We’ve all had fantasies of escaping to one place or another and having some life-altering experience or epiphany there, myself included. This line is especially poignant given the sense of disillusionment and loss of meaning that characterized Modernist works post World War I, when I’m sure many people wished to get away from themselves. The First World War questioned the nature of traditional values that were considered absolutes before that time, like heroism, masculinity and objective truth.

Hemingway himself traveled widely in his life: he lived in Paris and Cuba, and went on safari trips in Africa. So does the place make the person? I would argue that Brett, Jake, Robert and Michael never really change in any meaningful way — they were the same people in Pamplona as they were in Paris. But I’d imagine Hemingway’s travels changed who he was, or at the very least informed his writing.

I’m well aware of the pitfalls of assuming the protagonist’s views are the same as the author’s; Hemingway is speaking through Jake Barnes there, not as himself. But I think the question is worth pondering all the same. A change of scene doesn’t necessarily mean a change in character. Maybe you can’t depend on serendipity as much as modern media sometimes makes you believe.

Note: speaking of travels, this nifty site  by GOOD and Graham Roberts has an interactive map of famous journeys from the Old Silk Road to Around the World in 80 Days.

Trouville, Eugene Boudin

 6. Eugene Boudin (1824-1898)

French painter Eugene Boudin grew up riding across the English Channel on his father’s steamboat between his home village of Honfleur and the city of Le Havre. Boudin’s mother put an end to the voyages when the young boy nearly drowned, and the family moved to Le Havre to open a picture frame shop. Perhaps it was these early years at sea—and that terrifying dip in the tumbling waves—that drove Boudin to create the small but dynamic compositions that would directly inspire Impressionism.

As a young man Boudin opened his own framing shop and showed work by artists such as Constant Troyon and Jean-Francois Millet. At 22 he started painting full-time, capturing coastal scenes with an impeccable eye for light and a keen interest in the social interactions of beach-goers. He was greatly influenced by the 16th century Dutch masters, and was one of the first French painters to work in the outdoors.

Boudin moved to Paris on a scholarship when he was 23 and soon met the teenage Claude Monet. Monet was working as a caricaturist on the streets of Paris, but Boudin convinced him to travel to Normandy and paint en plein air. In 1874 Boudin showed work in the first Impressionist exhibition alongside Monet’s pivotal Impression, Sunrise, which was painted in Le Havre and inspired the name of the new movement. Without Boudin’s encouragement, Monet may never have moved past charcoal.

Two Women Chatting by the Sea”, Camille Pissarro

 7. Camille Pissarro (1830-1903) 

Picasso and Matisse called Paul Cezanne “the father of us all”, but there’s always a mentor behind a master. Cezanne was heavily influenced by Danish-French Impressionist and Neo-Impressionist painter Camille Pissarro. “He was a father for me,” Cezanne said. “A man to consult and a little like the good Lord.”

Pissarro grew up on the island of St. Thomas in the Danish West Indies and attended a boarding school near Paris. In school he studied the French masters and excelled at drawing and painting. He moved to Paris in 1855 to apprentice with Anton Melbye and Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot. While Corot worked on his paintings in the studio, Pissarro insisted on painting en plein air and often finished works in one sitting.

The artist was criticized for his technique, which often exposed the rougher, less picturesque side of the French landscape, but his quick, intuitive methods attracted a small group of artists who would soon be known as the Impressionists. Pissarro became their patriarch, and was the only artist to participate in all eight Impressionist exhibitions. However, it was his switch to Neo-Impressionism at 54 and his great influence on Post Impressionism that landed him on this list. Pissarro’s impulse to look deeper into the landscape and trace every rough edge would inspire Seurat, van Gogh, Gauguin and Cezanne in their revolutionary explorations of perspective that would fracture (and eventually completely dissolve) the classical picture plane.

Dora Maar au Chat, Pablo Picasso

 8. Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) 

Pablo Picasso is arguably the most famous—and prolific—artist of the 20th century. He created roughly 13,500 paintings and hundreds of thousands more prints, engravings, illustrations and sculptures over the course of his 75-year career. Though he’s famous for co-developing Cubism, it was his explorations into all corners of the plastic arts that made him so influential. No matter the medium or style, Picasso had a hand in radically changing it all.

The artist was born in Malaga, Spain. His father was a professor of art who began formally training his son from a very young age. By 16, Picasso had gained entrance to the prestigious Royal Academy of San Fernando. In the early 1900s he moved to Paris, where he met art collector Gertrude Stein and many of the most famous artists of the time. He started working with Georges Braque in 1909, and the close friends developed a style that pushed Cezanne’s explorations of multiple perspectives to new extremes.

Cubism encouraged artists to analyze objects and break them into thousands of pieces, and similarly shattered the art world into myriad Modernist movements from Futurism to Constructivism.

No. 5, 1948, Jackson Pollock

9. Jackson Pollock (1912- 1956) 

Jackson Pollock was called “Jack the Dripper” and “The Worst Living Artist in America” by the media, and a large slice of the public saw him as a reclusive drunkard who dealt the killing blow to order and sense in art. Sometimes when you’re drumming up an art revolution, things have to get messy.

Pollock grew up the youngest of five brothers in Arizona and California. He and his brother Charles moved to New York City in 1930, where he studied at the Art Students League and worked for the WPA Federal Art Project. In 1936 he took an experimental workshop on liquid paint that would later influence his famous drip paintings. Under the watchful eyes of collector Peggy Guggenheim, art critic Clement Greenberg and his wife Lee Krasner, who he married in 1947, Pollock would become the figurehead of the Abstract Expressionist movement and radically change the world’s definition of art.

Greenberg saw Abstract Expressionism as the final step in painting’s inevitable reduction to its most essential elements. There was an unmatched purity to Pollock’s atmospheric, gravity free color fields that only the eye could traverse. “Jackson was the greatest painter this country has produced,” Greenberg mused. Whether you agree with the critic or not, Pollock undoubtedly subverted figurative painting in an unprecedented way, and changed art history in the process.

Marilyn Monroe, Andy Warhol

10. Andy Warhol (1928-1987) 

Andy Warhol was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Austro-Hungarian immigrants. In third grade he developed Sydenham’s Cholera, a disorder of the nervous system that left him bedridden for months at a time. Isolated from his peers, the shy child became a voracious student of pop culture. Just a few years later he would build his own towering pedestal using the very figures and symbols that he pinned on his bedroom walls.

Warhol graduated from high school in 1945 and attended the Carnegie Institute of Technology for commercial art. In 1949 he moved to New York City, where he worked in the publishing and advertising industries and got his Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in pictorial design. In the 1950’s RCA records hired Warhol as a designer, where he pioneered innovations in various image-making techniques, most notably in screen printing. At the same time he was using similar processes—and subject matter—in his fine art, which he showed in galleries around New York. It was an approach to art that offended many critics at the time, who accused Warhol of succumbing to the homogenizing forces of consumerism.

This was Warhol’s true impact on art history: to show contemporary artists that they couldn’t avoid or ignore the foundational social changes affected by the mass media. Whether he was exploring identity, vanity, sexuality, fame or nothing at all, Warhol was molding the mercurial landscapes of Modern and Postmodern art.

Don’t forget to read part 1 of this series, and connect with us on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest to let us know who you would choose!

Since many have become familiar with the novel due to high school or college English classes, I think most know the ending but if not, SPOILER ALERT. Get off your computer now and go see the bloody film.

The story is told by Nick, left in a psychiatric ward and forced to confront the events of the past that led him to this point. He tells the story of Jay Gatsby, a mysterious millionaire who throws parties just hoping the only woman he has ever loved will somehow come to him. Of course, she is married and after he gets her, he must then convince her to leave her husband.

Jay Gatsby is, I think, one of the most tragic characters in literature. Luhrmann went beyond that, suggesting that the ones who romanticize the world are tragic. His incorporation of the issues of the jazz age and the modernist authors including isolation, female roles and the lavishness that is ultimately empty is so spot-on that I could not imagine a better adaptation.

And the film is one of the most beautiful pieces of cinema I have ever seen in my entire life. Luhrmann makes this story look like a play, so the 3D added just makes it almost dreamlike, like I was reading the book for the first time and this is what my mind created. Unlike those who heavily advertise the 3D, the artistic use of this effect made me weep over the tracking shots, the editing that is so signature to the director and the fog that Gatsby does his best to see through to find Daisy. No cheesy pops out of the screen here, Luhrmann used the 3D to make it all real, almost like a play. And it drew me in, it made everything so much more intense. Please, for the love of all things, go see it in 3D. If you have any concerns about it, rent Moulin Rouge! or Australia and see the potential there.

Memorable moments include the several performance numbers, some done to modern music. Let me stop there and get on my soapbox to that choice. Modern music in period films create a level of association that cannot be achieved without altering the storyline. This is a trademark for Luhrmann and he chooses the music based on how it reflects the characters. In this case, it’s about lavish lifestyles that are often dreamed up by the poor and how they do not live up to our expectations. People often wish to be rich, famous and have the whole world in the palm of their hand and Gatsby did too. Unfortunately, it never lives up to our expectations. Take the music as the hope that it will, the Gatsby of the entire age and instead of laughing at seeing flappers perform to Jay-Z, you’ll see the sadness of the jazz age that comes after the money runs out.

Gatsby’s origin story is incredible and you’ll feel like you’re there. The scenes of her exploring the house and Nick realizing he doesn’t belong will make you weep. And just wait for the ending, my friends, because it will rip your heart out, use it as a hacky sack and hand it back to you.

I cannot think of one bad thing to say about this film and I am very hard to please. So, with that, get up, go see it and the film is almost three hours long, so you’re getting your money and then some from seeing it in 3D. 

I’ve written before about how personal the work is when working as a residential architect with clients in ‘Architect as: “Confidant, Confessor, therapist, counsellor, priest and champion fencer”‘

But the most important piece of advice I can give to any budding student architect that wants to work on residential projects is that you really meed to care. Not just care about the architecture but really care about the people you’re working with. Their problems become your problems. What’s amazing is that this care is then transferred into the architecture that you’re creating for them and what amazes me more are the range of personal difficulties and particular requirements that you need to care about. From catering in the design for children with disabilities or special needs through to the continual care through the building process to ensure that the everything is built correctly and any problems that develop are cared about and then resolved.

What I also need to write about is that although the architect needs to care he/she can’t take the world upon his/her shoulders and needs to learn how to separate personal for work; I’ll leave this for another day.

Comments as always welcome…

Lots of new pieces by Finnish designer Liisa Vitali have arrived in the shop. They are all from her iconic “Leppäkertu” series of 1966, this design was known as “ladybird”. The pieces are so playful and inspired – I just love them!

As a little bonus, below are a few images from the original promotional catalog for Vitali’s Ladybird series.

Shop Liisa Vitali pieces on Hopea.

Robert La Roche vienne S-58, 1980s vintage sunglasses made in Austria

Castigating heroes
And blaming the weak.

They take daylight in slivers
And upload their fears

With bent flash drive fingers
And anger well steered

And snarled as they glare
Into transmission lights,

Into long, endless nights,
And long running fights,

Flights of fancy.

As children they hid in hedgerows
And whispered with torches,

All fairy tale innocence
And the drive of the naive,

They climbed trees till they bent,
Top heavy and craning,

Excited smiles growling,
Electric and wild,

They were bulbs bright and buzzing,
The rise of a sun.

Now the moon slowly takes them
Till the bile starts to run,

Till it trickles,
Then drizzles,
Then done.

Tanjong Pagar, so full of winding lanes, heralded as the new hipster culinary haven, feels fit for an Easter egg hunt. I would not mind getting lost here if it means stumbling onto some hidden gem. Spared from aimless wandering this time, my find materialized with this cul-de-sac to bliss that is Kaixo (pronounced Kai-Sho). An artful construal of Basque (pronounced Bask, fr.) cuisine, Kaixo deftly glides between Spain and France, the two countries the region straddles, settling on an inclination towards modernist cuisine and here, never will you plunge a fork into meats that had not been through an immersion circulator.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Probably not just meats actually. The Sous Vide Organic Eggs in a ‘nest’ ($12) qualifies as one of life’s best simple pleasures. A bulging pair of soft-set eggs in perfect doneness, framed loosely by wisps of burdock fries, chives and jamon, are held up on a pedestal of forked, blanched potatoes. Then, chicken consomme is poured down like a warm river at your table, bringing heat as it did life to this precious cradle. Trust your instincts: go for the yolks. The savoury edge kicks in reliably and even as the heat dissipated quickly, I pretended it was vichyssoise and carried on.

Named a tad less accurately was the Cherry-flavoured Gazpacho ($8), a chilled kirsch-enhanced tomato soup, smoothie-like, swollen with breadcrumbs, topped with a dollop of cheese, a stream of olive oil, and scatterings of diced cucumber and finely-chopped chives. The cherry came through rather subtly, an accent than a heavy dose, boosting the summer tartness of the tomato while adding some almond notes. Mix the other parts in. The refreshing motif astounds and it pleases much to see swirls in the generous goblet.

Kaixo’s premise of Basque pivots on Pintxos (pronounced peen-chos) (plate of 3/5 for $12/20), a tapas so named for the skewers on the bread. Normally placed openly on bar tops, the pintxos are housed in the glass boxes at the counter for hygiene reasons, and you take your pick just as you would in a patisserie. They are available after 6pm though. Best are the ones with a moist topping base, like that of sauteed mushrooms with a sliver of hard-boiled egg, pearls of golden caviar, aioli and serrano ham. Borrowed moisture made the bread more yielding but not soggy. The bread is slightly tough, at room temperature, but not a problem. Salty smears of chorizo grease on the bread made good on their own; remove the skewer and get on the chorizo, prawn, pickled guindilla chili and kalamata olive for a briny, smoky and citrusy crunch on a stick. The other pintxo, ham and jamon with aioli and alfafa sprouts, made for a simple but posh nosh. Kaixo change the pintxo flavors regularly by the way.

We were seized next by black magic. Squid in its own Ink ($14), hunks of squid stuffed with more of itself, albeit diced, sauteed and risotto-like, standing like three jutting mountains shrouded in sleek garbs of glistening black – total epic glory. No kidding. Richness in umami and flavours of the sea were unfaltering and the tender doneness of the squid made justice to the brackish gravy. This is our rave of the moment.

And so we decided to witness the wonders in the kitchen. Not a hard thing to do, with the strip of glass granting an unobstructed view of the chefs at work. It was comforting to see chef/director Lee Issachar, the brainchild of Kaixo, taking charge of our food. A little more than an induction hot plate, an immersion circulator tank, a convection oven and the usual kitchen fittings form the workspace, and we had a mini show as our next item was prepared.

Confident of the avant-garde cred, we were glad to have the Roasted French Pigeon with Saffron Plums ($28) served pink, a result of sous vide, then finishing in the oven. Wholly flavorsome, thanks perhaps to the vacuum seal before the sous vide, the meat was smooth though at times in need of tugging. More perplexing was the melty liver-like texture achieved in the breast part of the bird – quite a dream in itself. Saffron-scented plums reveal their purpose here, as their winey juices cut through the richness of the squab while sopping with the liberally-doused jus.

An impulsive impetus, we ordered the Spanish Omelete with Potatoes ($12). When it hit our table, my dining companion and I chorused a “no” right away when told we could have the interior less runny. What I would call ‘chowder in an egg’, this brie-shape of an omelette was comfort food. Made in a tiny fry pan, the omelette is moulded as an enclosed frittata, studded with cubes of green pepper, onion and potato, all squishy and pillowy. Butter speaks volumes here and you get intense but measured salty punches throughout the omelette.

On a final note, please grab hold of the Valrhona ‘Gypsy’s Arm’ ($10): a chocolate swiss-roll basically, with a chocolate mousse filling and heavy snowing of cocoa powder. It is all at once melty. A light touch of kirsch and brandy on the sponge provided not too much dampness as to create that nubbly lightness, and the spirits allow you to take in more breaths of the flavors as they evaporate – Valrhona is well presented here.

The décor here is understated minimalism, mirroring the heart of Kaixo (by the way, it means Hello!), and it imbues a laidback vibe with no pretensions. The restaurant does have specials from time to time and I know I’ll be sure to uncover more that Chef Issac has to offer. Many items had tweaks along the way and what we had would probably evolve again as Kaixo receives feedback with serious contemplation. And did I mention they have swanky cultery?

Many thanks to Kaixo for the tastings, without which we would still have had happily made the trip.

Recommended: Sous-vide eggs in a nest; chorizo, prawn and guindilla pintxo; squid in its own ink; roasted french pigeon with saffron plums; Valrhona ‘gypsy’s arm’

Address: 96 Tanjong Pagar Road
Singapore 088517

Tel: (65) 6225 0545

Opening Hours:

Lunch: Wed to Fri, 12pm to 2.30pm

Dinner: Tues to Sat, 6pm to 11pm

Brunch: Sat & Sun, 11am to 3pm

Closed on Mondays (full day) and Tuesdays (for lunch only)

Website: http://www.kaixo.sg

http://www.facebook.com/kaixokulinary?ref=ts&fref=ts

Neostyle Gala 3, 1970s oversized vintage sunglasses, transparent frame with white flowers inside

Cazal Phanatic Dog at Time Tunnel Zuerich

LUSTRA (1916)

“A PACT”

I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman -
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
Who has had a pig-headed father;
I am old enough now to make friends.
It was you that broke the new wood,
Now is a time for carving.
We have one sap and one root -
Let there be commerce between us.

The tone of this poem is both conciliatory and ironic – making a pact with the dead American poet, Pound outs himself as one who dislikes Whitman – “a grown child/ Who has had a pig-headed father.” He acknowledges that Whitman “broke the new wood,” while Pound feels it is “time for carving.” This has a touch of the Freudian totem/taboo to it, but it also paints Pound, an embellisher, in the European tradition, versus the young, energetic “breaking” typical of American art, which he dislikes. The last line, “let there be commerce between us,” makes peace but also makes Pound a separate entity, even a separate nation, posited towards and against each other in economic terms.

“IN A STATION OF THE METRO”

“THE GARDEN”

En robe de parade. – [Albert] Samain (dressing to show)

Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anaemia.

And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.

The first stanza reduces the woman to a length of fluid, expensive fabric, dying “piece-meal” (perhaps a pun on silk piece-work) of the “emotional anaemia” of her class. All around her are the “breeders,” while in her “is the end of breeding.” Like Prufrock, the speaker (and the woman) are desirous of contact, but also terrified by it.

“THE RIVER MERCHANT’S WIFE”

The River-Merchant’s Wife: A Letter

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fo-Sa.

By Rihaku – a translation

“HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY,” 1920

The poem, too long to reproduce here, is modeled on the “center of consciousness” Pound thought typical of Henry James’ fiction – a judging mind that is also being judged.  The epigraph is Nemesianus’ “The heat calls us into the shade,” and the opening lines are “For three years, out of key with his time,/ He strove to resuscitate the dead art/ Of poetry; to maintain ‘the sublime’/ In the old sense. Wrong from the start- / No, hardly, but seeing he had been born/ In a half savage country, out of date… His true Penelope was Flaubert.” On the war: “There died a myriad,/ And of the best, among them,/ For an old bitch gone in teeth,/ For a botched civilization.” “Daphne with her thighs in bark/ Stretches toward me her leafy hands.” “Knowing my coat has never been/ Of precisely the fashion/ To stimulate, in her,/ A durable passion” refers to the woman’s superficiality, but also to the Yeats poem “A Coat” perhaps. “Poetry, her border of ideas,/ The edge, uncertain, but a means of blending/ With other strata.” The last lines of the envoi are “Siftings on siftings in oblivion,/ Till change hath broken down/ All things save Beauty alone.”

Shockley’s poetics is as versatile as the history she endeavors to render. While she indeed takes liberties with history, her resultant historicity seems entirely genuine. For instance, ‘from The Lost Letters of Frederick Douglas’ reads as a found poem. The language is reminiscent of Douglas’s while the tonality has both the playful father-to-daughter banter (‘Can you really be fifty-three this / month? I still look for you to peek around / my door as if you’d discovered a toy / you thought gone for good’) as well as the antithetical solemn father-to-daughter repartee: ‘You’re as wrong as you are / lucky.’ The poem is derived wholly out of Shockley’s mind, and still we can’t help but feel the authenticity. This pseudo-found poem only begins to skim the surface of her ingenuity. She implements forms ranging from mesostics to concrete poetry; take her poem ‘x marks the spot’ (shaped like an X), whose form is so adroit I can’t begin to describe it in words (hence, I believe, the physicality of the poem). In the poem, Shockley crosses her X at

affixed african
amended american

creating a nearly perfect blend of form and content. I believe that what Shockley is aiming to do, especially in poems like ‘x marks the spot’, is (re)call our attention to the word. This is often the aim of literary artists. When James Joyce—who is considered both inane and genius for his ‘stream of conscious’—was asked if he had a good day of writing, he responded that he indeed did! When asked how much he got down he answered ‘Three sentences.’ It is this attention to the word that makes a great writer. Shockley’s ‘clare’s song’ consists of words that are placed in succession only with regard to their association to one another. Although the conventions of grammar are stripped away, Shockley still conveys a story rife with emotion; her character is introduced, her story is told, and her end is envisioned. It is pure narrative driven by individual words dependent on the subjectivity of its reader; it is pointillism in verse.

Each of her poems maintain its own life and attitude because she is truly submerged in our wor(l)d, and that’s why her poetry is so consistently good. Here’s a poem on America that left me stunned when I read it and gave me chills when I had the good fortune of hearing her perform it.

dear opaque policy,

transparency is the new this
is for your own good. covering
your ears is a sound defense.
the status quo never looked
so good. goods. and servers.
ye gods! the national security
blanket is a crazy quilt. award
awash aweigh awol. a globe
warming up to consumption.
he’s got the whole world in
his lands. friends. ends. trust
me. must we? survey says:
property. and life, and liberty,
but only if you’re not it. tag.

Me? I’ve done and happy doing both. See opposite the modernist contemporary extension to a traditional rural two storey farmhouse in County Roscommon:

Two storey modernist extension to contemporary farmhouse

To this two storey extension (currently under construction) and proposed elevation:

2 storey extension to traditional house – under construction

Proposed front elevation

Even this ‘matching’ extension is set back from the existing house to create a separation of the two buildings; there is also a greater contrast at the rear of the dwelling.

Each method has its own merits:

• Contrasting the new separates the old from the new, making the building easier to ‘read’ historically
• Matching the new blends the new in with the old and is probably a more ‘planning friendly’ route. Luckily the planning authorities where I work are reasonably progressive and can understand both sides to the argument and the County Mayo guide for dingle rural houses encourages contemporary design at the correct scale.
• But what was I taught at college? As discussed previously the design ‘Bible’ Responsive Environments by Bentley Alcock Murrain McGlynn Smith we used at Oxford Poly (now Brookes) was written by the tutors and is still in print HERE at AMAZON drew pn contextual cues from other adjacent buildings. The purpose of which was to ‘unite adjoining buildings of a disparate character’ with a contemporary version which neither exactly or contrasted completely with the surrounding architecture. This is illustrated brilliantly in the image below from the book showing a development in Bruges:
  

  Image from Responsive Environments

  What do you think? Comments welcome…

As New Yorkers transition into weekend warrior mode, summer homes are taking the spotlight.

“Architecture of Seduction” is a presentation, panel, and party at The Standard High Line this Monday celebrating Fire Island modernism and the legacy of Horace Gifford, one of the summer resort’s most prolific architects.  The panel includes architects Chris Rawlins (of the upcoming “Fire Island Modernist”), Chris Renfro, and Matthias Hollwich (the latter two are designing the soon-to-reopen Pavilion nightclub).

It’s all timed to celebrate the 60th anniversary of Fire Island Pines and the release of Rawlins’ new book.  Select advance copies will be available at the event.

Well, we’re certainly feeling seduced!  E-mail rsvp@artbook.com to attend.

Gifford’s 1964 Kauth Residence. Image courtesy of Michael Weber.

The interior of the Kauth Residence. Beginning with the Kauth House in 1964, conversation pits became a staple of Gifford’s living spaces. Sofa cushions were often tailored to slide off their frames into the pit, creating a fireside love nest. Image courtesy of Michael Weber.

Gifford’s 1976 Scali Guest House. This house featured shoji-like doors, a low plinth, deep overhangs, and lack of freestanding furniture, meant to evoke a Japanese temple. Image courtesy of Michael Weber.

Gifford’s 1967 Luck House. For its flood-prone site in Bridgehampton, N.Y., concrete-block piers cantilevered the Luck House to safety. Image courtesy of Horace Gifford.

The 1965 Burge Pavilion. With an eye towards precedents by his mentor Louis Kahn and Frank Lloyd Wright, Gifford designed several homes with a pinwheel of towers that strategically framed diagonal ocean views in the rapidly developing community of Fire Island Pines. Image courtesy of Horace Gifford.

The Rosenthal House, 1972. “You should know two things about me,” said Gifford to potential clients Robert and Gladys Rosenthal. “I’m gay, and I’m manic depressive.” They were unfazed, and he rewarded their trust with a glass-walled, diamond-shaped living room that was placed between twoelliptical towers containing the kitchen and the bedrooms. Image courtesy of Tom Sibley.

The Lipkins House, 1970. With its pulsating rooflines and thrusting cantilevers, Gifford conjured a discotheque on the dunes. Inside, colored lighting and electric-blueshag carpet snaked through spaces with names like “The Cave” to give form to the free-wheeling, free-love culture of 1970. Image courtesy of Michael Weber.

The Evans/DePass Residence, 1965. This house rose on slender tower bases, a “space ship,” as Gifford described it, hovering over its earthbound beach shacks. Image courtesy of Horace Gifford.

The Bonaguidi House 2, 1975. Between the sloped glass walls and the suspended wood floor, trap doors opened up to pull air through the home and out again through a large central skylight. Image courtesy of Horace Gifford.

Christopher Rawlins, AIA. Image courtesy of Megan Greenlee.

Don’t miss it 04.05.2013

Dunhill London 6067, 1980s vintage sunglasses made in Austria

Anyway, obscure habits aside, lets get on with my topic for today: the criticism of Brutalism by the culture that embraced traditional modernism, purified it, extracted its raw ideals - and produced what I believe to be some of the finest British architecture of the 20th century. Brutalism came about primarily from the Corbusian principles of Beton Brut (or roughly finish concrete) an exposed if not celebrated structure, and uncompromising functionality. Famous or infamous whichever view you hold, the Smithson’s were the first credited advocates of this style in the early 1950′s, but the term Brutalist is probably most associated with architects such as Erno Goldfinger, Basil Spence and CPB (Chamberlain, Powell and Bon).

Unite d’Habitation by Corbusier, considered the prime example of moderist mass-housing.

If any of you have wandered around the Barbican estate, Preston bus station, or many of the other powerfully monolithic Brutalist structures in our city centres then I presume you may also have felt the sense of fortress-like power often embodied in these buildings. Call it tenuous, but the last time I visited a building that exuded such a feeling of solidarity and purpose was probably one of the Welsh castles I live in close proximity to. Imperial classicism has its grandeur, as does the baroque and renaissance. Georgian and Victorian have proportional and ornamental splendour, with Edwardian offering the suburban picturesque. But nothing of the 20th century appears to come close to the impressive or oppressive (whichever alliance you hold) spatial assertion that structures such as Trellick or Balfron tower impose upon their immediate context.

Fortresses: Conwy Castle and the Barbican estate.

It is unfortunate then, that much of today’s Brutalist architecture is either demolished, decaying or detested by the majority of both designers and society alike. (alliteration again  unintended, promise) They slander its rough and ugly choice of materials, they accuse its complex walkways and ramps of perpetuating muggers, and they accuse its very presence of intimidating occupants whilst suppressing comfort or promoting social anxiety. I may have embellished ever so slightly but you get the picture. Yet why is it that so many appear to worship the not so distant modernism that it once came from? The core principles are still in operation with its unyielding functionality and its attempt to formalise or classify spatial order in a uniform arrangement, whilst striving for an increasingly efficient modular solution.

Park Hill: before and after with its modular elevation and streets in the sky. Will the shiny aluminium panels eradicate the anti-social stigma?

I believe that much of this negative connotation is actually associated and/or derived from the failings of British social politics in the 70′s and 80′s. You mention tower blocks, underpasses or walkways and people do not respond with efficient, futuristic or Corbusier. They will likely reply with dangerous, anti-social, and urine stained. Brutalism did not sado-masochistically perform this self degradation, it was gradually injected into the organisation of such housing estates and developments by a restless, unemployed and neglected sector of society which found vandalism and crime to be the best solution to their social frustration. Is this situation rectifiable? Urban Splash and English Heritage seem to think so with Park Hill, along with many others that received listed status in the 1990′s or turn of the millennium. This however is an architectural solution to a cultural problem, and unfortunately the connection only appears to work in one direction. Anyway, I have rambled on far enough and lunchtime is looming – what do you think of Brutalism? Is there any way to alter such negative perceptions when our social history has entangled itself so intimately? I like to think so, but for every one that is saved, ten more appear to vanish from the diverse urban fabric that makes British cities and towns so evocatively unique.

Solutions to ‘The bitter view on Brutalism by the public’ on a stamped postcard to ‘The general consensus’.

Ciao.

Images courtesy of Google and its wonders. References to come.

Ray Ban Gatsby Style 5 1980s vintage sunglasses B&L

First class Cazal vintage sunglasses with second hand Cazal Tour Bus, by Kabus Kerim

Anyway, statement of vague and possibly banal intent made. Please do return here again if you wish to purvey my unparalleled idiocy and obscure architectural musings. I shall leave you with this picture of Park Hill in Sheffield after recently attending a tour with the developers, Urban Splash. Interesting and controversial to say the least, Park Hill is the topic of my MA dissertation this year, so hopefully I can share some of my research with you fine gentle-folk over the coming weeks.

Ciao!

Image of Park Hill is property of moi.

Guided by: Bernie Flaman, Florence Stratton, Martin Gourlie, Jeannie Mah, and perhaps others

Saturday, May  4th

4:00 PM, 1.5 hours, Central Library, 12th Avenue and Lorne Street, front steps