wharton’s set of Upper East Side socialites, describes to another character, Lawrence Selden, his understanding of the feelings expressed through architectural styles chosen by the families that have built new houses on a stretch of Fifth Avenue across from Central Park.

Van Alstyne prided himself on his summing up of social aspects, and with Selden for audience was eager to show the sureness of his touch. … [A]s the two men walked down Fifth Avenue the new architectural developments of that versatile thoroughfare invited Van Alstyne’s comment.

“That Greiner house, now – a typical rung in the social ladder! The man who built it came from a milieu where all the dishes are put on the table at once. His façade is a complete architectural meal; if he had omitted a style his friends might have thought the money had given out. Not a bad purchase for Rosedale, though: attracts attention, and awes the Western sightseer. By and bye he’ll get out of that phase, and want something that the crowd will pass and the few pause before. Especially if he marries my clever cousin—”

Selden dashed in with the query: “And the Wellington Brys’ [house]? Rather clever of its kind, don’t you think?”

They were just beneath the wide white façade, with its rich restraint of line, which suggested the clever corseting of a redundant figure.

“That’s the next stage: the desire to imply that one has been to Europe, and has a standard. I’m sure Mrs. Bry thinks her house a copy of the Trianon [at Versailles outside Paris]: in America every marble house with gilt furniture is thought to be a copy of the Trianon. What a clever chap that architect is, though – how he takes his client’s measure! He has put the whole of Mrs. Bry in his use of the composite order. Now for the Trenors, you remember, he chose the Corinthian: exuberant, but based on the best precedent. The Trenor house is one of his best things – doesn’t look like a banqueting hall turned inside out. I hear Mrs. Trenor wants to build out a new ball-room, and that divergence from [husband] Gus on that point keeps her at Bellomont [their Hudson River estate]. The dimensions of the Brys’ ball-room must rankle: you may be sure she knows ’em as well as if she’d been there last night with a yard-measure.”

For sheer beauty of language and subtlety of thought I’d rather have quoted from the scene in the garden outside the Brys’ ballroom between Selden and Lily Bart, the novel’s protagonist. Readers of this book will know the scene to which I refer. But I will only say that even though the above passage doesn’t necessarily reflect the noblest thoughts that might spring from façades along Fifth Avenue, Edith Wharton’s deft control of the English language certainly resembles the control applied by the best architects to the façades of their clients’ mansions.

Maybe in the near future I will post the quotation that I have resisted posting this evening, on pages 137-38 (Penguin 1993). It is certainly superior to the speech Van Alstyne, an unartistic man, uses to describe the mansions of his friends. The passage quoted above merely describes how a typical man of the Gilded Age might think of what architects hired by the wealthy design their houses for (pages 159-60). The passage from the Wellington Brys’ garden describing the romantic scene between Lily and Selden (including a gentle kiss and a squeezed hand) comes much closer to the summit of the novelist’s art, and probably suggests, in parallel, a higher level of the architect’s art than the houses along Fifth Avenue, lovely as they were then and, to a degree, still are. (See my recent post consisting of a video of Fifth Avenue in the early 1930s.)

(*Regarding the photo atop this post, I can only assume that among these buildings is 14 W. 23rd. There is no caption, and no way in the text of the article on the Untapped Cities web site to tell which, if any, of them is either where Wharton was born or where she lived with her husband after marriage. The building at the right is 16 so possibly 14 is in the middle with a Starbucks.)

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Notre-Dame falls to Disney?

Interior of Notre-Dame cathedral before fire in April 2019. (

Officials overseeing reconstruction of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame announced, on Sept. 18, that the landmark would open in time for the Paris Olympics in 2024. Good! However, the UK Telegraph has just run an article based on leaked plans to modernize the cathedral’s interior, creating what the newspaper calls a “politically correct Disneyland.”

Might that spark a controversy likely to delay any 2024 reopening? For two years, international attention has been focused on whether the exterior would be an authentic rebuild rather than a modernist mashup of the building. Now it seems that plans to mash up the interior are sneaking around behind the world’s back.

The Telegraph suggests that interior items that survived the fire of April 15, 2019, such as confessional boxes, altars, and classical sculptures, would be replaced with “modern art murals,” plus sound and light effects to create “emotional spaces,” and other features uncongenial to a faithful restoration.

Fild Media reports that a “catechumenal path” – catechism lite – would be used to evangelize visitors, especially those from outside the Christian and Catholic faiths. The path would eventually end at a chapel dedicated to ‘reconciled creation,’ a concept emphasized in Pope Francis’s Laudato Si’ encyclical.

Paris-based architect Maurice Culot criticized the plan:

What they are proposing to do to Notre Dame would never be done to Westminster Abbey or St. Peter’s in Rome. It’s a kind of theme park and very childish and trivial given the grandeur of the place.

Le Figaro, which got “synthesis photographs” illustrating the plan, suggests that new, more colorful stained-glass windows and other lighting effects in various naves “gives an impression of an airport runway, or even of a parking lot.”

Cathedral officials, according to a report in the National Catholic Register (based in Ohio), immediately regretted some of the “exaggerations” in the press. A spokeswoman for the Paris diocese, Karine Dalle, asserted that the details would not be finalized until next March, and tried to put the leaked plan into context:

Some people got wind of some of the options and pounced on it, reducing the project to a battle between tradition and contemporary art but it is much more than that, and it goes without saying that the archbishop has never had any intention to turn the cathedral into an airport or a parking lot!

Sure, maybe it is “much more than that,” but it is also a battle between tradition and contemporary art – one that most observers of (and, you’d think, donors to) the cathedral’s reconstruction thought had already been settled.

The assumption is that many visitors from other cultures do not understand the cathedral and its works of painting and sculpture that miraculously survived the conflagration. Many visitors from Catholic and other western cultures probably understand it just as little. Nor is it clear that the renovation now being planned will help them understand, wherever they are from. It may be that visitors from other cultures want no less than most visitors to experience a faithful rebuilding of the great cathedral, inside and out.

Why ruin the experience for devoted and knowledgeable Catholics and the many, many others who merely seek to indulge a taste for beauty or history, in order to offer a dubious assistance to the uninitiated? Why not instead provide the latter with the sort of headphone guides that museums offer to patrons? Such digital docents, which barely require even literacy, would be far less expensive than the $60 million or so these cockeyed renovations are expected to cost.

I have little doubt that toute la France will rise up and smite this desecration of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, of which Victor Hugo in The Hunchback of Notre-Dame spoke truly: “When a man understands the art of seeing, he can trace the spirit of an age and the features of a king even in the knocker on a door.”

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Why no windows or doors?

Drawing for conceptual approval of house at 67 Williams St. “Look, Ma! No windows!” (Shed)

Not long after neighborhood opposition prevailed over insensitive development proposals for historic Fox Point and College Hill in Providence, a new developer and a different architect have arisen to propose a new house on the vacant land just east of the adorable Italianate cottage at issue last summer.

The proposed new house is large but not, it seems to me, large enough to cause dismay among the neighbors. The house just east of it is considerably larger, and the cottage to its west is much smaller, even with the addition. Neighborhood opposition blocked a modernist addition this past summer, delaying the process for months and months; the developer threw up his hands and compelled his architect, the celebrated Friedrich St. Florian, to design an addition much more traditional than the architect desired. Up until then, his designs kept getting more and more modernist, though he must have known of the neighborhood’s desire for a house that fit in, or “harmonized,” with its historical character.

That is the natural feeling of neighbors who have invested considerable amounts to live amid that air of history, and, in so doing, themselves become agents of change, change that either contributes to history or rejects it. And most prefer the former category. They would no more want to change their house in a way that seems to reject history than they would want to live next to a house that degrades the beauty of the block they live on. For example, they would never put solar panels on their roof. How gauche!

Well, the house proposed for the lot at 67 Williams St. is pictured atop this post. It has the lines of a traditional house, but it has no doors or windows. You don’t believe me? Look at the illustration, from Shed Studio, in Cambridge. There are no doors or windows! How can that be? Initial renderings submitted by an applicant to the Providence Historic District Commission do not normally lack such items. Even St. Florian’s designs had doors and windows at the earliest stages of the design review process. Doors and windows are vital elements of a design, even if it is submitted for merely “conceptual” approval.

How the windows or doors are designed could reveal whether the style of the house is to be traditional or modernist.

One commissioner noted, out loud, that the applicants (Jeff and Karen Hirsch, of Framingham, Mass.), even as they failed to put doors and windows on the renderings, had managed to sketch in elements such as balcony railings, roof cornices, and columns for the front porch and porte cochere. Why?

My general theory of architectural rendering is that drawings nowadays are meant less to convey information about a design than to disguise it. Modernist architects are quite aware that neighbors in historic districts are likely to dislike whatever they propose, so why not put off opposition as long as possible?

Still, it was no surprise that the HDC, which met Monday, voted unanimously to “continue” the application – that is, put off any decision until the applicant drew in the windows and doors and brought them to the commission’s next meeting. Surely the commission grokked the applicants’ strategy before it was deployed. A question worth asking might be why the application was considered acceptable for deliberation without any hint of proposed windows and doors.

I am heartened, however, by the application itself. It reads in part:

The design seeks to be contextual with the neighborhood in terms of size, scale, massing and basic design language.

That’s pretty straightforward, you would think. But words such as context, harmony and the like are subject to manipulation in a legal process, which is frankly what design review in a historic district is.

Still, maybe my cynicism is unwarranted. Do the applicants, when they finally move into their house, want to be hated by the neighbors, or welcomed as new homeowners who understand and accept that experimentation with the look of their venerable environment is no way to make friends. We may expect to find out at the next HDC meeting, scheduled for Monday, Dec. 20., at 4:45 p.m.

All of the houses near the proposed house were drawn without windows or doors. (Shed)

Drawing of the neighborhood along Williams Street shows different house sizes. (Shed)

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“Dystopia” three years on

James Stevens Curl, author of “Making Dystopia,” “The Oxford Dictionary of Architecture,” and other scholarly treatments of architecture. (National Civic Art Society)

Three years have passed since British architectural historian James Stevens Curl’s masterful Making Dystopia was published by Oxford University Press. Subtitled “The Strange Rise and Survival of Architectural Barbarism,” the book can only have been about modern architecture, perhaps the most curious and indeed outrageous phenomenon of our time.

Writing in The Critic a few months ago, the mathematician and architectural theorist Nikos Salingaros described the book this way:

Curl’s critique of the theory and practice of modernism demolished the economical-ethical-political arguments put forward for decades that justified forcing people to live in inhuman environments. It was all a power-play, to drive humane architecture and its practitioners into the ground so that a new group of not very competent architects and academics could take over.

Stevens Curl in his book describes the result this way:

A great language capable of infinite variety of expression, a mighty and expansive vocabulary, a vast resource based on two and a half millennia or more of civilization, was superseded by a series of monosyllabic grunts, foisted on the populace with a totalitarian disregard for the opinions of those who had not been drilled to conform.

No wonder Stevens Curl won the 2019 Arthur Ross award for history and writing, bestowed by the New York chapter (and national headquarters) of the Institute of Classical Architecture & Art.

Has Making Dystopia diminished the unwarrantedly high status of modernist architecture over those years? Undoubtedly it has. Salingaros asked himself the same question in “Still Making Dystopia” and sadly concluded that evidence for the book’s impact on modernism must be considered elusive.

I once predicted in my review of the book on Amazon that if Dystopia got the attention it deserved,

it will start a revolution in the way we shape our built environment, and the result will be as vital as the discovery by mankind that the natural environment is in equal peril. It will rank with civilization’s victories in defeating totalitarianism and bringing democracy to Germany and Japan after WWII, and to Eastern Europe after the defeat of the Soviet Union in the Cold War. Some will dismiss that, but the eradication of beauty from the intensely visual field of architecture – the queen of the arts – which we all must experience every day and have done so since childhood, has had a major saddening effect on the world, and its reversal will bring about an efflorescence of happiness. It’s possible that James Stevens Curl’s book will launch that revolution.

It is still possible, but it has not happened yet. As Salingaros points out, the architectural establishment has savaged the book, and it has not been read or commented on by elite practitioners in the field, who have ignored it.

This is not unexpected. In our day and age, miseducated elites regularly ram poorly conceived policies down the throats of their supposed beneficiaries. Not only in architecture is this true, and in architectural education, but it’s true in education at all levels, K-Ph.D. It’s true in law enforcement from local police up to federal agencies – the FBI, the CIA, the Pentagon – charged with protecting the public and the nation. It’s true in science, health, in so many fields: wherever false narratives prevail, with the legacy media running interference for one side only in debates over facts and truth, local, state, national and international. But as Stevens Curl’s book strongly suggests, this state of affairs has prevailed in architecture since the 1920s, longer than in any other field.

Still, the book has been a godsend to those who practice architecture and city building as it was practiced for hundreds, even thousands of years. But even if such a positive emotional impact has been widely felt, evidence of it would be hard to find. Even if there were a measurable uptick in architectural practitioners citing Stevens Curl’s book, or design critics giving more credence to tradition or denouncing modernism more harshly after reading it, or municipalities leveling unequal playing fields that face traditional practitioners seeking commissions in cities and towns, it would still be impossible to count all the citations, even on the internet, or to develop a detailed ennumeration of the lies, disinformation, coverups, and sheer bad faith and brutality of the current establishment.

“What is missing from much debate about architecture today,” writes Stevens Curl toward the end of Dystopia (page 333),

is empathy, respect for culture in the widest sense, understanding of history (including religion), recognition of the imperative of nature as part of humankind’s habitat, and understanding of the importance of expressions of gravity and stability in building design to induce calm and ease in those who have to live with the realized works of an architecture that denies gravity, that deliberately sets out to disturb, and that only respects itself.

Hard facts characterize this scholarly volume of 388 pages, not including 75 pages of notes, 43 of bibliography, 40 of index, and many photographs and drawings, including some by the author. Along with numerous books on mostly architectural subjects, Stevens Curl also wrote (with Susan Wilson) the Oxford Dictionary of Architecture, with many wry comments in modernist entries.

And yet insurrection against evil can begin at the bottom and, when successful, bring change to the top. Immeasurables such as the influence of a powerful book, one that indicts a corrupt regime, can spark revolution. It has happened many times before, in every realm of society, across time and across the globe. It is happening today in the food industry, to name just one with which many are familiar. It may be just starting to happen in the field of education, and it sure can happen in architecture. But architecture is more tightly nailed down by its establishment than any other field, and will require sparks to be set by people at the bottom, as it were: in local neighborhoods where architects and developers are most vulnerable to direct action.

I will give one example, a woman in Providence who has probably not read Making Dystopia but has led opposition to modernist house proposals being forced into a historic neighborhood. Lily Bogossian led locals on a charge into the belly of the beast, battled smart and tough, emerged victorious, and is about to do it again, taking on a new set of developers and purveyors of ugliness aiming to crush the spirit of a beautiful city and a free society. Good for her. I urge her, if she has not, to read Making Dystopia. If beauty is to regain the upper hand here and around the world, her like must become legion.

When dissatisfaction strongly felt by the public wells up into revolt, the elites do not realize it until too late. Either this will happen someday, or it will not. But if it happens, it probably would not have happened without the powerful impetus of James Stevens Curl’s Making Dystopia.

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Presto chango bus hub idea!

Latest plan for a new RIPTA bus hub to replace centralized facility at Kennedy Plaza. (Union Studio)

Seemingly out of the clear blue sky a completely new bus hub idea has suddenly emerged in Providence. The Innovation District Transit Center, it’s called. The reigning notion of shifting most buses from Kennedy Plaza to a pair of new sub hubs blocks away has not been popular. Most riders believe the bus hub should remain in the plaza. So instead of sticking with the decades-old tried and true, downtown advocates such as the Providence Foundation and Grow Smart RI now propose a whole new ballgame, popping in from far left field.

So far, neither city nor state has turned thumbs up or down on the proposal.

According to a Providence Journal article by Patrick Anderson and published last Thursday, the new proposed bus hub would sit near the Garrahy Court House, on a large parcel of parking lots at the intersection of Dorrance and Dyer streets, one block from the Providence River. It would be a multi-use facility expected to include shops, restaurants and 40 units of housing in a six-story brick building. Will it be affordable housing? “Workforce housing” says the plan.

Anderson writes:

A coalition of nonprofits and businesses are promoting a plan to move the bus berths in Kennedy Plaza inside a proposed six-story building containing a new full-service transit terminal. In addition to shops, restaurants, an indoor waiting area, public bathrooms and parking, the new $77-million terminal building would also have more than 40 apartments.

The proponents, who include Grow Smart RI and the Providence Foundation, came up with the plan after the state’s proposal to replace the Kennedy Plaza hub with three new facilities sparked outrage from city officials and advocates for transit riders.

I don’t recall reading of any such “outrage” from city officials, who seemed perfectly willing to buy into spending a $35 million state bond issue on items that the public did not vote for in 2014. Transit activists have all along deplored the heightened distances and rider confusion considered likely under the plan to split up Kennedy Plaza’s central role, with two new sub hubs at the train station and, as originally conceived, at the proposed Garrahy garage. The plaza’s future grows only cloudier under the latest plan. The plan’s visioneers want to “alleviate crowding” in Kennedy Plaza. Huh? What planet are they living on?

The six-story building’s design is traditional, and quite nice, not surprisingly so from the downtown firm of Union Studio Architecture. Union Studio’s plan of 2013 for Kennedy Plaza, which integrated an upgraded public square into the existing bus amenities, was frog-marched out of the picture in favor of a sterile redesign, implemented in 2015, that included removing the plaza’s Art Nouveau waiting kiosks and substituting highly unenchanting plastic kiosks.

Now Union Studio has been tapped to design the new terminal on Dorrance. Does this mean that its 2013 plan for Kennedy Plaza is now alive again? Or is it more of a quid pro quo for having been stiffed by the 2014 plaza redesign, which introduced maximum sterility into what was once a lovely civic square? A tug of war between traditional and modernist visions of downtown’s future seems to be in progress. Advocates of civic beauty have had little to applaud of late.

Kennedy Plaza is named after a dead white male, so it seems to be an obvious candidate for cancellation by today’s laughably woke municipal administration and its corporate backers.

That may seem over the top, but apparently the city is now planning to sell its beautiful statue of Christopher Columbus, recently removed, rather than storing it until the current mania has passed. Think of the most stupid ideas for how to move this city forward, and they are all being thrown at the wall to see if they stick. A cartoonish new entrance to Roger Williams Park is being erected at its Broad Street entrance. Kennedy Plaza and Waterplace have been targeted with kindergarten amenities – referred to absurdly as a “more vibrant and welcoming public space” by proponents. They would, for example, place an automatic rain maker above Waterplace (just what we need!), raise the river walks by eleven feet, and demolish a perfectly good skating rink at Burnside Park in favor of a curlicue rink in the plaza itself. They seem willing to destroy beautiful Providence rather than continue to stew in frustration at its privileged status among American cities of its size.

All of this churning just wastes money that could fund genuine necessities as we emerge from the pandemic. I wonder how much of the $35 million in bond money even remains after so many rounds of idiotic “planning” since 2014? Not enough to fund the $77 million Innovation District Transit Center, I dare say! (Gov. Dan McKee has wrinkled his nose at that cost figure.)

This city has rebounded in the past half century because it has tried (fitfully, to be sure) to retain its civilized legacy, most endearingly and enduringly via its traditional redesign of the waterfront by the late Bill Warner between 1990 and 1996. How the latest ideas for Kennedy Plaza and public transit fit into a scenario that seems eager to repudiate that history is anybody’s guess.

The dark trapezoidal land is where the new facility would go. (Union Studio)

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Update on Mack restoration

Glasgow School of Art before the fires of 2014 and 2018. (Photo by Steve Cadman)

With bigwigs and celebs jetting away at last from Scotland’s global climate summit, what else is afoot in the city of Glasgow?

The famous 1909 Glasgow School of Art by Charles Rennie Mackintosh has not been rebuilt after its near destruction after two fires in 2014 and 2018. The cause of the latter conflagration remains elusive. While its restoration may be years off, the good news is that in October, leaders of the school agreed that “faithful reinstatement” would be the preferred strategy for rebuilding.

The other options were to build a new building altogether, or a hybrid consisting of new structure inserted into what can be saved of the original structure.

Faithful reinstatement leans, as I understand it, more toward replication among the various synonyms for restoration. Many modernist architects and academics have pushed since 2018 for the school to lean toward new construction or some sort of hybrid. They assert, dubiously, that since Mackintosh was creative, the most “creative” rebuilding strategy would best honor his innovative nature. So the best strategy would be that which is the farthest from rebuilding the Mack (its local nickname) as originally designed – failing to notice that such a strategy would also precipitate flight among potential donors to the building’s salvation.

The most stringent definition of restoration would favor using as much of the remaining structure as safely possible while fabricating damaged or destroyed structures, features and embellishments with Mackintosh’s original designs as templates, with materials as close as possible to the original. Extensive archival drawings and photographs, assembled over the years, enable artisans to replicate the architect’s quirks with considerable confidence.

Architects Journal adds detail about long-revered spaces within the building that are more or less lost but could be devotedly replicated:

Iconic spaces, such as the library, board room, director’s office, Mackintosh Room, lecture theatre, Studio 58, the Hen Run, loggia, museum and Studio 11 will be reinstated together with all the other spaces, including studios.

But some observers have been pushing against that reasonable strategy. Among the most persistent is architect Alan Dunlop, whose opinion seems to appear with deadening regularity wherever rebuilding GSA is discussed. Last year, after desire for its restoration seemed to gain the upper hand, Dunlap tried to retwist the debate in his own direction:

I think the narrative around the future of the building has changed, with the emphasis now on restoration rather than replication of the original school. In other words, we should save what’s left of the building and put in a modern insertion.

He nudges and declaims, as if his kooky preferences might somehow gain force if repeated often enough. Since even the recent decision to faithfully reinstate the Mack is still subject to continued obsessive official analysis and reassessment, Dunlop might win in the end. But since the October decision, he seems to have resigned himself to the prevailing restoration strategy. No doubt he’ll be lying in wait in case things turn south, as often happens in cases of extreme bureaucratic sclerosis. No one expects the building to reopen before 2028 at the earliest.

My preferred alternative would be to not only rebuild the original as faithfully as possible but, in addition, to demolish the school’s recently built Seona Reid building by Steven Holl directly across Renfrew Street from Mackintosh’s original structure. What a horror! (See below.) But, of course, that will not happen. Which does not mean that it should not happen. Here is a quote from the opening of Observer critic Rowan Moore’s review of it, which places the building – and all others of its ilk – in proper perspective:

“Have you heard of the artist James Turrell?” asks Chris McVoy, partner in Steven Holl Architects of New York, and inside me something dies. When architects mention Turrell, it means that they have seen his installations and think that, because like him they play with white walls and light, they can make something as mesmerising. However valid their work in other ways, they can’t. It is like thinking that any painting of yellow flowers is a Van Gogh.

(As mesmerising as what? one might nevertheless ask.)

Like so many other cities in Europe, including London and now Paris, Glasgow has tried to commit suicide via modern architecture. Luckily, Europe’s stock of historical fabric is so intact that it takes a lot of modern architecture to ruin. Most American cities once had such strength but do not any longer, and have not for a long time. (Providence still does.) In deciding to “faithfully reinstate” its famous school of art, Glasgow seems to recognize (as the leaders of Providence do not) what they must do to avoid the fate of American cities like Houston. (My advice: city planners everywhere should set aside a sandbox for the modernists.)

Reid Building across Renfrew Street from the Mack. (UK Guardian)

The Mack, center left, and the Reid Building in Glasgow. (Photo by Peter Drummond)

West George Street showcases beauty of Glasgow. (

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William Blackstone’s statue

Recently erected statue of William Blackstone on river bank of Pawtucket, R.I.

William Blackstone, or Blaxton (1595-1675), has long struck me as the mildest of colonists, perhaps not even a colonist strictly speaking. He was a recluse, and when other colonists showed up, he exited stage left.

An ordained priest of the Church of England, he landed with emigrants in (what became) Weymouth in 1623, from which he migrated in 1625 to (what became) Boston in 1630, becoming its first settler and first resident of Beacon Hill. After inviting Puritan settlers from (what became) Charlestown to share his land in Boston, he became disenchanted with his Anglican colleagues, after which he retreated (not fled as did Roger Williams) in 1635, settling in (what became) Cumberland across from (what became) Pawtucket, in (what became) Rhode Island. Blackstone lived there peacefully – or so history seems to record – until his death in 1675, about a month before King Philips’ War. Aside from breeding the first American strain of apples, building his home, “Study Hill,” which at the time housed the colonies’ largest library, preaching to natives who would listen, and traveling on a bull while reading (not illegal at the time) to visit his friend Williams not far away in (what was already) Providence, he seems to have done very little of interest to historians, so far as I can tell. He may have been the least belligerent man on Earth.

A town in Massachusetts, a river, a canal, Providence’s ritziest neighborhood and its grandest boulevard take Blackstone’s name, but now a statue of the bookish hermit – no relation to the famous British jurist, Sir William Blackstone – is raising a stink next to the river that bears his name in Pawtucket.

Native Americans today, at least some of them around here, are irked that Blackstone’s fame as the first settler in Boston and Rhode Island flies in the face of the fact that several Indian tribes predated him in each place he settled. And at some point a tribesman (or woman) of this or that tribe would have become the first settler in each of those places, long before Blackstone, so his “firsts” are of a twisted historicity invented by the white man’s culture.

This Columbus Day (Indigenous Peoples Day to some), a gathering of about a hundred people, largely representatives of the Narragansett tribe but including various African-American activists and others, gathered to protest the recently erected statue sculpted of sheet metal shards by Peruvian native and Providence resident Peruko Ccopacatty. A story in Uprise RI by the activist Steve Alquist quotes Pawtucket City Council member Melissa DaRose:

“This monument only goes to show that it seems like we [the black, brown and indigenous community] don’t count,” said Council member DaRosa. “We’re not included. We were not included in that communication. The Blackstone Travel Council did not reach out to the Narragansett Indian Council.”

Narragansett tribal elder Bella Noka added:

“If I were to be raped, and see my rapist on a statue, and you tell me, ‘It’s okay. Yeah he did some bad things but we’re going to discuss those things. We’re going to find out exactly what was good about him and what was bad about him, but we’re going to keep [the statue] there.’ That’s what you’re doing,” said Bella Noka. “Shame on you if you’re supporting that man.

More to the point was the statement by Narragansett tribal elder Randy Noka, who said of the statue, “For those who see something in it, more power to you. I think it is an ugly piece of steel and should be taken down.”

He is correct that it is ugly but not that it should be taken down. Ccopacatty’s style of sculpture leaves much to be desired, but it is a reasonably well crafted example of its type, which is legion in the world of art. The private and federal funds used to build out its space alongside the river is nicely traditional, and an admirable bit of urbanism, which Pawtucket cannot afford to spurn. Its quality, or lack thereof, should not form the basis for its removal.

In all the speechifying, nothing negative was cited about Blackstone except that he was a white settler who represented the oppressor civilization that since came to New England from far away. Four hundred years later, past injustice seems to have colonized the minds of many, oppressed and unoppressed, who now deny the progress made and seem intent upon demonizing the values of civilization that have made that progress possible.

The Declaration of Independence, a civil war fought to rectify historic wrongs, a civil-rights movement to surmount resistance to that rectification, and trillions in programs to transform that rectification into social and economic progress for victimized communities: Even as this valiant progress is denied, personal values such as hard work, diligence, humility and study that enable individuals to benefit from it are disparaged.

As they say, those who forget the past may be condemned to repeat it.

So maybe, far from removing the statue of William Blackstone, he should remain in place to be celebrated as precisely the sort of colonist the colonies could have used more of, especially the Narragansetts whose descendants gathered the other day in Pawtucket to pay homage (of sorts) to the new statue.

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“Conundrum of architecture”

View toward Mall from Constitution Avenue, in Washington, D.C. (

Below is a long guest post written by Scottish architecture critic David Black, who lives in Edinburgh. Written in light of controversies in the United States over former President Trump’s effort to align the styles of federal architecture with American principles and tastes, Black’s essay looks with a gimlet eye at the cases for classicism and modernism. His essay is by far the longest post, by me or by a guest, on Architecture Here and There, and I can assure you that it is worth every minute.


America’s Crisis of Classicism: A Philosophical Conundrum?

David J Black

President Biden’s sacking of a soft-spoken, bespectacled academic from the US Commission of Fine Arts represented an interesting moment in the story of American architecture in that it invited us to consider whether, in terms of its once secure and comforting national identity, the USA, architecturally speaking, might be falling out of love with itself.

In this quasi-ideological comic-book urban showdown of smoke, mirrors, generous helpings of prejudice, and the spectre of Donald J Trump, it would appear that in the world of architectural politics, or political architecture, a surprising number of highly-placed people seem congenitally incapable of telling their left from their right. Viewed, in the case of this writer, from the classical city of Edinburgh, Scotland, this bad-tempered squabble seems as puzzling as it is exotic.

An explanation: Dr Justin Shubow, a former Yale philosophy instructor, has long been president of the National Civic Art Society, which champions ‘classical and humanist’ architecture in the public realm. In 2018 he was appointed to the US Commission of Fine Arts, which was established in Congress in 1910 to ‘guide the architectural development of Washington DC’ among other things.

First of seven sets of choices in Harris Poll of October 2020. (NCAS)

If this makes him sound like some sort of nostalgia-infused elitist, it should be borne in mind that opinion polls suggest the majority of Americans support him on matters of federal public architecture, regardless of age, gender, education, income, race, ethnicity, religion or political party. He speaks, in effect, for most of the masses.

In 2020, Harris pollsters showed 2,039 people images of (a) Marcel Breuer’s 1970s brutalist Hubert Humphrey building and (b) John Russell Pope’s quintessentially classical 1930s National Archives building, both in Washington DC, and asked which they preferred – the one that looked like a hybrid of the House of the Soviets in Kaliningrad and a flyblown 1950s suburban tax office, or the one that looked like a Greek temple on Mount Parnassus.

The surprise was that while 83 percent supported the latter, in the end it would be the 17 percent which, thanks to the latest presidential intervention, would win the style wars. The tail now wags the dog.

While it is doubtful whether any metric exists which can reliably show where an architectural style sits on the political spectrum, this particular spat appears to have supposedly left-of-centre Democrats embracing the architectural tastes of Ayn Rand, an ideologue so far to the right that she would make most Republicans blush. Her credo, as expressed in her near unreadable 1943 book The Fountainhead, was that modern architecture was about ‘the right of the ego’, while anything traditional, like classicism, was collectivist communitarian dross which should be eliminated.

Rand’s hero was ‘visionary’ Howard Roark, whose buildings (at least in the 1949 movie) were lift-offs from the worst period of European international modernism. The fact that he raped a lady (well, he was a superhero after all) while fixing her fireplace was an apposite analogy for his approach to urban development: bully everyone, trash everything, build anew, and make heaps of money.

Whether or not Rand’s architect hero was based on Frank Lloyd Wright is a moot point, but there is no doubt that the model for the book’s villain, Ellsworth Toohey, was Harold Laski, chairman of the UK Labour Party. Rand dedicated much of her time to helping Senator McCarthy and the House Un-American Activities Committee. Anything with the least hint of liberalism, like Frank Capra’s movie It’s a Wonderful Life, was a target for her venom. An implacable opponent of traditional architecture, she would certainly have applauded President Biden’s defenestration of Dr Shubow.

To grasp what this strange controversy over classicism is all about, it helps to scroll back to the origins of the newly independent republic’s ‘national style’. For Thomas Jefferson, writing to the architect Henry Latrobe in 1812, the purpose of an American national style in architecture was not complicated. The Capitol building, for example, was to be ‘the first temple dedicated to the sovereignty of the people; embellishing with Athenian taste the course of a nation looking far beyond the range of Athenian destinies.’ It’s unlikely the sort of ‘people’ he had in mind were the ones who swarmed all over it on January 6, 2021.

America’s national style, even in its earliest years, had a certain viscosity. Federalists favoured the ‘Adamesque’ grammar of such architects as William Thornton, who planned the Capitol building, and Charles Bulfinch, whose father had studied medicine in Edinburgh just as it was extending beyond its medieval girdle. He lodged with University principal William Robertson, cousin and close friend of the Adam brothers, the world’s first progenitors of an ‘international style’. Presidents like Jefferson and Monroe added a modicum of Neo-Greek monumentality and Napoleonic chic to the feast, but every bit of it was solid, scholarly enlightenment classicism.

Ohio House at 1876 Centennial Exposition, in Philadelphia. (Philadelphia Inquirer)

As the 19th century progressed there were departures into the realms of Collegiate and Ecclesiastical Gothic and flourishes of Parisian Beaux-Arts. The guardians of the flame were writers like Edith Wharton and architectural practices like McKim, Mead and White. ‘Brand America’ was reinforced in 1876 during the Philadelphia Centennial celebrations, though the style-wars bifurcation into the Classical and the Romantic brought variations like the homely American Gothic revival (if classically symmetrical) ‘Ohio House’ in Philadelphia’s Fairmont Park.

Even New York’s first skyscrapers evoked the wholesome ethos of tradition in a new, distinctly American, symbiotic style. Henry Hardenbergh’s buildings might be twenty floors high, yet they exulted in the grammar of traditionalism. The Beaux-Arts origins of the Empire State Building are unmistakable, and possibly unavoidable, since its designer, William F Lamb, the son of a Glasgow-born Brooklyn contractor, gained his Beaux-Arts diploma in Paris before going on to work for Carrere and Hastings, architects of the New York Public Library and the Forbes Magazine Building.

Empire State Building (Facebook)

The Empire State Building is closer in spirit to these precedents than anything that urban disruptors Le Corbusier, Richard Neutra, or Mies van der Rohe ever concocted. Likewise, to call Beaux-Arts alumnus Daniel Burnham’s Flatiron Building, in New York, an example of modernism makes little sense. The same could be said for Cass Gilbert’s Woolworth Building in Lower Manhattan, and Louis Sullivan’s Carson, Pirie Scott Building in Chicago. These were all modern buildings incorporating novel technologies such as the Otis lift, but they were certainly not seeking to be modernist.

Much the same could be said of the tastefully detailed high-rise apartment blocks built for brothers Leo and Alexander Bing in Upper Manhattan and Greenwich Village – their block at 1000 Park Avenue even has effigies of both brothers in medieval dress flanking its gothic entrance. Alexander Bing, in particular, had a social conscience. He founded and promoted the City Housing Corporation which planned the ‘Garden City’ style Sunnyside Gardens community in Queens.

Bing & Bing also built the 1926 Drake Hotel, in New York, patronised by virtually every star in the firmament from Lillian Gish to The Who until its 2007 demolition. Its replacement was the world’s tallest residential building, Rafael Vinoly’s 432 Park Avenue, damned by Fortune Magazine’s Joshua Brown as ‘the house that inequality built’ and The New Yorker’s Adam Gopnik as the tallest, ugliest, and among the most expensive private residences in the city’s history – the Oligarch’s Erection, as it should be known – a catchment for the rich from which to look down on everyone else, it is hard not to feel that the civic virtues of commonality have been betrayed.

Hollyhock House (

The early buildings of Frank Lloyd Wright, too, while they might be quirky, evoke a sense of tradition rather than the streamlined futurism favoured by Corbusian fundamentalists. His 1919 Hollyhock House in Los Angeles, for example, is curiously reminiscent of an Indian railway station in the heyday of the British Raj. It also served as the perfect location for the 1989 film Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death. Wright, while included in the 1932 MOMA exhibition of international modernism, nonetheless derided it as ‘the miscarriage of the machine age’ and would later join forces with architectural writer Elizabeth Gordon when she denounced international modernism as an expression of doctrinaire totalitarianism.

To equate Frank Lloyd Wright with international modernism is almost as absurd as Sir Nicholas Pevsner’s attempt to claim William Morris as a pioneer of British modernism, dismissed by art historian Robin Middleton as ‘a piece of propaganda for the establishment, in particular, of the modern movement in England.’ Wright’s only skyscraper, the 1956 Price Tower in Oklahoma, was a 19-floor baby compared to Chicago’s 109-floor Sears Tower, though that didn’t stop him dreaming up oddities like his (mercifully unbuilt) ‘Automobile Objective’ on Maryland’s Sugarloaf Mountain.

America, with a few exceptions, maintained a healthy urban wariness of the life-denying excesses of European minimalist modernism until after World War II, but it was just too lucrative to resist for developers eyeing up profits, empire-building institutional academics, or city councils in search of mass housing. The great exemplar was the 1954 Pruitt-Igoe housing project in St Louis. This became famous not so much for its architectural scariness as for its starring role in Godfrey Reggio’s 1982 film Koyaanisqatsi, in which it was dramatically blown up to the music of Philip Glass.

While it would be only fair to point out that these 33 blocks of 11-storey housing for the poor were a socially prescriptive failure as much as a design one, Pruitt-Igoe’s armageddon was craftily co-opted by architectural theorist Charles Jencks, who conveniently hailed this televised moment as the ‘death of modernism’ (3:32 p.m. on July 15, 1972, though he got the date wrong) at which point ‘Post-Modernism’, its funky dressing-up box alternative, came into being.

It wasn’t quite the end of astringent Corbusianism, however, since Pruitt-Igoe’s architect Minoru Yamasaki was yet to sign off his Lower Manhattan twin towers, whose end would also be dramatically televised in September 2001 in rather more spine-chilling circumstances.

‘What, then, is this new man, the American’ asked the French immigrant Michel-Guillaume de Crevecoeur in the years leading up to the revolution. A similar question could be posed with regard to the genesis of that distinctly American brand of classical architecture which the Biden administration would, it seems, prefer to turn its back on.

Does this ill-conceived appetite for dog-whistle cultural nihilism suggest that America has suddenly become embarrassed about being American? Why is the architectural soul of this once confident nation so troubled?

Conflating the Zeitgeist

Civic America’s current anti-classical frenzy began with a leaked 2020 report about a proposed presidential order to re-instate classicism as the preferred architectural grammar of the Federal City. That the signatory in this case was Donald Trump was, predictably, the kiss of death for the urban classical ideal, as well as a call to arms for hubristic architectural modernists, their profit-seeking property-investor backers, and certain self-regarding archi-scribes and pharisees of the press.

The anti-classicism cause was much amplified under the headline “MAGA War on Architectural Diversity Weaponizes Greek Columns,” by New York Times architecture correspondent Michael Kimmelman. This was probably as close to endorsing the spirit of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead as that once liberal newspaper has ever got; but just who, we might ask, was doing the weaponizing?

Bas-relief on Bonwit Teller Building. (Secrets of Manhattan)

That the executive order would eventually be signed by Donald Trump caused much angst. One almost sympathises, for it was he who, in 1980, promised to give the Metropolitan Museum important bas-reliefs from the Fifth Avenue Bonwit Teller building before having them smashed to pieces in a fit of power-crazed anti-heritage pique. The Bonwit Teller store would make way for not-so-classical Trump Tower in mirror-glass-box style by uncompromising ‘flash ’n’ cash’ modernist Der Scutt.

It is of course one of history’s great ironies (pace Henry Kissinger’s Nobel Peace Prize) that an aesthetically challenged developer who somehow became president should seemingly end up endorsing the aims of the 1902 McMillan Commission’s ‘City Beautiful’ proposals. Moreover, for some, this particular president’s journey to enlightenment had rather dark beginnings.

In 2017 he became embroiled in controversy by offering support to those who were out to preserve the country’s heritage of Confederate statues. The fact that the old Confederate heroes in question had had as their objective the destruction of the United States per se was glossed over, likewise the fact that the destruction of public works of art by any faction, left or right, doesn’t actually contribute to a deeper understanding of a nation’s history.

This point was sadly overlooked by speaker Nancy Pelosi when she greeted the razing of the marble statue of Christopher Columbus in her home town of Baltimore with the verbal shrug-off ‘People will do what people will do.’ Perhaps so, but this is a logic which ultimately endorses the Taliban’s destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas, or the damage to ancient Palmyra by ISIS.

By July the 4th 2020, Mr Trump was addressing the nation from Mount Rushmore as guardian of the nation’s cultural patrimony. It could, perhaps, be argued that this was akin to giving King Herod a babysitting concession; after all, one of the mountain effigies was Abraham Lincoln, slain at the behest of a Confederate cause which Mr Trump had acknowledged in his championing of secessionist monuments in the south; but in an election year it was soundbites, rather than sound reasoning, which made the bulletins.

In any event it is not helpful to conflate the controversy over statues with the altogether different matter of whether the development of Washington’s Mall and other federal sites should be regulated in accordance with the principles of the ‘City Beautiful’ movement, or whether the introduction of ‘disruptor’ buildings by celebrity modernist architecture will be a benefit to the zeitgeist of some imagined ‘New America.’ It is even less helpful to consider the issue through the lens of one individual’s reputation.

Reactions to the executive order ‘Promoting Beautiful Federal Civic Architecture,’ which finally came into force in December 2020, ranged from the outraged to the supportive. Critic Martin Pedersen stated that ‘Modernism as a sort of style religion has lost the moral high ground (if it ever truly possessed it) due to its role as the face of global capitalism and income inequality,’ adding, as a prescient afterthought ‘So, if your goal is influencing the hearts and minds of the young – then hitching your fate to the Trump brand is likely to have the opposite effect.’ Spot on, Mr Pedersen.

On the other hand Martin Filler, author of Makers of Modern Architecture, launched a tirade against classicism in The New York Review of Books, noting ‘Hitler’s insistence that all public buildings in the Third Reich hew to the classical tradition,’ neatly establishing a link between an architectural style and a genocidal tyrant which, by dint of some perverse logic, toxifies the style.

In words Filler attributed to a ‘left-leaning’ organization called the Architecture Lobby, classicism was ‘a blatant attempt to leverage aesthetics in the service of white supremacy.’ Thus a capricious supposition which would, in the interests of consistency, also conclude that since Hitler was a vegetarian, then vegetarianism itself can only be a social evil, somehow entered the lists.

Invective became the order of the day. Reinhold Martin, professor of architecture and media at Columbia University, railed against ‘the project to make America classical again – the latest episode in a more organized anti-democratic performance – with neoclassicism as its architectural standard bearer and Black Lives Matter as its political foil, the avowed humanism of the National Civic Art Society is nothing but an attack on the state’s social-democratic redistributive function.’

In a less vindictive if equally impetuous outburst of anti-classical fervour in Yale’s quarterly The Politic, student economist Jennifer Wu began her revanchist plea for a more diversified architectural modernism and a wholesale abandonment of classicism with something which isn’t even a building – Maya Lin’s 1982 Vietnam War Memorial, just off the National Mall.

In marking this American tragedy, the choice of an architect of South East Asian descent was a gesture of reconciliation. Lin approached her project as a wound in need of healing, sensitively placing her granite memorial wall below ground level precisely because she didn’t want to compete with the capital’s ‘national style’, particularly that of the nearby Lincoln Memorial. It was a stroke of genius. Those of us who have visited the memorial, aware of grieving relatives running their fingers over the inscribed names of the fallen, are left in no doubt that this sacred site is much more evocative than any big-statement signature building could ever have been.


Hirshorn Museum (New York Times)

Ms Wu doesn’t get this, however, as she bemoans the National Mall’s lack of modernism, though she cites a few examples like the Hirshhorn Museum of contemporary art by SOM’s Gordon Bunshaft, a forbidding gun emplacement not quite ameliorated by its four-acre sculpture garden. Otherwise she twists a knife into the much vilified Dr Shubow, whose appointment she deems ‘the [Trump] White House’s first step towards complete control over the aesthetics of federal buildings.’

This rather misses the point that it was an executive order of 1962 which had thrown out the McMillan Commission’s assumption in favour of new federal buildings’ being more or less harmonious with Washington DC’s established classical grammar. Wasn’t the 1962 decision also a bid to exert control?

Likewise, President Biden’s abandonment of the sort of federal classicism which four out of five Americans prefer is itself a gesture of control at the behest of others. This was a response, it appears, to a report from a task force established by Washington’s current mayor, Muriel Bowser, to ‘remove, relocate, or contextualise’ landmarks such as the Jefferson Memorial, and to focus on ‘key disqualifying histories, such as participation in slavery, systemic racism, mistreatment of, or actions that suppressed equality for, persons of color, women, and LGBTQ communities.’

Mr Biden’s order was essentially a dirigiste reaffirmation of (future) senator Daniel Moynihan’s 1962 Guiding Principles for Federal Architecture promoting ‘the choice of designs that embody the finest contemporary American architectural thought’. Senator Moynihan was no philistine. He liked to quote Pericles and save several historic buildings, such as Washington’s old Patent Office, now the US National Portrait Gallery. He supported First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy’s campaign to preserve historic Lafayette Square, opposite the White House, and referred to the demolition of New York’s Penn Station as ‘the greatest civic crime’ in that city’s history. His DC office was in the ‘City Beautiful’ Russell Senate Building, and he has, as his everlasting memorial, McKim, Mead and White’s hyper-classical Old Post Office in New York, now ‘The Moynihan Train Hall.’

But this was moonshot America seeking new ‘signifiers’, so he let the modernist cat out of the bag and into the Federal City. How much of ‘the finest contemporary American architectural thought’ emerged is questionable. He would later bemoan the result, stating ‘Twentieth Century America has seen a steady, persistent decline in the visual and emotional power of its public buildings.’

Newseum, on Pennsylvania Avenue. (The Business Journals)

His hope that ‘the finest contemporary architectural thought’ would permeate the federal built future invites us to consider just how truly ‘American’ his Guiding Principles were. To be nit-pickingly didactic, Frank Gehry, whose obtrusive Eisenhower Memorial is a bete noire of Dr Shubow’s, is a Canadian. James Polshek, whose a-contextual ‘Newseum’ building at 555 Pennsylvania Avenue was panned in the New York Times as ‘the latest reason to lament the state of contemporary architecture in Washington DC’, is American born, but was processed through the practice of Chinese born I.M Pei, an ally of Bauhaus disruptors Gropius and Breuer.

Mr Pei himself was singularly favoured in the changing face of Washington DC, albeit he exhibited some coyness in such buildings as his 1978 addition to the National Gallery, built from the same Tennessee stone as Pope’s nearby ‘City Beautiful’ building.

The result eschews the ostentatious gaudiness of his former colleague’s ill-fated Newseum, and may claim, as its principal virtue, a sort of character-deficient inoffensiveness, but this would hardly seem like much cause for celebration.

Ronald Reagan Building. (Wikipedia)

Another DC building from Pei’s office betrays a hesitant withdrawal into pastiche timidity, however overwhelming its scale – at 3.1 million square feet this is the largest federal building after the Pentagon. The Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center has been described as ‘faux federal’, and certainly exhibits a kind of dull, ponderous Roman monumentalism. Bedevilled by endless construction and scheduling shenanigans involving Mayor Marion Barry’s office, the Pennsylvania Avenue Development Corp, the General Services Administration, the Office of Management and Budget, and the Federal Triangle Corp, the architect’s fee – already the highest of seven submitted – rose from $26 million to $52 million. Even so, some were relieved that the project didn’t end up with one of the more gauche modernistas, such as Mayne, Holl, Gehry, or Hadid.

It really shouldn’t matter a damn which architect comes from where in the creation of an immigrant nation’s civic identity, especially in the case of a polyglot city like Washington DC, first projected by a Scotsman, George Walker, in The Maryland Journal and Baltimore Advertiser on January 23rd 1789 and laid out in plan form by a French military engineer, Pierre L’Enfant, in 1791, with the help of an African-American surveyor, Benjamin Banneker. The White House, begun in 1792, and loosely based on Dublin’s Leinster House, was designed by Irish Catholic James Hoban, with porticoes by English Moravian Benjamin Latrobe, and built by a Scot, Colen Williamson.

The Capitol building is the work of several architects, American and otherwise, beginning with West Indies born Scots Quaker William Thornton, a polymath who developed a strong interest in architecture while studying medicine at Edinburgh University, when the construction of the neoclassical Georgian New Town was under way. He was succeeded by Latrobe, who had been brought to Thomas Jefferson’s attention by the Scottish marble mason, James Traquair.

America’s classicism, a heterodox distillation of enlightenment ideals, belongs neither to the right nor the left. It was an intellectual and emotional expression of the values of the world’s first constitutional democracy in toto – a nascent, imperfect republic, to be sure; ruled by white male lawyers and landowners who lorded it over disenfranchised women and enslaved black people, certainly. Even so, that ‘great experiment for promoting human happiness’, as George Washington described it, was a marvel in its time, and grew into something remarkable. Why disinvent it?

Those with an urge to de-classicise one of the world’s great planned cities of the 18th century would re-imagine it as – what? Dubai by the Potomac? Hudson Yards redux? A developer’s dystopian Dhaka? And could someone please explain how it is, exactly, that the denigration of its original architectural character and the encouragement of urban disruptor buildings by multi-millionaire architects will be some sort of triumph for an imagined inclusive left, rather than for raw capitalism?

Classicism, Iconoclasm, and the Rise and Fall of the Democratic Intellect

The belief that American classicism begins and ends with the great buildings of state, like the Capitol, the Supreme Court, and the legislatures of, say, Austin, Providence, and Virginia, conceals the fact that, on the whole, its first utterances were the domestic products of private patronage.

When Bishop Berkeley arrived in Narragansett Bay in 1729 I suspect it was his fellow immigrant, the Scottish artist and occasional architect John Smibert, who designed a new neoclassical doorcase for his plain, if comfortable, farmhouse, Whitehall. Smibert went on to design Boston’s Faneuil Hall and Holden Chapel in Harvard Yard, though whether this justifies the title ‘the father of American architecture’, as claimed on a painted sign in Boston’s South Churchyard, is perhaps debatable.

Drayton Hall, Charleston, S.C. (

It is possible, too, that America’s oldest Palladian mansion, Drayton Hall, in South Carolina, was designed by Scot George Haig, who arrived in Charleston in 1733, aged 21, to become, in time, its deputy surveyor general. He already had links in the town. His father’s name (spelt Haigs) appears in the 1729 Charleston St Andrews Society roll book. The diamond shape in an upper-floor fireplace at Drayton which features in Haig family heraldry may also offer a clue. However, recent dating of the roof timbers suggests a construction period shortly after his death in 1748, though his plan may well have been completed by another hand, such as that of the wright Robert Deans.

The attribution remains speculative, though Haig, known as a ‘very prolific surveyor, mainly in the townships of Amelia, Saxe-Gotha, and Orangeburg’ is certainly a well-qualified candidate to be Drayton’s putative designer/builder, even though tradition favours John Drayton himself. Haig boarded at the home of a relative, Lilias Skene Haig, whose father-in-law, William Haig, had been one of the earliest surveyors of an area of land by the Delaware River which would later become the city of Philadelphia. Place-making was very much in this family’s DNA.

Philadelphia, as it happens, still has one of the most ‘Adamesque’ mansions in the USA. Originally home to lawyer Andrew Hamilton (whose successful 1735 defence of the printer and publisher John Peter Zenger was to become a precedent for the constitutional right to free speech), in the hands of his grandson William the enlarged mansion, Woodlands, would become ‘the first fully realised Federal architecture in North America’.

Woodlands, outside of Philadelphia. (

Hamilton almost certainly met one or both of the Adam brothers during his 1780s visit to Europe and, like them, he was a subscriber to the influential “Treatise on the Five Orders of Architecture” by their head draftsman, George Richardson. The tempting thought that the brothers might have had some significant input into the building’s design should probably be resisted. Even so, its elements are clearly derived from their ‘corrected style’, so no one can deny that Woodlands is just possibly the only building in America designed by the brothers Adam, which is quite a thought!

The most prominent classical building in Philadelphia, however, is undoubtedly the neo-Greek Museum and Art Gallery on Fairmount Hill, just outside the city centre. With this, the banal thesis that architectural classicism is ‘a blatant attempt to leverage aesthetics in the service of white supremacy’ as trumpeted by Martin Filler falls to pieces, since the building’s exterior, from its famous steps to its polychrome pediment, was designed by the African-American architect Julian Abele, one of America’s most sensitive exponents of neoclassicism.

Despite a $233 million internal makeover by Frank Gehry, Abele’s exterior retains its power and dignity as one of the great neoclassical urban masterworks of the United States, while it confounds the ill-informed prejudices of those who bizarrely insist that classicism, as the favored national style, is the architecture of a racist right.

A look at the facts behind the sloganizing might, on balance, tend to favour other conclusions. In contrast to the African-American classicist Abele, the major proselytiser of modernism in twentieth century America was the architect Philip Johnson, whose activities included attendance at National Socialist rallies in Nuremberg and Potsdam, avidly supporting Adolf Hitler (whom he found ‘spellbinding’), anti-semitic and anti-black outbursts during a foray into journalism in which he was paid by the Nazi government to cover the invasion of Poland, and hosting meetings of American Nazis in his apartment. He also wrote rave reviews of Mein Kampf for the pro-Fascist quarterly The Examiner and attended Nazi rallies in Madison Square Garden.

It may also be noted in passing that New York’s most prominent classical building at one time was the same Pennsylvania Station whose loss Daniel Moynihan described as the greatest civic crime in the city’s history. As with Julian Abele’s Philadelphia masterpiece, to characterise McKim, Mead and White’s railway-age reinterpretation of ancient Rome’s Bath’s of Caracalla as a symbol of white supremacy would be a mistake. The Emperor Caracalla, after all, was half Syrian and half Libyan.

If the denigration of classicism is not informed by scholarship, what, then, is its true underlying dynamic? Could it be an example of ‘poacher’s cloak’ politics in action? This is the technique whereby one particular interest group – say celebrity architects and their developer backers – seeks to sow confusion by exploiting the anger of another for its own ends. Some see it as an extension of statue-felling, which has long moved on from the de-plinthing of Robert E Lee and his Confederate henchmen, or even the morally deficient Christopher Columbus, to a comprehensive drive to sweep away all statuary, it would seem – including effigies of the emancipators Lincoln and Grant.

AT&T (Sony) Building. (Twitter)

Anti-classicism is, at root, an iconoclastic spasm. Philip Johnson would probably have understood this perfectly. He combined a Houdini-like ability to escape his fascist past with the consummate skills of a propagandist and the suave persuasiveness of a wealthy Madison Avenue marketing guru. When it seemed possible that the FBI might arrest him as an enemy agent, he enlisted in the US Army. As a modernist he hedged his bets, topping off his AT&T headquarters building with a faintly classical Chippendale pediment (‘The Seagram Tower with ears’ – Village Voice) and marching alongside Jane Jacobs and Jacqueline Kennedy to oppose the demolition of Pennsylvania Station.

As curator of the 1932 MOMA exhibition on international modernism, Johnson, the quintessential elitist, like MOMA director Alfred H Barr, had scant interest in social architecture or utopian housing, though the urban theorist Lewis Mumford was grudgingly given limited space in an isolated room for an exhibition of planning and housing, and even Alexander Bing was granted a token look in. Otherwise the catalogue was largely a mix of ‘starchitect’ hagiographies of such Nietzschean Ubermensch (no women, and certainly no non-white ethnicities) as Le Corbusier, Wright and Oud, whose virtuous profiles were provided by Henry Russell Hitchcock, though Johnson reserved the Mies van der Rohe puff for himself.

Patrons of and contributors to the exhibition included Jacobo Fitz-James Stuart y Falco, 17th Duke of Alva (or Alba), 10th Duke of Berwick and pretender to the throne of Scotland, who would later become General Franco’s representative in Britain, and a supplier of useful intelligence to the Third Reich, via Madrid.

At the other end of the political spectrum was a close friend and patron of Mies van der Rohe, Marxist-Leninist Eduard Fuchs, who had been appointed by Lenin to organise prisoner exchanges after World War 1, was a member of Berlin’s Bolshevik Comintern, and had commissioned Mies to design a monument to the communist martyrs Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht.

Others included Baroness Helena von Nostitz-Hindenburg who, the following year, would be one of nine influential German women to sign the Oath of Allegiance to Adolf Hitler; and Georg von Schnitzler, head of chemical giant I.G.Farben, manufacturers of Zyklon B gas, who would be sentenced for war crimes in 1946. All in all, totalitarianism, left and right, was well represented.

Given this ambivalent pedigree, it is surely paradoxical that the generally justifiable sensitivities of Black Lives Matter activism have somehow been press-ganged into the modernist cause. Even if Philip Johnson and Ayn Rand had never existed, one might wonder how yet more expensive, big-ticket city centre projects by rich modern ‘disruptor’ architects and profit-hungry developers would actually benefit ordinary communities, black or white. Could it not be that the average citizen needs less vanity-fueled bombastic corporate and state modernism, not more?

But we are urged to forget all that. The repeated refrain must be that classical architecture is damned on the flimsy pretext of guilt by association, and those who defend it must can only be right-wing reactionaries, particularly since their cause was embraced by Donald Trump. Look a little further into this and the theory doesn’t quite hold. In fact, it’s close to being the opposite of the truth.

I don’t know anything about the private political beliefs of those serving on the now reshuffled US arts commission, and don’t particularly care, since their function was to promote the stewardship of federal architecture – an area best left unpoliticised. I have, as it happens, met two of the rejected commissioners, one being Dr Shubow, who spoke at an urbanism conference in Charleston, South Carolina. I recall, above all, his unbridled admiration for Franklin D Roosevelt, a confirmed classicist and New Deal liberal who had his private home, Springwood, remodelled as a Georgian mansion.

Indeed, I discovered some time after the event that Dr Shubow had once been editor of a left-progressive newspaper, Forward, whose original 1912 Beaux-Arts New York building is perhaps the only one in America adorned with bas-relief effigies of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels!

In 2015 I met Dr Shubow’s fellow commissioner Rodney Cook at a planning event in Havana, a few months prior to President Obama’s visit, when there was much interest in the restoration of Cuba’s stunning, if crumbling, built heritage. I hadn’t a clue what Mr Cook’s private political views were, or even if he had any. What I soon discovered, however, was that he was a man of outstanding erudition who has been pro-actively engaged in restoration projects throughout the world.

I was later informed by an Atlanta friend that Mr Cook’s father had been a respected Georgia state representative and friend of Martin Luther King senior. A gang of racists had burnt a Ku Klux Klan cross into the lawn of the Cook family home after he had advocated desegregation in housing. At Mr Cook senior’s funeral in 2013 the eulogy was given by civil-rights leader Andrew Young. Somehow this back story doesn’t quite chime with shallow tropes about classicism and white supremacy.


432 Park Ave. (YouTube)

Apart from that, there’s the matter the effects of endless urban construction on climate change, given that a startling 38 percent of the world’s CO2 emissions in 2020 were produced by the global building industry. Better, by far, to restore and improve existing buildings, or build new ones of local materials in a local style, than to raise yet more versions of the Rafael Vinoly-designed and developer Lendlease-built Oligarch’s Erection at 432 Park Avenue, with its two-foot sway, vertical floods, and walls which reportedly creak like the wooden hull of The Mayflower, which is presumably not the sort of American dream its overseas billionaire purchasers were buying into.

The pedigree of the ‘modernism’ of buildings like 432 Park Tower dates back around 90 years, when Philip Johnson and his collaborators sought to persuade the public that it was the architecture of tomorrow. His skills as a propagandist were utilised when he launched the international modernist exhibition at MOMA which was little more than a drive to import the minimalism of his European associates Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe into America – the latter, incidentally, being not averse to signing off his letters ‘Heil Hitler’ when pitching for work in Germany.

Neither this, Rand’s loathing of traditional architecture, nor Mussolini’s enthusiasm for a glass and steel ‘Casa del Fascio’ offers proof that modernism belongs to the right. There were also left-wing advocates for Corbusianism. It makes more sense to assume that a traditional style like classicism is not the direct outcome of any specifically political ideology. A simple fact which cannot be doubted, however, is that most modernism, and its postmodern alter ego, is elitist, a point well made by Tom Wolfe in his denunciation of the modern movement in America, From Bauhaus to Our House, in which he impishly asks, ‘Has there ever been another place on earth where so many people of wealth and power have paid for and put up with so much architecture they detested.’

An equally acerbic attack was The Architecture of the Absurd: How ‘Genius’ Disfigured a Practical Art by John Silber, an outspoken academic who was, successively, president and chancellor of Boston University, and a one-time Democratic candidate for Massachusetts governor. The Texas-born son of an architect, John Silber takes no prisoners when it comes to criticising the mesmeric hold rich celebrity architects such as Frank Gehry, Daniel Libeskind, and Stephen Holl have on the cultural and educational elites. Silber rails against the ‘theoryspeak’ (a word borrowed from Wolfe) of architects who talk ‘aesthetic and philosophic rubbish’ and, more importantly, asks why their clients were ‘impressed and even intimidated by it.’ By all accounts Mr Silber could be a difficult man, but anyone who openly opposed capital punishment in Texas and was a lifelong Democrat can hardly be characterised as a right-winger simply because he thought modernism was a bit of a fraud.

Classicism: The First International Style, and an Expression of the Democratic Will.

Some might doubt whether this author is really entitled to have a view on the subject of the threat to American classicism. He writes as a Scot who has spent time in the USA but belongs to a city – Edinburgh – which was the result of the progressive precepts of Europe’s 18th century philosophical enlightenment.

Such debates about the way we treat our historic cities are not confined to the USA. Classicism belongs to the world. Its finest expressions can be found not only in Washington DC, Paris, Turin, and Munich, but also in St Petersburg, Russia, and Kolkota (Calcutta), India, among other places.

Hotel dubbed “The Golden Turd” by citizens of Edinburgh. (

Tragically, in Edinburgh, an American anti-classicist gesture (a hotel, at left) now disfigures one of the world’s finest 18th century planned townscapes, the classical New Town. An investment by major pension investment corporation TIAA of Charlotte, North Carolina, it rejoices in the locally popular name ‘The Golden Turd’. An American friend seriously wonders whether it would have been approved by the Nevada architecture review authorities for the tacky end of Las Vegas Strip.

The truly sad thing about this is that a great deal of architectural classicism is a shared Scottish-American heritage, representing, in each case, a moment of resurgence in the national spirit of both countries. In 1753, with Scotland’s self-esteem at its lowest ebb after the failed Jacobite rebellion, something of a miracle was wrought when the foundation stone of a new Edinburgh ‘Royal Exchange’, funded by public subscription, was laid by John Adam, and the redemptive power of architecture was revealed.

‘Now Scotland’s youth, with better omen born, salute the dawning of a brighter morn – Last of the arts, proud ARCHITECTURE comes, to grace EDINA with majestic domes’ wrote an ebullient John Home, cousin of philosopher David Hume. The classicism, in this case, was a communitarian show of force, a blow against ‘barb’rous chiefs, with iron sceptre swayed’ who had dominated the past. Edinburgh’s classicism was a potent symbol of patriotic assertiveness, the people’s will, the first stirrings of the ‘democratic intellect’, and dreams of a more prosperous future.

Exactly forty years and five days later President George Washington enacted a similar ceremony when he laid the cornerstone of the United States Capitol building. In both cases these achievements were to be followed and amplified by the construction of two great classical cities; Edinburgh New Town, and Washington DC. It goes without saying that the customs and mores of the 18th century were not those of today. In America’s nascent democracy, whatever lip service the founders may have paid to vague ideas of milkwater abolitionism, George Washington and his wife ‘owned’ a total of 317 enslaved people, which is why anyone with a close interest in the founding period should certainly read that ‘necessary corrective’, Frederick Douglass’s What, to the Slave, is the Fourth of July?

The American Revolution, just like Robert Adam’s ‘Kind of Revolution’ in civic architecture, should be viewed as a developing process, not a single event. There is, it goes without saying, no plea-in-mitigation for the crime of slavery, but we should always seek to judge and condemn in context, and should see the continuation of that revolution in Lincoln’s 1863 Emancipation proclamation and the 1964 Civil Rights Act, as well as a work in progress at the present time.

As for the politics of architecture, there is an obvious counter-thesis to the contention that America’s classical tradition in architecture is some sort of conspiracy by an imagined white supremacist right. After all, what is corporate modernist architecture but the built fulfilment of the right wing neoliberal doctrines of Chicago School economics? Writing in The New York Times Magazine in 1970, Milton Friedman, the doyen of unfettered free-market capitalism, accused businesses which claimed to have ‘a social conscience’ of ‘preaching pure and unadulterated socialism’.

Today, US corporate capitalism conspicuously embraces the wholesome acronyms ESG and CSR (Environmental, Social, and Governance criteria, and Corporate Social Responsibility) while waxing eloquent about ‘the sustainability agenda’ yet the supreme imperative, far from ‘unadulterated socialism’, remains that of ‘fiduciary duty’ – the maximisation of profits.

Corporate modern architecture uses the same playbook, rhapsodising in seductive poetry while operating in stark bottom-line prose. Starchitects are never poor. With a net worth of $240 million, Britain’s Lord Foster leads the field, though even at just under half that amount Frank Gehry isn’t doing so badly, while Renzo Piano gets by on $20-30 million and Maya Lin is believed to have banked around $10 million. The earlier generation weren’t exactly struggling either. On his death in 1969 Mies van der Rohe was worth around $5 million – perhaps $40 million in today’s money.

Given the power of wealth and the resultant inequalities of arms this is not, of course, a balanced debate. The advantage lies with the forces of iconoclasm and money churn, aided by a plethora of magazines and glossy books that back their cause. They have, overwhelmingly, the press eating at their table and growth-minded politicians providing them with favours. They also exert a powerful influence over the academic establishment, and thus the minds of future generations of architects.

Moreover, modernism’s architectural nihilists denigrate classicism as ‘architectural conservatism’ as represented by the views of, say, the late Sir Roger Scruton, or the Prince of Wales, while playing down the environmental damage for which they themselves bear much responsibility. They hire PR teams to wine and dine press and politicians, and prefer to avoid critical engagement like the 1982 Harvard debate between Peter Eisenman (later the author of an essay entitled “The End of Classicism”) and the architectural humanist Christopher Alexander, which neither participant could be said to have won, since there was absolutely no common ground between them.

How any of this tallies with the belief that a privileged modernist elite will be serving the interests of the progressive left in matters of class or racial diversity is something of a mystery. A much more persuasive argument than anything Messrs Kimmelman, Filler, or Martin, or Ms Wu, have presented us with in their anti-classical diatribes concerns the ‘democratic essence’ of the classical ideal. After all, if more than three-quarters of the public in a Harris poll prefer classicism to those modernist alternatives which are suggested for America’s federal buildings, this surely suggests it is the people’s choice.

Consider, too, that in Mark Gelernter’s History of American Architecture, of the top three neoclassical European buildings that influenced the neo-Greek style in the emerging United States, two were museums (Smirke’s British Museum in London, and Schinkel’s Altes Museum in Berlin) while the third was a school (Thomas Hamilton’s Royal High School, Edinburgh). The core theme of such architecture, in other words, was the cultivation and betterment of all humankind.

This adaptation of the Socratic belief in the value of knowledge harmonised perfectly with both the Scottish enlightenment and the founding ethos of a republic which began the preamble to its 1787 Constitution with the words ‘We the People.’ It is a demographically inclusive sentiment, and it is appropriate that some of the most sublime classical temples of the ‘great American age’ were designed for mass transit, like New York’s Penn Station. For the late historian Vincent Scully, to arrive at the lost original ‘one entered the city like a god, but now’ he lamented ‘one scuttles in like a rat.’

There is much that is absurd in the phobia of classical buildings by a politically naïve lobby which has persuaded itself that traditionalism in architecture is somehow inimical to the interests of a self-appointed progressive and inclusive left and those it purports to represent. Nor should we unquestioningly endorse the views of a gilded press commentariat which, in many cases, is simply cheerleading its rich architect and developer chums, as evidenced by what the writer Alexandra Lange described as Herbert Muschamp’s ‘5,000-word swoon’ over Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Bilbao which, for him, was ‘a re-incarnation of Marilyn Monroe’.

On the other hand this is not an either/or controversy, with two diametrically opposed factions fighting it out for the urban soul of America. Why should it not be possible to exercise an even-handed judgement, cherishing the great classical heritage on the one hand, while welcoming high quality and appropriately located modern architecture on the other? By no means need everything be classical, even in Washington DC, where the very idea of a Museum of the American Indian inevitably leads to a particularly knotty intellectual quandary.


National Museum of the American Indian. (

Although, on the initiative of Daniel Moynihan, it spent many years in Cass Gilbert’s Beaux Arts Alexander Hamilton US Custom House building in New York, there was an understandable demand that the culture and history of America’s ‘first people’ should have a presence in the nation’s capital. This came to pass in 2004 when the Smithsonian opened a National Museum of the American Indian on Independence Avenue.

The problem with designing a large institutional building to represent an indigenous people who have, historically, no tradition of large institutional buildings was always going to be challenging, particularly on this site. For obvious reasons, there could be no question of marginalising it on a nearby location, such as Rosslyn or Bethesda, while designing a large building in a classical style, even on the Mall, would have struck a note of cultural dissonance.

On the other hand, is the invention of a bogus new sui generis style suggestive of ‘Indian-ness’ a persuasive alternative? For this writer, there might have been a way to get this right if the original architect, Douglas Cardinal, had developed his computer generated theme of nature, with the building as some sort of rocky outcrop rising out of its wetland setting, but he was sacked, and would dismiss the later post-modernist variation on the theme of Fallingwater as ‘a forgery.’

On the other hand this was possibly an intractable problem with no satisfactory outcome. If that last open ground near the Capitol was not to have a classically harmonious building, then what should it be? Perhaps the best defense of the building as it finally emerged is that in the hands of one of the more outlandish post-modernist disruptor architects it could have been so much worse.

Despite the endlessly discordant note in most modern architecture, it is perfectly possible to praise a building like, say, Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Bilbao, given what it achieved for the economy of a run-down post-industrial city in Spain, while at the same time decrying the banal flippancy of his later ‘toytown’ projects like the 2004 MIT Stata Center, which ended up with the client suing its architect for negligence, leaks, and design failures.

It is certainly unfortunate that Bilbao, whatever its socio-economic (as opposed to aesthetic) merits, would spawn a host of imitators like Liverpool’s stupendously awful waterfront museum, the sprayed-concrete opera house in Taiwan’s third-largest city, Taichung, or the tawdry extension by Michael Lee-Chin Crystal to Toronto’s Royal Ontario Museum. Other horrors are available.

The very idea that this sort of bilious rash of vanity-fueled architecture is, in some mysterious way, an improvement on the established traditional norms of architecture utterly defies logic. Even more extraordinary is the fanciful notion that the values of unfettered modernism are in some sense liberal and inclusive, and thus an antidote to the alleged elitism of such established styles as classicism, the preferred choice of the overwhelming majority of the population.

Traditional architecture belongs neither to the right or the left, and it is time it was de-politicized. The last thing an architectural style should be is a manifesto for an ideological cult, whatever Ayn Rand, Philip Johnson, or their present-day disruptor acolytes would have us believe.


Biographical note:

David J Black is former Sunday Times Scottish property and architecture correspondent and a consultant on historic buildings and urban theory. He has written extensively for, amongst other titles, The Guardian, The Observer, The Daily Mail, The Spectator, The Herald, The Scotsman, Private Eye, The Architects Journal, and Country Life.

His fiction includes contributions to BBC Radio 4’s Morning Story (also on PBS America) while his play “Nancy’s Philosopher,” about the controversial relationship of David Hume and Nancy Ord, was first staged at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2017, and restaged in 2019 before Hume’s portrait in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery.

A former trustee of the Scottish Historic Buildings Trust (which finds viable re-uses for historic buildings at risk) he was a founding member and first chairman of the Edinburgh-based Southside Association, a founding member of the Edinburgh Old Town Association, a former chairman of the Borders Branch of the Architectural Heritage Society for Scotland, a member of the US Institute of Classical Architecture & Art, and the General Society for Mechanics and Tradesmen of New York. In 1993 he co-founded Thistle & Rose, a craft company which makes and restores fittings for historic buildings.

Previous books include All the First Minister’s Men (Birlinn; 2004) which exposed the scandal behind the construction of the new Scottish Parliament Building at Holyrood, Edinburgh, and The Virgin Good Junk Guide (Virgin Publishing; 1993), based on a six-week series he wrote for The Observer Magazine. He lives in Edinburgh, Scotland.

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Mary Campbell Gallagher: RIP

Of all the photographs I have taken of Paris, this is my favorite.

I was saddened to hear of the passage on Monday, after a year-long illness, of Mary Campbell Gallagher, a leader in the fight against skyscrapers and other modernist architecture in Paris. Mary was best known for her work as liaison in the United States for SOS Paris, an organization dedicated to preserving the historical character of the City of Light. She founded and led the Save Paris International coalition, dedicated to the same exalted purpose.

Mary Campbell Gallagher

Expressions of deep regret are rolling in from the community that supports Mary’s initiatives in Paris, including Lucy Minogue Rowland, who writes: “What a loss to urbanism and especially to Paris, which she loved so much.” Nir Buras, author of Classical Planning, writes that “[h]er spirit continues to inspire us and her deeds remind us of our own commitments to beauty.” Her close friend the architectural curator Seth Joseph Weine observed, truly, that “[w]ith her … combination of grace, energy and intelligence, she unflinchingly identified and targeted the enemies of what makes cities wonderful places.” Her obituary notes that her friends considered her to be “both beautiful and powerful, a woman of vision, strong [and] articulate.” In addition to leading in the trenches of the style wars in Paris, Mary lectured widely on that city, on skyscrapers and on architecture. She had a degree in law from Harvard, which enabled her to comment acutely on the legal battles fought to save the beauty of Paris.

My own contact with Mary goes back at least to 2008, when she sent me a copy of a white paper written by architectural theorist Michael Mehaffy about then-French president Nicolas Sarkozy’s “Grand Paris 2030” plan. The result of this early use of my pipeline, via Mary, to the resistance in Paris to modernism was my Providence Journal column “France must heed cry of SOS Paris” [alas, the link doesn’t work], which sums up the continuing fight since then – mostly lost causes thus far. Mary has populated my writing frequently.

Still awaiting publication is a book of essays edited by Mary (including one by me) about how Paris and France must defeat the forces of ugliness pounding on the gates of beauty. In English, it will be called Paris Without Skyscrapers, or, in French, Paris Sans Gratte-Ciels (a much more evocative title that calls to mind what the word skyscraper actually means: scraper of the sky).

Mary’s latest contribution to my blog was her guest post in April, reprinted from Le Figaro. It is called “Lovers of Paris the World Over Are Alarmed as it Descends into Ugliness.” In my introduction to her essay, I told of having emailed her my theory that the attack on Paris’s beauty was inspired by a “growing desire to trash Western culture,” which she described as “looney tunes.” In reply, my apology of sorts was: “I admit I phrased this idea a bit more bluntly than was advisable.”

My point is to note that her legal training and her experience as a journalist and publicist resulted in considerable frankness in our years of emails back and forth regarding journalistic practice, often criticizing my occasional failure to list all her allies in the Parisian fights, and occasionally the structure of my quotations of her in my columns and posts, and various other disputes too recondite to summarize here. Others surely benefited from this side of her character. She was very sharp, very tart, and while we certainly did agree on almost every matter regarding Paris and architecture, she held me to the highest standards in my writing.

I’m sure she’s looking down now, and wishing she could type out a riposte involving my quotations of praise from her friends and colleagues, above, which required some slight editing to fit, to parse well, and, once, to censor (or rather to omit) a remark that might have caused confusion. And maybe some other things.

So I am sad that Mary and I will no longer engage in our battles over writing. Nor will she stand by me and I by her in battles over the city we love. But she will be there in spirit! She has been taken up to that great Haussmannesque city in the sky, where she will stroll the boulevards with nary a skyscraper in sight, since the Paris of the future will surely reflect her own exalted vision.

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