Victoria regia's bequest to modern architecture

This paper will explore the relationship between the giant South American waterlily, the Victoria regia (today named Victoria amazonica), and the 1914 Glashaus exposition building by the German architect, Bruno Taut. Starting with a general botanical introduction of Victoria regia, the paper exposes the first European cultivation of the lily by Joseph Paxton at Chatsworth,England, in 1849. Following this initial cultivation, Paxton subsequently develops a specialist greenhouse for the plant, that later becomes the prototype for all Victoria regia greenhouses. However, from about 1860 as Victoria regia cultivation spreads to continental Europe, a greenhouse that differs from Paxton’s prototype subsequently evolves. An investigation of these later continental European greenhouses, coupled with an exposure of Taut’s own writings concerning Victoria regia, reveals startling similarities to the Glashaus, which ultimately reveals the Glashaus as directly inspired by Victoria regia.

Researching Theories of Modernity & the Subject-Critique of contemporary architecture under ideological capitalism-and Fascism & Modern Architecture

In this symposium I will discuss my work on three parallel projects I have been working on since 2010: Theories of Modernity & the Subject-Critique of contemporary architecture under ideological capitalism-and Fascism & Modern Architecture

The modern movement architecture of four South African cities

South Africa's modern architecture is not confined to the cities, but the ideas of the movement were mostly disseminated by architects and academics in Johannesburg, Pretoria, Durban and Cape Town, its four major urban centres. The lay out of significant areas of each city was also influenced by international modernist plans. In outlining the achievements and innovative designs of architects in these cities between the 1930s and 1970s, this article draws a picture of the importance of modernism in South African urban space, and of its diversity. It also draws attention to the political nature of the South African landscape and space, where modernist design was used for racial purposes, and to past and present conservation ideologies. The second part of the article concerns the conservation of modern buildings in these centres; it quotes bibliographies and lists the registers, those existing or under construction. It concludes with an overview of the conservation legislation in place and the challenges of conservation in a context of changing cultural values.

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.

Deceit and Bruno Taut's Glashaus

The historical context surrounding Bruno Taut's Glashaus has been established through work of authors like Reyner Banham, Dennis Sharp and Ian Boyd-Whyte. However, these English language translations, are mostly derived from secondary sources such as Adolf Behne and Paul Scheerbart. Surprisingly, Taut's own writings largely do not feature in this prevailing account of his work. Since 1990, strong doubts have arisen about this conventional picture of Taut's Glashaus. Manfred spiedel, for instance, minimizes Paul Scheerbart's contribution to the design by arguing that Scheerbart met Taut only a few months before the construction of the Glashaus, that is, after Taut had finished his preliminary sketches. Kurt Junghanns goes further and asserts that the Glashaus design was complete beefore Taut and Scheerbart ever met. In 2005, Kai Gutschow published The Culture of Criticism: Adolf Behne and the Development of Modern Architecture in Germany, 1910 - 1914. Most startling, Gutschow asserts that Behne acts as the propagandist for the Glashaus by fabricating its link with Expressionism. This is particularly troubling because nobody contributed more to establishing the link between the Glashaus, Bruno Taut and Expressionism than Behne. As a result of this new evidence, this paper concurs that the established historical understanding of the Glashaus is flawed. By returning to Taut's own writings, a reinterpretation can be offered that strongly links the Glashaus to the Victoria regia lily and Strasbourg Cathedral. The significance of this approach is that it re-establishes Taut's own rational behind the design of the Glashaus, and thus contributes to the re-evaluation of the generally accepted histories of the Modern movement.

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.

The importance of the Deutsche Luxfer Prismen Syndikat, the Victoria regia lily and Gothic imitation in the design of Bruno Taut's Glashaus

Bruno Taut's Glashaus is considered a seminal example of early modernist architecture. Yet, some of the crucial factors behind the design of the Glashaus remain little understood. This PhD reveals that the Glashaus' patron, Frederick Keppler, exerted a significant influence over its design by insisting that it follow a prescriptive brief. Interpreting these rigid instructions, Taut as the architect, gained inspiration from the myths and symbols associated with the Victoria regia lily and the Gothic. This PhD therefore significantly expands the understanding of the Glashaus, and thus reinvigorates our comprehension of one of the most distinctive early examples of modern architecture.

Reflections from damaged modernity

The cliché about modern architecture being the fairy-tale fulfillment of every fantasy ceases to be a cliché only when it is accompanied by the fairy tale’s moral: that the fulfillment of the wishes rarely engenders goodness in the one doing the wishing (Adorno). Wishing for the right things in architecture and the city is the most difficult art of all: since the grim childhood-tales of the twentieth century we have been weaned from dreams and utopias, the stuff of modernism’s bad conscience. For Adorno writing in 1953, Hollywood cinema was a medium of “regression” based on infantile wish fulfillment manufactured by the industrial repetition (mimesis) of the filmic image that he called a modern “hieroglyphics,” like the archaic language of pictures in Ancient Egypt which guaranteed immortality after death in Egyptian burial rites. Arguably, today the iconic architecture industry is the executor of archaic images of modernity linked to rituals of death, promises of omnipotence and immortality. As I will argue in this symposium, such buildings are not a reflection of external ‘reality,’ but regression to an internal architectural polemic that secretly carries out the rituals of modernism’s death and seeks to make good on the liabilities of architectural history.

The sublime, affective process + architectural production

A year before Kate Nesbitt’s Theorising a New Agenda For Architecture (1996), the author penned a chapter on the significance of the sublime and its contribution to post-modern architecture via the uncanny or disturbing through the theories of Vidler and Eisenman (Nesbit, 1995). Twenty years on, we see its ongoing presence within the contemporary works of artists Kapoor, Ellison and Viola. Eisenmann and Libeskind aside, explicit reference to the Sublime whether through architectural praxis or theory appears to have been trumped by ecological derivatives and associated transactions, as catalyst for new architecture and architectural thinking. For Edmund Burke (1757), the Sublime was seen as a leading, an overpowering of self to a state of intense self-presence, often leading to a state of otherness. To experience the sublime is to experience affect, physiologically overwhelming the mental faculties through intensities of astonishment, terror, obscurity, magnificence, and reverence. Key here is Burke’s articulation of the stages of the sublime encounter, particularly so, its implications for the process of production which architectural theorists appear to have overstepped in their valorisation of the sublime object. This paper seeks to resituate the sublime within the context of architectural production. Through concepts such as material thinking, bodies and making strange, the paper explores a shift in focus toward affective processes traced from Burke’s inquiry. Rather than proposing strategies solely for affect within the work itself, the focus lies upon the designing experience, where blockage and desirous forces are critical partners in the process of production, as revealed through recent studio programs entitled Strange Space.

Corporate America And The New Luminous Environment: Kelly’s work with Johnson, Mies, and Noyes

[book] The potential of electric light as a new building “material” was recognized in the 1920s and became a useful design tool by the mid-century. Skillful lighting allowed for theatricality, narrative, and a new emphasis on structure and space. The Structure of Light tells the story of the career of Richard Kelly, the field’s most influential figure. Six historians, architects, and practitioners explore Kelly’s unparalleled influence on modern architecture and his lighting designs for some of the 20th century’s most iconic buildings: Philip Johnson’s Glass House; Louis Kahn’s Kimbell Art Museum; Eero Saarinen’s GM Technical Center; and Mies van der Rohe’s Seagram Building, among many others. This beautifully illustrated history demonstrates the range of applications, building types, and artistic solutions he employed to achieve a “nocturnal modernity” that would render buildings evocatively different at night. The survival of Kelly’s rich correspondence and extensive diaries allows an in-depth look at the triumphs and uncertainties of a young profession in the making. The first book to focus on the contributions of a master in the field of architectural lighting, this fascinating volume celebrates the practice’s significance in modern design.

Lake Shore Drive Apartments

[Book] The potential of electric light as a new building “material” was recognized in the 1920s and became a useful design tool by the mid-century. Skillful lighting allowed for theatricality, narrative, and a new emphasis on structure and space. The Structure of Light tells the story of the career of Richard Kelly, the field’s most influential figure. Six historians, architects, and practitioners explore Kelly’s unparalleled influence on modern architecture and his lighting designs for some of the 20th century’s most iconic buildings: Philip Johnson’s Glass House; Louis Kahn’s Kimbell Art Museum; Eero Saarinen’s GM Technical Center; and Mies van der Rohe’s Seagram Building, among many others. This beautifully illustrated history demonstrates the range of applications, building types, and artistic solutions he employed to achieve a “nocturnal modernity” that would render buildings evocatively different at night. The survival of Kelly’s rich correspondence and extensive diaries allows an in-depth look at the triumphs and uncertainties of a young profession in the making. The first book to focus on the contributions of a master in the field of architectural lighting, this fascinating volume celebrates the practice’s significance in modern design.

711 Third Avenue

[Book] The potential of electric light as a new building “material” was recognized in the 1920s and became a useful design tool by the mid-century. Skillful lighting allowed for theatricality, narrative, and a new emphasis on structure and space. The Structure of Light tells the story of the career of Richard Kelly, the field’s most influential figure. Six historians, architects, and practitioners explore Kelly’s unparalleled influence on modern architecture and his lighting designs for some of the 20th century’s most iconic buildings: Philip Johnson’s Glass House; Louis Kahn’s Kimbell Art Museum; Eero Saarinen’s GM Technical Center; and Mies van der Rohe’s Seagram Building, among many others. This beautifully illustrated history demonstrates the range of applications, building types, and artistic solutions he employed to achieve a “nocturnal modernity” that would render buildings evocatively different at night. The survival of Kelly’s rich correspondence and extensive diaries allows an in-depth look at the triumphs and uncertainties of a young profession in the making. The first book to focus on the contributions of a master in the field of architectural lighting, this fascinating volume celebrates the practice’s significance in modern design.