The passionate critic

It's hard to be dispassionate about Reyner Banham. For me, and for the plethora of other people with strong opinions about Banham, his writing is compelling, and one’s connection to him as a figure quite personal. For me, frankly, he rocks. As a landscape architect, I gleaned most of my knowledge about Modern architecture from Banham. His Theory and Design in the First Machine Age, along with Rowe and Koetter’s Collage City and Venturi’s Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture were the most influential books in my library, by far. Later, as a budding “real scholar”, I was disappointed to find that, while these authors had serious credibility, the writings themselves were regarded as “polemical” – when in fact what I admired about them most was their ability and willingness to make rough groupings and gross generalizations, and to offer fickle opinions. It spoke to me of a real personal engagement and an active, participatory reading of the architectural culture they discussed. They were at their best in their witty, cutting, but generally pithy, creative prose, such as in Rowe’s extrapolation of the modern citizen as the latest “noble savage”, or Banham railing against conservative social advocates and their response to high density housing: “those who had just re-discovered ‘community’ in the slums would fear megastructure as much as any other kind of large-scale renewal program, and would see to it that the people were never ready.” Any reader of Banham will be able to find a gem that will relate, somehow, personally, to what they are doing right now. For Banham, it was all personal, and the gaps in his scholarship, rather, were the dispassionate places: “Such bias is essential – an unbiased historian is a pointless historian – because history is an essentially critical activity, a constant re-scrutiny and rearrangement of the profession.” Reyner Banham: Historian of the Immediate Future, Nigel Whiteley’s recent “intellectual biography” (the MIT Press, 2002), allowed me to revisit Banham’s passionate mode of criticism and to consider what his legacy might be. The book examines Banham’s body of work, grouped according to his various primary fascinations, as well as his relationship to contemporaneous theoretical movements, such as postmodernism. His mode of practice, as a kind of creative critic, is also considered in some depth. While there are points where the book delves into Banham’s personal life, on the whole Whiteley is very rigorous in considering and theorizing the work itself: more than 750 articles and twelve books. In academic terms, this is good practice. However, considering the entirely personal nature of Banham’s writing itself, this separation seems artificial. Banham, as he himself noted, “didn’t mind a gossip”, and often when reading the book I was curious about what was happening to him at the time. Banham’s was an amazing type of intellectual practice, and one that academics (a term he hated) could do well to learn from. While Whiteley spends a lot of time arguing for his practice to be regarded as such, and makes strong points about both the role of the critic, and the importance of journalism, rather than scholarly publishing, I found myself wondering what his study looked like. What books he had in his library. Did he smoke when he wrote? What sort of teaching load did he have? He is an inspiration to design writers and thinkers, and I, personally, wanted to know how he did it.

Theatre audience contribution : facilitating a new text through the post-performance discussion

Theatre Audience Contribution introduces a new approach to theatre audience research: audience contribution through the post-performance discussion. This volume considers the physical and vocal behaviour of audience members as an integral part of the theatrical event that changes, adds to and informs the theatrical experience. Post-performance discussions, although rising in popularity, are yet an under-explored and under-utilised avenue for audience contribution. Beginning with an overview of reception theory and the historical role of theatre audiences, the author introduces a new method for the facilitation of post-performance discussions that encourages audience contribution and privileges the audience voice. Two case studies explore post-performance discussions that inform the theatrical event and discover a new role for the contemporary audience: audience critic. This accessible volume has significant implications for theatre theorists, practitioners and audiences alike.

Review of "Postcolonial Issues in Australian Literature" edited by Nathanael O’Reilly (Cambria Press, 2010)

Some years ago I opened the 1998 edition of the Johns Hopkins Guide to Literary Theory and Criticism and turned to the entry ‘Australian Theory and Criticism.’ This read: ‘Australia has produced no single critic or theorist of international stature, nor has it developed a distinct school of criticism or theory.’ Postcolonial content was listed under a section called Postcolonial Cultural Studies and there one found key names including Tiffin, Ashcroft, Stephen Slemon, and During...

‘Argue with us!’: audience co-creation through post-performance discussions.

In this article Caroline Heim explores an avenue for the audience's contribution to the theatrical event that has emerged as increasingly important over the past decade: postperformance discussions. With the exception of theatres that actively encourage argument such as the Staatstheater Stuttgart, most extant audience discussions in Western mainstream theatres privilege the voice of the theatre expert. Caroline Heim presents case studies of post-performance discussions held after performances of Anne of the Thousand Days and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? which trialled a new model of audience co-creation. An audience text which informs the theatrical event was created, and a new role, that of audience critic, established in the process.

The pomegranate cycle : reconfiguring opera through performance, technology & composition

The Pomegranate Cycle is a practice-led enquiry consisting of a creative work and an exegesis. This project investigates the potential of self-directed, technologically mediated composition as a means of reconfiguring gender stereotypes within the operatic tradition. This practice confronts two primary stereotypes: the positioning of female performing bodies within narratives of violence and the absence of women from authorial roles that construct and regulate the operatic tradition. The Pomegranate Cycle redresses these stereotypes by presenting a new narrative trajectory of healing for its central character, and by placing the singer inside the role of composer and producer. During the twentieth and early twenty-first century, operatic and classical music institutions have resisted incorporating works of living composers into their repertory. Consequently, the canon’s historic representations of gender remain unchallenged. Historically and contemporarily, men have almost exclusively occupied the roles of composer, conductor, director and critic, and therefore men have regulated the pedagogy, performance practices, repertoire and organisations that sustain classical music. In this landscape, women are singers, and few have the means to challenge the constructions of gender they are asked to reproduce. The Pomegranate Cycle uses recording technologies as the means of driving change because these technologies have already challenged the regulation of the classical tradition by changing people’s modes of accessing, creating and interacting with music. Building on the work of artists including Phillips and van Veen, Robert Ashley and Diamanda Galas, The Pomegranate Cycle seeks to broaden the definition of what opera can be. This work examines the ways in which the operatic tradition can be hybridised with contemporary musical forms such as ambient electronica, glitch, spoken word and concrete sounds as a way of bringing the form into dialogue with contemporary music cultures. The ultilisation of other sound cultures within the context of opera enables women’s voices and stories to be presented in new ways, while also providing a point of friction with opera’s traditional storytelling devices. The Pomegranate Cycle simulates aesthetics associated with Western art music genres by drawing on contemporary recording techniques, virtual instruments and sound-processing plug-ins. Through such simulations, the work disrupts the way virtuosic human craft has been used to generate authenticity and regulate access to the institutions that protect and produce Western art music. The DIY approach to production, recording, composition and performance of The Pomegranate Cycle demonstrates that an opera can be realised by a single person. Access to the broader institutions which regulate the tradition are not necessary. In short, The Pomegranate Cycle establishes that a singer can be more than a voice and a performing body. She can be her own multimedia storyteller. Her audience can be anywhere.

Natures muses in Bruno Tuat’s Glashaus

Constructed for the 1914 Werkbund Exhibition in Cologne, Germany, the Glashaus was both a seminal example of early modernist architecture and Bruno Taut’s signature building. Over time, metaphors have come to be applied to the Glashaus. Within the realm of nature these metaphors include cosmic, geological, botanic and sexual. However these metaphors, like the history of the Glashaus, are not a foregone conclusion. Recently it has been argued that the majority of our current knowledge regarding the Glashaus derives not from the perspective of Bruno Taut as the architect, but rather directly from perspective of the art critic Adolf Behne. This argument goes further and proposes that Behne’s official history of Glashaus is possibly fabricated propaganda. So, if indeed the official history of the Glashaus is questionable, then too are the natural metaphors commonly applied to the building. By revisiting Bruno Taut’s pre-1915 writings, this investigation reveals that botanic metaphors appear to have been Taut’s primary source of inspiration for the design of the Glashaus. Through the exposure of this fact, this research contributes significantly to the current debates surrounding Bruno Taut, the Glashaus and the re-evaluation of the official histories of the modern movement.

Whe' yu' from?

"Whe' yu' from?" The question was put to me as I wandered, camera in hand, in the old square of Spanish Town, Jamaica's former capital. The local man, lounging in the shade of one of the colonial Georgian buildings that enclose the square, was mildly curious about what he took to be a typical white tourish photgraphing the sights of the decayed historic town. At that time, my home was in Kingston where i lived with my wife and baby son. I was then working in the Jamaican Government Town Planning Department in a job that took me all over the island. Turning to my questioner, I replied, "Kingston". There was a brief pause, and then the man spoke again: "No Man! Whe' yu' really from?" I still have difficulties when asked this question. Where am I from? What does this question mean? Does it refer to where I was born, where I spent my previous life or where I live now? Does it have a broader meaning, an enquiry about my origins in terms of background and previous experience? The following chapters are my attempt to answer these questions for my own satisfaction and, I hope, for the amusement of others who may be interested in the life of an ordinary English boy whose dream to travel and see the world was realized in ways he could not possibly have imagined. Finding an appropriate title for this book was difficult. Thursday's Child, North and South and War and Peace all came to mind but, unfortunately for me, those titles had been appropriated by other writers. Thursdays's Child is quite a popular book title, presumably because people who were born on that day and, in the words of the nursery rhyme, had 'far to go', are especially likely to have travellers' tales to tell or life stories of the rags-to-riches variety. Born on a Thursday, I have travelled a lot and I suppose that I have gone far in life. Coming from a working class family, I 'got on' by 'getting a good education' and a 'good job'. I decided against adding to the list of Thursday's Children. North and South would have reflected my life in Britain, spent in both the North and South of England, and my later years, divided between the Northern and Southern Hemispheres of the globe, as well as in countries commonly referred to as the 'advanced' North and the 'underdeveloped' South. North and South has already been appropriated by Mrs Gaskell, something that did not deter one popular American writer from using the title for a book of his. My memories of World War Two and the years afterwards made War and Peace a possible candidate, but readers expectnig an epic tale of Tolstoyan proportions may have been disappointed. To my knowledge, no other book has the title "Whe' Yu' From?". I am grateful to the Jamaican man whose question lingered in my memory and provided the title of this memoir, written decades later. This book is a word picture. It is, in a sense, a self-portrait, and like all portraits, it captures something of the character, it attempts to tell the truth, but it is not the whole truth. This is because it is not my intention to write my entire life story; rather I wish to tell about some of the things in my experience of life that have seemed important or interesting to me. Unlike a painted portrait, the picture I have created is intended to suggest the passage of time. While, for most of us in Western society, time is linear and unidirectional, like the flight of an arrov or the trajectory of a bullet, memory rearranges things, calling up images of the past in no particular order, making connections that may link events in various patterns, circular, web-like, superimposed. The stream of consciousness is very unlike that of streams we encounter in the physical world. Connections are made in all directions; thoughts hop back and forth in time and space, from topic to topic. My book is a composition drawn from periods, events and thoughts as I remember them. Like life itself, it is made up of patches, some good, some bad, but in my experience, always fascinating. In recording my memories, I have been as accurate as possible. Little of what I have written is about spectacular sights and strange customs. Much of it focuses on my more modest explorations includng observations of everyday things that have attracted my attention. Reading through the chapters, I am struck by my childhood freedom to roam and engage in 'dangerous' activities like climbing trees and playing beside streams, things that many children today are no longer allowed to enjoy. Also noticeable is the survival of traditions and superstitions from the distant past. Obvious too, is my preoccupation with place names, both official ones that appear on maps and sign boards and those used by locals and children, names rarely seen in print. If there is any uniting theme to be found in what I have written, it must be my education in the fields, woods and streets of my English homeland, in the various other countries in which I have lived and travelled, as well as more formally from books and in classrooms. Much of my book is concerned with people and places. Many of the people I mention are among those who have been, and often have remained, important and close to me. Others I remember from only the briefest of encounters, but they remain in my memory because of some specific incident or circumstance that fixed a lasting image in my mind. Some of my closest friends and relatives, however, appear nowhere in these pages or they receive only the slightest mention. This is not because they played an unimportant roles in my life. It is because this book is not the whole story. Among those whe receive little or no mention are some who are especially close to me, with whom I have shared happy and sad times and who have shown me and my family much kindness, giving support when this was needed. Some I have known since childhood and have popped up at various times in my life, often in different parts of the world. Although years may pass without me seeing them, in an important sense they are always with me. These people know who they are. I hope that they know how much I love and appreciate them. When writing my memoir, I consulted a few of the people mentioned in this book, but in the main, I have relied on my own memory, asided by daiary and notebook entries and old correspondence. In the preparation of this manuscript, I benefited greatly from the expert advice and encouragement of Neil Marr of BeWrite Books. My wife Anne, inspiration for this book, also contributed in the valuable role of critic. She has my undying gratitude.

What is a good project manager? Reconceptualizing the “do” : an Aristotelian perspective

In Social Science (Organization Studies, Economics, Management Science, Strategy, International Relations, Political Science…) the quest for addressing the question “what is a good practitioner?” has been around for centuries, with the underlying assumptions that good practitioners should lead organizations to higher levels of performance. Hence to ask “what is a good “captain”?” is not a new question, we should add! (e.g. Tsoukas & Cummings, 1997, p. 670; Söderlund, 2004, p. 190). This interrogation leads to consider problems such as the relations between dichotomies Theory and Practice, rigor and relevance of research, ways of knowing and knowledge forms. On the one hand we face the “Enlightenment” assumptions underlying modern positivist Social science, grounded in “unity-of-science dream of transforming and reducing all kinds of knowledge to one basic form and level” and cause-effects relationships (Eikeland, 2012, p. 20), and on the other, the postmodern interpretivist proposal, and its “tendency to make all kinds of knowing equivalent” (Eikeland, 2012, p. 20). In the project management space, this aims at addressing one of the fundamental problems in the field: projects still do not deliver their expected benefits and promises and therefore the socio-economical good (Hodgson & Cicmil, 2007; Bredillet, 2010, Lalonde et al., 2012). The Cartesian tradition supporting projects research and practice for the last 60 years (Bredillet, 2010, p. 4) has led to the lack of relevance to practice of the current conceptual base of project management, despite the sum of research, development of standards, best & good practices and the related development of project management bodies of knowledge (Packendorff, 1995, p. 319-323; Cicmil & Hodgson, 2006, p. 2–6, Hodgson & Cicmil, 2007, p. 436–7; Winter et al., 2006, p. 638). Referring to both Hodgson (2002) and Giddens (1993), we could say that “those who expect a “social-scientific Newton” to revolutionize this young field “are not only waiting for a train that will not arrive, but are in the wrong station altogether” (Hodgson, 2002, p. 809; Giddens, 1993, p. 18). While, in the postmodern stream mainly rooted in the “practice turn” (e.g. Hällgren & Lindahl, 2012), the shift from methodological individualism to social viscosity and the advocated pluralism lead to reinforce the “functional stupidity” (Alvesson & Spicer, 2012, p. 1194) this postmodern stream aims at overcoming. We suggest here that addressing the question “what is a good PM?” requires a philosophy of practice perspective to complement the “usual” philosophy of science perspective. The questioning of the modern Cartesian tradition mirrors a similar one made within Social science (Say, 1964; Koontz, 1961, 1980; Menger, 1985; Warry, 1992; Rothbard, 1997a; Tsoukas & Cummings, 1997; Flyvbjerg, 2001; Boisot & McKelvey, 2010), calling for new thinking. In order to get outside the rationalist ‘box’, Toulmin (1990, p. 11), along with Tsoukas & Cummings (1997, p. 655), suggests a possible path, summarizing the thoughts of many authors: “It can cling to the discredited research program of the purely theoretical (i.e. “modern”) philosophy, which will end up by driving it out of business: it can look for new and less exclusively theoretical ways of working, and develop the methods needed for a more practical (“post-modern”) agenda; or it can return to its pre-17th century traditions, and try to recover the lost (“pre-modern”) topics that were side-tracked by Descartes, but can be usefully taken up for the future” (Toulmin, 1990, p. 11). Thus, paradoxically and interestingly, in their quest for the so-called post-modernism, many authors build on “pre-modern” philosophies such as the Aristotelian one (e.g. MacIntyre, 1985, 2007; Tsoukas & Cummings, 1997; Flyvbjerg, 2001; Blomquist et al., 2010; Lalonde et al., 2012). It is perhaps because the post-modern stream emphasizes a dialogic process restricted to reliance on voice and textual representation, it limits the meaning of communicative praxis, and weaking the practice because it turns away attention from more fundamental issues associated with problem-definition and knowledge-for-use in action (Tedlock, 1983, p. 332–4; Schrag, 1986, p. 30, 46–7; Warry, 1992, p. 157). Eikeland suggests that the Aristotelian “gnoseology allows for reconsidering and reintegrating ways of knowing: traditional, practical, tacit, emotional, experiential, intuitive, etc., marginalised and considered insufficient by modernist [and post-modernist] thinking” (Eikeland, 2012, p. 20—21). By contrast with the modernist one-dimensional thinking and relativist and pluralistic post-modernism, we suggest, in a turn to an Aristotelian pre-modern lens, to re-conceptualise (“re” involving here a “re”-turn to pre-modern thinking) the “do” and to shift the perspective from what a good PM is (philosophy of science lens) to what a good PM does (philosophy of practice lens) (Aristotle, 1926a). As Tsoukas & Cummings put it: “In the Aristotelian tradition to call something good is to make a factual statement. To ask, for example, ’what is a good captain’?’ is not to come up with a list of attributes that good captains share (as modem contingency theorists would have it), but to point out the things that those who are recognized as good captains do.” (Tsoukas & Cummings, 1997, p. 670) Thus, this conversation offers a dialogue and deliberation about a central question: What does a good project manager do? The conversation is organized around a critic of the underlying assumptions supporting the modern, post-modern and pre-modern relations to ways of knowing, forms of knowledge and “practice”.

Review : "Not Quite Hollywood" -- Mark Hartley

Synopsis and review of the Australian documentary Not Quite Hollywood (Mark Hartley, 2008). Not Quite Hollywood might just as accurately have been titled Not Quite Australian Cinema. The film begins from the premise that the vast range of films it covers have been unduly overlooked by critics, historians and scholars of the Australian cinema despite often enormous box office success. Much of the blame for the marginalisation of these films is placed at the feet of former Sydney Film Festival director and long-time film critic for The Australian newspaper David Stratton, well-known to Australian audiences as one half of the ‘David and Margaret’ couple who have dominated film reviewing on Australian television for many years. Stratton’s books on the Australian film revival The Last New Wave (1980) and The Avocado Plantation (1990) are said to have set the tone for later writers by reviling or simply ignoring many of the films produced in Australia in the 1970s and 1980s in favour of a canon of films and directors deemed more culturally and artistically worthy. Perhaps predictably, Not Quite Hollywood swings the other way. The back-slapping, anecdotal, revisionist history told through the many interviews with key figures from the time is only occasionally interrupted by Bob Ellis and Phillip Adams, who are only slightly uncomfortably cast as defenders of the mainstream views. The interviews and clips from the films are interspersed with the fan-boy enthusiasms of Quentin Tarantino whose geek-chic profile and encyclopaedic knowledge of exploitation and genre cinema are milked to the full. In sharp contrast, Ellis’s scorn for these filmmakers and their films is total, but it is his withering and slanderous assessments of the characters, talents and practices of producers like Antony I Ginnane and John Lamond that leavens this sometimes stodgy stew of selfcongratulation...

Theatre, social media and spectatorship : translating commentary, critique and controversy across media

The occasional ArtsHub article asking spectators to show respect for stage by switching all devices off notwithstanding, in the last few years we have witnessed an clear push to make more use of social media as a means by which spectators might respond to a performance across most theatre companies. Mainstage companies, as well as contemporary companies are asking us to turn on, tune in and tweet our impressions of a show to them, to each other, and to the masses – sometimes during the show, sometimes after the show, and sometimes without having seen the show. In this paper, I investigate the relationship between theatre, spectatorship and social media, tracing the transition from print platforms in which expert critics were responsible for determining audience response to today’s online platforms in which everybody is responsible for debating responses. Is the tendency to invite spectators to comment via social media before, during, or after a show the advance in audience engagement, entertainment and empowerment many hail it to be? Is it a return to a more democratised past in which theatres were active, interactive and at times downright rowdy, and the word of the published critic had yet to take over from the word of the average punter? Is it delivering distinctive shifts in theatre and theatrical meaning making? Or is it simply a good way to get spectators to write about a work they are no longer watching? An advance in the marketing of the work rather than an advance in the active, interactive aesthetic of the work? In this paper, I consider what the performance of spectatorship on social media tells us about theatre, spectatorship and meaning-making. I use initial findings about the distinctive dramaturgies, conflicts and powerplays that characterise debates about performance and performance culture on social media to reflect on the potentially productive relationship between theatre, social media, spectatorship, and meaning making. I suggest that the distinctive patterns of engagement displayed on social media platforms – including, in many cases, remediation rather than translation, adaptation or transformation of prior engagement practices – have a lot to tell us about how spectators and spectator groups negotiate for the power to provide the dominant interpretation of a work.

Negotiating the creative and the critical : Paul Dawson’s creative writing and the new humanities

In the first Modern Language Association newsletter for 2006, renowned poetry critic and MLA President, Marjorie Perloff, remarked on the growing ascendency of Creative Writing within English Studies in North America. In her column, Perloff notes that "[i]n studying the English Job Information List (JIL) so as to advise my own students and others I know currently on the market, I noticed what struck me as a curious trend: there are, in 2005, almost three times as many positions in creative writing as in the study of twentieth-century literature" (3). The dominance of Creative Writing in the English Studies job list in turn reflects the growing student demand for undergraduate and postgraduate degrees in the field—over the past 20 years, BA and MA degrees in Creative Writing in North American tertiary institutions have quadrupled (3)...

The lily, client and measure of Bruno Taut’s Glashaus

The Glashaus is considered a significant exemplar of early modernist architecture and is generally accepted as having had Expressionist origins. However, current research has revealed that the design origins of this important building are not fully understood. While the historical record acknowledges the contributions of the bohemian poet Paul Scheerbart and the art critic Adolf Behne, the role of the Glashaus’ architect, Bruno Taut, has been moderated. In an attempt to rectify this situation this article proposes that the design origins of the Glashaus can be found in a strong architect-client interaction. It is argued that the Glashaus’ client, the Deutsche Luxfer Prismen Syndikat under the directorship of Frederick Keppler, exerted a significant influence on its design. In order to showcase the glazed products of Luxfer in the best manner possible, Keppler insisted that the design feature a glazed dome, electric lighting, a fountain as well as a cascade. Given the detailed stipulations of this brief, Taut had few options other than to offer interpretations of precedent that derived from the Victoria regia lily and Gothic proportioning. By expounding this architect-client relationship, this article expands our understanding of the Glashaus, and reinvigorates our understanding of this important early example of modern architecture.

Clipped

Clipped was a solo developed from a showing of Stage One Creative Development: Experience Has No Shadow at the Judith Wright Centre for Contemporary Arts in 2010. The solo was choreographed for EDC dancer Elise May as part of EDC Solo Festival 2011. The solo showcased the twisting movement of the dancer, feminine and awkward, sensual and fragile, carving abstract images through the space. In the Courier Mail dance critic Olivia Stewart commented, “Artistic director Natalie Weir and Vanessa Mafe retrospectively gave EDC’s Riannon McLean and Elise May movement that harnessed their power and prowess” (2011, 54) In the The Australian dance critic Shaaron Boughen comments, “May's own performance in Vanessa Mafe's Clipped was mature and sophisticated, showing the breadth of skills that this young artist has developed” (2011, 19)

Better half-dead than read? The Mezzomorto cases and their implications for literary culture in the 1930s

This article focusses on the two libel cases arising from Brian Penton's review of Vivian Crockett's novel Mezzomorto for the Bulletin in 1934, viewing them as points of entry into Australian literary politics in the 1930s, and as windows on to one of the most enduring and interesting feuds in Australian literary culture, that between P.R. 'Inky' Stephensen, self-styled 'Bunyip Critic,' and Brian Penton, arch exponent of 'destructive criticism' and scourge of parochial pretension. The cases are particularly interesting for what they reveal about the evolving positions of two influential figures in Australian writing of the 1930s and 1940s. They also play in to contemporary debates about the state and status of 'literature' in Australia. And while Penton's biographer Patrick Buckridge avers that the cases did not impact on any of the larger contemporary literary issues (meaning censorship and free speech), a case may be made for the significance of the libel actions in the context of attempts to establish an industrial and cultural presence for a diverse range of Australian writing.

Bruno Taut’s design inspiration for the Glashaus

As a formative exemplar of early architectural modernism, Bruno Taut’s seminal exhibition pavilion the Glashaus (literally translated Glasshouse) is logically part of the important debate of rethinking the origins of modernism. However, the historical record of Bruno Taut’s Glashaus has been primarily established by one art historian and critic. As a result the historical record of the Glashaus is significantly skewed toward a singlular notion of Expressionism and surprisingly excludes Taut’s diverse motives for the design of the building. In an effort to clarify the problematic historical record of the Glashaus, this book exposes Bruno Taut’s motives and inspirations for its design. The result is that Taut’s motives can be found in yet unacknowledged precedents like the botanical inspiration of the Victoria regia lily; the commercial interests of Frederick Keppler as the Director of the Deutche Luxfer Prismen Syndikat; and imitation that derived openly from the Gothic. The outcome is a substantial contribution to the re-evaluation of the generally accepted histories of the modern movement in architecture.