A Cosmic Dance of Bursting Decadence and Withheld Permissions - The Dennis Severs House

So if you're following the blog, it's no secret that East London is probably my favorite place in the world. When I moved here it kind of felt like one of those coming-of-age movies from the 90s about 'the summer that changed everything' but with way more hard liquor and a better soundtrack. And indeed, in certain parts of Shoreditch, the obnoxiousness of never-ending adolescence is still strong in the streets. Regardless - East London is where I became the person I always wanted to be: it's where I fell in love, it's where I started dying my hair and wearing clothes that fit, and against the best backdrop in the world I was finally happy: hundreds of years of history and an ever-changing landscape. This is not to say I'm immune to its flaws. If I have to walk into one more hipster bar and pay 9$ for a beer while some dingus wearing Google Glass explains why I should be doing their design work for free, I'm going to yak.

Though I'm not the only American to fall prey to the charms of Spitalfields, there have been many before me but who exceeded all collective eccentricities and definitely had more money. Was the king of the desperate romantics: Dennis Severs.

Dennis Severs had been brought up in post-war California, and while the likes of Reyner Banham were dreaming of the place-less reinvention that the West provides, Severs longed to be part of something older. After years of costume dramas on TV, Severs arrived in London in the 1970s, but found something not at all to his tastes. It was a rapidly industrializing place and the city workers were getting more encompassing by the day. Instead of accepting his disappointment and adjusting, he simply ignored the development around him and decided to live in the past. Sort of like the Amish or Japan's rejection of firearms for 300 years.

The past became Severs medium: he began by buying an authentic handsome cab and giving rides. But after his stable was demolished by developers, he needed to find another outlet. So he bought a ramshackle house at 18 Folgate Street and started to work.

He decided that he was going to invent a family of Huguenots silk merchants, their beginnings as hard working protestants to grasping decadence and further to their inevitable decline. Each room in the house was going to be a total experience, sights, smells, sounds. All in perfect silence while Severs described this fantastical history. Here's a quick recap starting from the bottom-up:

Basement Cellar - The remnants of the leper burial plot from St. Mary's Spital (hence the name: Spitalfields)

Basement Kitchen - The beginning of sensory development, in an almost Frank Lloyd Wright philosophy, he reminds the viewer that the Latin word for hearth is focus. So the fire is the axis on which the rest of the home moves (editorial note: I've always disagreed with this statement, though maybe because I've always had central heat)

First Floor Dining Room - The "Jarvis Family" (again, a complete invention by Severs) move in and are the kind of hard-working patriarchs one might expect. Food half eaten, a clean, functional, warm space filled with orders and announcements.

Second Floor Parlor - It seems a generation later, their protestant beginnings have started to give way to the Enlightenment principles of Kantian aesthetics: not a single thing should be added or removed, the room is complete.

Second Floor Smoking Room - Though all is not well with the Jarvis Family, the heir is a lout and a drunkard, a spoiled rich-kid who daddy never paid attention to. The thing that is to be noted in this room is the vast number of blood-letting bowls, a common treatment for people suffering from Gout. Turned over chairs and the pungent smell of tobacco pervades. According to the myth, the young heir eventually hung himself in the attic, something that is noted in a portrait in the upstairs room - speaking of which.

Third Floor Bedrooms - A young girls room is immediately on the left as you come up the stairs is covered with subtle notes of a broken heart. A portrait of a young man with a black ribbon tied around it, dozens of pictures of happy couples, this girl wants to be loved. Bad. The other bedroom is presumably of her mother, an eccentric who would have been a hoarder if taste had allowed. This place is lousy with blue and white china.

The Lodgers Rooms - But it's here where the story gets dark, fast. In an almost Dickensian turn of events, the Jarvis silk business is waning now that the industrial revolution has taken hold and they are taking in poor lodgers. Notes from "Scrooge and Marley, Esq." are posted all around, presumably these are bills for unpaid rent. This setting also makes sense as Victorian Spitalfields was the haunt of Jack the Ripper and various unsavory folks.

First Floor Parlor - Though it seems the Jervis' survive long enough to make it to the late Victorian period. The last room you enter is at the bottom of the stairs, just before you exit. Here the cult of personality that surrounds Victoria and Albert is in full swing, with over-decoration and stuffed chairs to match.

As you exit the house, you're leaving on the eve of 1912, as a subtle newspaper cutting on the wall describes. World War is upon you, and as you exit onto modernity, you know the world of the Jarvis' is over.

I liked it, though it is slightly disturbing. Though by far my favorite part was the hallway decorations. On the first floor, a magnificent candied fruit display sits delicately on a wooden table. Anyone who has been in enough museums would recognize it immediately as an objet d'art. One that, should it be on display in any other forum, would be a nice piece of pottery and nothing else. Here it is being used for its intention, and is all the more beautiful for it.

The main gist of this whole house is either you get it or you don't. A viewer will either see an intense Gesamtkunstwerk of a still lives and people just outside of sight or a total weirdo whose obsession with the past is just an uncomfortable side effect of mental illness. It's kind of up to you.

I think I get it because I understand Severs longing desire for a world not his own. More than once people have asked me why I don't want to live in the place I grew up. At the end of the day, it's because the person I was when I lived there wasn't a person I liked being: insecure and jealous, awkward and lonely. It was the liberation of all that middle-class, white bread, meet a nice boy and settle-down expectation that made me happy for the first time in years. And that liberation came in the form of constraint. Constraint by history.

History has the ability to make you feel connected to a longer tradition, even if it's one you invent, like Severs did.

Though at the end of the day, the obsession eventually consumed Severs and in the last years of his life, he sought to escape the world he created, realizing that there was no way to continue this obsession. Maybe that's the trap of reinvention, if its tied too closely to a place, then its never really yours.

The Wonderful World of Architectural Writing

So I've been kind of lax in posting my other writings on the blog here.

I assure you it is not from lack of work but neither am I going to complain with my least favorite excuse: "I'm so busy". The answer is that I now share a wall with my infant niece and the lack of sleep that produces has made me all kinds of scatter-brained. But nevermind that, without further ado -





Madness and Method at St. Elizabeths
Washington D.C.’s next major addition is a department headquarters that challenges the city’s views on temporality, functionality and even irony. The site is a place of madness, method and the schemes in between; one the government both embraces and fears.
Published by 'Failed Architecture' April 2014 See the full article HERE



Next Time, Send Flowers
In this short essay, misappropriated art theory and fame are discussed in the scope of a recent tabloid obsession. A Hollywood superstar's plagerism, some bizarre skywriting and a gallery show are all clues, but who is the culprit in this crime of art theft?
Published by 'Resonance' the Architectural Association History and Critical Thinking Research Platform, March 2014 See Full Article HERE


Changing Times, Changing Designs: Council Offices Then and Now
What does the design of local government say about surrender, duty and the perceptions of power? Camden’s replacement of their Brutalist Council Office Building with a new one, gives a clue.
Published by 'Failed Architecture' January 2014 See the full article HERE






The Nothing That Consumes: How Battleship Grey Changed Design
In 1909 the Royal Navy began painting everything within grasp a vague, nothing kind of colour, one that was intended to be useful, not beautiful. Yet over 100 years later “Battleship Gray” has become the inescapable basis of almost all design and subsequently, most of the physical world. More than a post-war standard-issue metaphor for bureaucratic oppression, or a dogmatic footnote in architectural academia, it is the colour of purgatory and boredom, the promise of a future while the soul is mortgaged: doing far more for and to design that it has ever been credited for. Further, the only way to break the bonds of its oppression is to acknowledge it as fact.
Published by 'Saturated Space' Nov 2013 Read the full article HERE

There is also talk of my work being published in a book. I won't say anything more about it than I am excited and dubious.

Now if I could only devise a way to get babies to sleep through the night. 

Some last minute stops before we're lost at sea again.

So now that my grad school thesis is turned in I decided to reward myself in the dorkiest way possible: by going to visit museums. The cockney man I love was not able to come with me so it was kind of interesting getting involved in London's history spots without someone I can ask a bevy of questions to.

 

Questions like: "Is marmite an actual food or is used just for torture?" or "Do people in England really think that Ben Franklin was a serial killer?" But here we go:

 

Stop 1) The Handel Museum

 

 

 

Did you know that Jimmy Hendrix and Handel lived in the same row home in west London? Because I didn't. And honestly, that is kind of the only architectural interest of this house. Not to be dismissive to the museum, or it's staff, who were lovely. But unless you're super into Hanoverians, Harpsichords or dope-ass wigs. It's a row-home that has a very nice open spaces and a flat in the attic. I'd skip it. Though the restaurant in the little courtyard out back is nice.

 

 

 

Stop 2) The Dickens Museum

 

 

 

The Dickens Museum on the other hand is much more interesting and maybe because as a person, Dickens is just more interesting. Handel was incredibly private but Dickens may have been the human equivalent of a Chihuahua high on cocaine: the dude had some energy.  The house itself is what a respectable Victorian home should be, and for that, it's interesting. It's lush, but compact, pretentious but not insincere. As someone who only recently started to get into cooking I can state that the kitchens were fascinating, particularly the sinks which seemed to have been a huge piece of stone carved into the shape of a utility sink.

 

Yet what I liked best about this museum was that it felt like the home that a writer would live in. It was comfortable but bright. Secluded but not isolated. It was the home of someone who works from home.

 

Off-topic: he was not cool to his wife. but then again she was loopy on drugs. also kind of dumb. Seriously look it up. Somebody hit a mid-life crisis wall hard.

 

 

 

SPEAKING OF WIVES!!!! 

 

Stop 3) Hampton Court Palace

 

 

 This was a place I had been dying to get to all year but like going the post-office, I hadn't found time. Well not anymore. Instead I took the noon train from Waterloo to Kingston-Upon-Thames. If one had been part of Henry VIII's court one would have taken a boat there (or back depending on if you were going to get your head cut off). But I'm rabble at best, so it's public transport for this kid.

 

The story of Hampton court is actually a tale of two buildings. The first one being the Renaissance Palace of a certain Cardinal Wolsey who had both sense and power, but not quiet enough as it would turn out. The other being Christopher Wren's palace for William and Mary on the other side. Both are really interesting in their aesthetics mostly because they're doing the same thing: promoting pleasure.

 

Henry the VIII's pleasure was grand, open air dining, dancing and spectacle. Sexy ladies and their scandalous French hoods. mrrrowww.

 

William of Orange's pleasure was a quiet evening and a good book, maybe a meal with a few good friends. He was a homebody.

 

And the layouts reflect this. The original Hampton Court is open and solid the addition is quiet and delicate.

 

However, more than anything else it feels like a palace. The only comparison I can think of at this scale is, rather uncreatively, Versailles. But Versailles is a consistent design plan. ALL of it feels ostentatious and dictated by strict protocol, and it all boils down to the king as an other-worldly creation.  This is not to say that Hampton Court lacks that sense of force of personality, but that the personalities there are not as exacting in what they want their design to be. If Versailles is an exacting and coordinated dance, then Hampton Court is a waltz. It's got rules, but they're pretty easy to follow.

 

Maybe this has something to do with the inconsistencies of power for both of the main residents. Henry had only come to the throne because his father had beaten Richard III, William only had it because he married a nice girl who didn't have any brothers. (Not to mention both he and his wife had the ghost of Charles I haunting their every move). Versailles is absolutely sure that their power is unending, Hampton Court wants to prove that they are powerful in the here and now.

 

 

 

Though I think my favorite part of the whole palace was the influence of Henry's Wives or as I call them:

 

- Catherine "Everyone Forgets I'm a Blonde" of Aragon

- Anne "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard" Boleyn

- Jane "Something in Sheep's Clothing" Seymour

- Anne "It's what's on the inside that counts" of Cleeves

- Katherine "Pics or it didn't happen" Howard

- Catherine "Just get me out of here" Parr

 

Ahhh Henry, you may have been a horrible monster but you were never boring.

One for you, one for youtube.

So I realize that I haven't shared like, any videos of my sorted adventures. Let's fix that now.

Tate Modern - London

 

Hills in Derbyshire

Lyme House, Derbyshire

Chatsworth House Picture Gallery

Kedleston Hall Ballroom

Edinburgh Castle View

 

Dunnottar Castle - Exterior

Dunnottar Castle - Interior

For me, for me, for me, formidable

I have just returned from the south of France and man does London weather look downright miserable in comparison. Now granted, I am not adept at warm temperatures. In fact, anytime it gets about 80 I start fearing for immediate implosion, but after several months of what seems to be the perpetual mid-November weather of England, a Mediterranean trip could not be turned down. Our first stop was Lyon, which is in the southern central part of France and home to some of my favorite street art. Including one which told me (in English) that : "Life is too short for soft porn". Thanks. Gross.

But what I found most interesting in Lyon were the three following places:

 1) Jean Nouvel's extension of the Lyon Opera House -  I liked it, for whatever that's worth. It's trying to be epic and sophisticated but in a contemporary fashion. Much like the loud break-dancing teenagers outside the opera house, it's an attempt at taking something historic and making it contemporary. Though the real success is how it meets the public space adjacent to it.

2) Le Village de Etats Unis (and corresponding murals) - This odd area of the city was designed almost entirely by Tony Garnier, and as such has an almost Utopian feel to it. Originally this was built, as the name implies, for Americans who had served in WWI, built between the years of 1920 and 1935, as affordable housing it's a remembrance of its time. Both beautiful and just a little off.

3) Halle Tony Garnier - You may be able to guess who designed this one. Sadly we couldn't go inside, but the exterior was quite lovely. In fact, I would venture to say it is the nicest slaughterhouse I've ever been to. TAKE THAT SMITHFIELD MARKETS!

After we left Lyon we made our way to La Tourette, or more formally, 'Sainte Marie de La Tourette'. Which is a Dominican monastery outside of Lyon, about 30 min by car. If you're reading this blog, I'm making a general assumption that you are aware of Le Corbusier and his subsequent effect on architecture both modern and contemporary. But for me personally, I always hated the work of Le Corbusier. I know that's blasphemy, but we're being honest here. For years I thought his work was enormously over-rated and, as little as it matters in the grand scheme of architecture, ugly. This ugliness comes from what I perceived as a lazy style of baton brut, clumsy forms and ideas which are overly political for someone who finds himself 'convieniently Swiss' every time a war breaks out. He may have had Sigfried Gideon and Colin Rowe in his pocket (which are indeed, pretty good gets), but not me.

Though I always found my hatred of this ugliness to be contradictory, I mean I loved (and still do love) Robert Venturi's work, and that is about as ugly as ugly gets. Why then so much Corb-hate? I suppose it's because I saw it as claiming to be more than it is, the product of a really good spin artist and a figure just arrogant and articulate enough to be believable. That is until I saw La Tourette. Cliche as it sounds, I think the monastery may have started to make a believer out of me. Do I think it's my favorite building of all time? No. Not even close. But being there, walking around, staying in one of the cells, I get it. There are theorists who believe that Le Corbusier's work was done in such a manner to make it more photogenic. I'm going to have to disagree. In photos La Tourette looks like a massive, miserable block of a building. Solid, impenetrable, unfeeling. But I guess what I never realized, not fully anyway, is just how hollow and empty the courtyard of the building seems to be, how green, how, well, peaceful. It should be noted that just about a 2 min walk away from the entrance of La Tourette is a graveyard. As the woman who runs the monastery stated 'it's a wonderful place to be deceased' and yeah, in a weird way, you feel almost like a ghost in La Tourette. It feels ancient, and you are merely the earth-bound shell of blood and bone holding, like a egg in a nest, a soul which emerges, fully formed upon your death. Or maybe that's the wine talking. Either way, it was better than I expected.

 

Though the skylights sticking out of the chapel are stupid looking from the exterior. That I'm never going to change my mind on.

The next step was the provincial town of Arles. Arles is the kind of place that you feel a Diane Lane movie should be set. You know the one I'm talking about, like a middle-aged woman moves to a small town in Europe after her crippling divorce to discover herself and along the way meets a gardener or like a mechanic or a wine merchant or whatever who teaches her to love again.

As a side note, I'm going to list words I hate that are used in movies such as this:

- Sensual
- Lover
- Wit and Wisdom (together, the words are perfectly fine apart)
- Rediscovering herself

Ugh - kill me.

However, to the best of my knowledge Lifetime has never actally filmed a movie in Arles, so I allowed myself the freedom to like it. And it is, really, really charming. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the entire pizza I ate by myself, but the connection of provincial, ancient and accessible just gets me every time. Sometimes I suspect that going to these places as an American means that you're going to see these places differently. In the US if there are 'charming winding streets' they are usually artificial and conceived of a Richard Sennett inspired urbanist, which is fine, by the way. But there is a kind of obsolete usefulness to these streets, like stubbornly using a type writer from the 1920s, even if the damn thing barely works. They have problems, they're not practical, but what can I say? Oh, let's just let 1990s Meg Ryan do it for me?

Stay tuned for next time when we talk about Marseilles, Unite D'habitation and various other sundries.

All my Victorians in the house say 'Whaaaatt?!'

What's that you say? You want to hear MORE about Museums in London? Well. Give the people what they want.

London Museums Part II: Al and Vicky want to party with you

Ahhh Queen Victoria, is there any more confusing idol for modern women? On the one hand you were the unquestionably dominant ruler of a vast empire (granted, a lot of people in that empire were not interested in you ruling them, but still). On the other hand, you were a big supporter of a woman's place being squarely in the home, idealizing womanhood as being submissive, delicate, passive and pure. The idea that a person is either 'pure' or 'fallen' just doesn't sit right with me: placing the value of a human life on whether or not they put out is not only unfair, it's also untrue. 

Also, the period Queen Victoria came to be the symbolic representation of produced some of the weirdest, most incorrect takes on history. See the death of Horatio Nelson. Yet, this period also some of the greatest contributions to literature the world has ever seen. What to do, what to do? Do we hate Victorians for their general characterization of being ethno-centric, tree-cutting, whore-mongering, bizzarre, repressed and even sometimes unbelievably rascist/sexist jerks? Or do we celebrate their industry, their imagination, their thirst for knowledge and their belief in social reform and improving the lives of the poor? To quote John Green "Stupid History. Always resisting simplistic understanding".

So it's with this state of mind that we look at the Victoria and Albert Museum.

The V&A had originally gotten it's start in the 1850s with the intent that the "decorative arts" may improve the life of the common workers in London. For a while the collection moved from venue to venue until it found it's permanent home near Hyde Park, where it stands today. To date, it is the world's largest museum dedicated to the "decorative arts" which we will find means basically whatever you want it to.

I had been interested in visiting this museum for quite some time, but for some reason, something had always came up on the day of and I'd have to cancel. That is until a cold October day when class was suddenly cancelled and I had nothing else to do. A few tube stops later I entered the belly of the beast.

It's a really extraordinary place, not only as a collection of decorative arts, but for how many people are there. Seriously, this place was like a circus. If you are the kind of person who is into the hushed awe of an empty museum then this is not the place for you. Kids, adults, everybody, they're all over the place. And for good reason, in what other museum can you see Edwardian Gowns next to a display about 'Gothic Lolitas' or enormous cast reproductions of Trajan's column next to some beautiful little Korean bowls.  I think what I enjoyed most was the cast rooms, not only for the sculptures, but for the scale. It's three stories high and you can follow everything from top to bottom.

Though points need to be given to Tipu's tiger, which is a bizzare contraption that I think could serve as a very good metaphor for the museum as a whole.

Weird? Yes...but also kind of cool.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: The V&A. Weird...but in a cool way.

'Soane' Great Museum and Tempting Oscar Bait

So I checked the blog this morning and realized that I have been a no-show for quite some time. Well all that changes NOW. Over the past month, a lot has happened and we've been to a lot of places. Let's start in London shall we?

Part One: Luxury for Free

One museum in London is kind of a secret club: a 'shave and a haircut' knock for designers. Being able to say you've been there is nerd street cred of the highest caliber.  It is of course, The John Soane Museum. If you are an obnoxious hipster designer, your first expression would be 'Oh, have you not heard of the Soane?' said with a downcast eye and a mixture of contempt, pride and superiority. Barf.

Some people are under the impression that the only kind of people who 'get' the Soane Museum are designers and that's just nonsense. Anyone who is interested in something unusual likes the Soane Museum, which is why their candlelight tours (which take place the first Tuesday of every month seriously, look it up) are always packed around the block.

So what makes the Soane so special?
If it were a movie the tag line would be: 'It Takes Progress'
The trailer would start: 'In a world, where life was run by a series of precise rules and polite society, one man decided to create his own dream scape, where anything was possible.'

Then the score starts playing and...who can we get?... Hugh Jackman... looks up from a drafting desk. 

Cut to black.

Coming this Christmas: SOANE.

Getting back on track: John Soane was a neo-classical English architect in the late 1700s/early 1800s who rose up the ranks of society from a humble background, mostly through his charm, connections and talent to become one of the most celebrated designers in England. You can see his influence in London today, from public buildings to the red telephone booths (which were inspired by some of his later work). The wealth and prestige his success bought him allowed Soane to buy a house in fancy (and also schmancy) neighborhood of Holborn. Slowly the home was expanded and became a sort of playground for the brilliant mind. It was here Soane could experiment with concepts on a individual scale and magnificently arrange the numerous souvenirs from his global travels. If you have ever wondered what the concept of the 'Sublime' looks like in architecture, this is a perfect example. It's weird, it's small and you feel like at any moment you could be grabbed by a maniac or fall through the floor, but that excitement is kind of the best part. On top of that, and let's get real here: it's just plain beautiful. The light, the layering, the arrangement, the Soane Museum makes you the star of your very own version of Indiana Jones. It's personal and it's charming, you feel like you really get to know the man who designed it. Love. Passion. Fear. Regret. You can see how a guy like this could become such good friends with JMW Turner.

Due to the thoroughness of it's integration, it's hard to tell where the collection ends and the building begins. However, there are a few moments that stand out, particularly in the painting room, where you can find an original Hogarth in the form of A Rake's Progress.

More on that here:

You can also review our old posts about Northern Scotland, which goes over it, click Here

The display of A Rake's Progress is masterfully done, a visionary design of scale that opens expensively. Watching the paintings unfold, you feel sophisticated and wealthy, something I realized because Grad school makes you very, very poor. This experience is poignant especially because the display may have been designed to give Soane comfort after he realized that his own son, George Soane, was a stereotypical 'Rake'. Violent, dissolute, angry and bitter, George marries a girl to spite his parents, gets into debt he can't get out of and spends the rest of his adult life simultaneously trying to destroy his Father's reputation and, stupidly, also trying to extort money from him.

To ensure his wastrel son does not get the inheritance, and also because it's a nice thing to do, upon his death Soane donated his collection and home to the city of London, where you can view it, any time of the year for nothing. If you're in London, do it, it's a 4 minute walk from the Holborn tube station and absolutely worth your time. Go for the nerd cred, stay for the sheer experience. Even if you're not a designer, trust me, you'll love it.

Love Letters to Dead Architects: I trust you, you got an honest face.

Dear Barthelemy Lafon,

What am I going to do with you? You're carousing all over New Orleans making a right nuisance of yourself: lurking around the Quarter and the Garden District, all man, all maneuvers and all mustache. Piracy! Smuggling! Bow ties!  Unbelievable!

Lucky for me, I'm not the type who gets all googlie-eyed at bad boys. At least not anymore.

Why did you did you do it Thomy? Was the humble charm of designing streets and bath-houses too lowly? Was the making of one of the strangest, most wonderful, most sublime cities in the world not enough to sate your appetites? You, the classicist scholar, you the philanthropist, you the man who saw past race at a time when it was not considered. So ahead of your time, yet stooping to petty lies and criminality. This is a grand and glorious disappointment.

Maybe I'll forget you move back north and flirt with some city folk, or maybe I'll become one of those great New Orleans eccentrics and wander the streets in a veil made of satin, weeping over a good man who was as bad, bad, bad as the darkest secrets on the hottest nights. The war made a lot of men and took a lot of men. I'm sorry to say that it took all the good out of the Barthelemy Lafon, at least the one I used to know.

Farewell,

Retly Corm

Dear Pope Sixtus V,

You know your Eminence, I'd be lying if I said that I'd never written one of these to a Pope before. Mama always told me not to lie to the leader of the Catholics, and I follow that advice. I gotta hand it to you, you're a man who knows marketing. Now I know what you'll say, that this great re-structuring of the Roman streets isn't for profit, it's for the glory of God and typically I'd think that was just lip-service, but I bet you really mean it.

See, your holiness, I've seen Popes before who claim to be holy, but really, they're just in it for the money and the power. *cough Alexander VI cough* What? Oh nothing. Just got some Borgia stuck in my throat.

Anyway, what I'm saying is that you saw a unique opportunity and took advantage of it. All of Europe is engulfed in a cataclysmic war, that is except Rome. So what do you do? You make Rome the #1 go-to site for all Catholics from everywhere. This may be anachronistic, but your Disney-land this town like none-other. It's smart. You make sure that every major church has a relic and that you can get from one to the other without a map. Then you build fountains and obelisks so the faithful, and maybe even the not-so, will gather around and use public spaces, bringing a sense of community. If the Reformationists want a battle of art and ideas, you give them the best you can give. Rome will Baroque the hell heck out of this time period. Bringing it Grottammare style.

Now, if only you could lay off the Inquisition and the whole Spanish Armada thing, we might actually have a decent Renaissance Papacy going. 

Best,

Retly Corm

Love Letters to Dead Architects: Of Telephones and Tyrants

Abbot Suger,

Greetings from a far. I have heard of the great comissioning of a great cathedral. Do you worry, sir, that it will be percieved the wrong way? That this wonderful new "Gothic" style will be taken as a showboating attempt? France cannot afford to lose face in these uncertain times. What with sexy and violent English monarchs seducing the hell out of our dear French queens and then unfortunetly being very good at fighting, it is now more that ever we should forget our petty politics and focus on the greater goals. Then again, I may be wrong, your attempts may be, in earnest, for the glory of God and the saving of souls. Surely a Catherdral filled with the majesty of pure light would never be taken as a giant 'we're better than you' to England. What with their craggly, boorish and brutal castles. This catherdral is a step towards the future, a step out of chaos, a step for France.

With love,

Retly Corm




Daaaaaaaaymn Louise Blanchard Bethune, you fine.

yo. yo. yo. girl lemme get your number...come on gurl the telephone was only invented last year...so what's yo number..1?2?3?4? 5? oh...it's 5 isn't it. Well don't worry..I'll just keep trying numbers 'til I find you. So what you doin' here? Drafting? Damn girl..not a lot of ladies do that..in fact you are the first fine piece of lady meat I have ever seen professionally following an architectural career. I like it. Independant ladies. Making money..huh? 'Your compensation is unfairly poor'. You KNOW that ain't right. So you got a boyfriend? Is he big? Is he coming back soon? You married? you are. you work with him. Then you must need a break. Shiiiiii girl you gimme your number I promise I won't call it all the time, just when little mama needs a break you know. Oh you gotta go..well that's cool. I'll be here tomorrow to look at your lovely face..girl you filling out that hoop skirt.

- Retly Corm

Love Letters to Dead Architects: Sinners, Saints, Slobs, Salesmen

Well, well, well, if it isn’t Asher Benjamin,

So how does it feel to be the Betty Crocker of the Architectural World? Now. Don’t look at me like that (I know you are), I don’t mean to be condescending. Think about it, your books have made it possible for those who don’t have access to any academies or ecoles to aspire to architecture greater than that of necessity.

Additionally, about these detail drawings you’ve included - understandable, well drafted, and beautiful - which is all I will say about the matter.

In many ways, you’re not to far from Andrea Palladio (Don’t gasp at my blasphemy, it does’nt suit you.) I knew him, a long, long time ago. You would have liked him and I imagine he would have felt the same way about you.

While I wish you had truly spread your horizions beyond the idyllic and the rural when it came to your “architectural how-to” book. I can do nothing but congratulate you.

Therefore I must leave now, unless I appear to be gushing with praise.

Yours ever,

Retly Corm



Erich Mendelsohn,

I can’t get you off my mind. All those curves in the Einstein Tower? All those Triangles in the Luckenwalde Hat Factory? The perfect composition that is the Red Flag Textile factory. It’s enough to make a person blush. It’s like the material has melted, a northern and modern evolution of Gaudi. But still, you’re so much more than that…

Question: Do you know how hard it is to find someone who is both smart and fun to be around?

Answer: It’s really hard.

You must know this. You’re surrounded by scientists…scientists who play the cello, I’m sure they’re nice, I’m just saying. I’ve also know scientists who play instruments and most of them were insufferable.

With Love,

Retly Corm

Dear Pierre Cuypers,

I can tell you are the kind of man who you don’t mess around with. So let me just go ahead and confess what we both know: I’m nothing but a sinner.

I was raised with good principles, but traveling the world and wanting the presence and presents of all manner of rakes and rascals, well one cannot stay immune forever. I’m not sure I want to be saved, but when I look at your Gothic Rijksmuseum Amsterdam, I get a feeling I’ve not had in years. Maybe the apotheosis your architecture gives to all the Rembrandts and Vermeers, maybe it’s because it reminds me of a strict religion that I have rebelled against for a long time. Whatever it is, it’s tangible.

Guardedly yours,

Retly Corm



Dear Konstantin Andreyevich Thon,

Don’t give me those romantic-poet-puppy eyes. You know what you did. You can’t just throw me to the dogs to save your skin at dinner parties. Listen, I know you’re scared. I would be too. You’re a Russian artist who supports the Tzar.

To be perfectly honest Konstantin, I’m not sure how well it’s going to work out for you – People in your position traditionally have a tendency to have their careers end tragically. You may get lucky though; you may be respected, loved even, after you are gone. My advice? Throw yourself into the future, get behind the latest construction techniques, design a train station, get involved in a big way. At least then, when the revolutionaries take over, you may be seen as an innovator, rather than a relic icon. Then again, Russians like those too.

With Love,

Retly Corm


Dear Frederick Law Olmsted

Remember when we were talking a while back, you said you wanted to start some trouble? I do.

Well, on that point, Andrew Jackson Downing was crazy talking about some huge park in the middle of the city. I know the partying has worn off by now, but I think he may actually have something there.

We can stick it to those New York money based pragmatists once and for all. Now’s the time, let’s go ahead and take over 800 acres on the island, make a park so beautiful they can’t tear it down. No matter how much they whine, people will love it and they’ll be stuck. I already called Calvert Vaux, he’ll be over about noon.

You start drafting; I’m going to pull together some hush money.
Chop Chop!

Best,

Retly Corm.


Hey there Ed Bacon,

So…I can’t help but notice that you haven’t called.

I would be mad, but I know that you’re busy. You’ve got a lot on your plate, so I’ll be empathetic. I mean here you are, doing your damndest to take a cluttered, claustrophobic city and really do something worth while.

Instead of just looking at a grid and saying “Yup. There you go.” You look beyond that, into the special and spatial needs of a place. Indeed, I can’t help but get a little sentimental about your commitment to human interaction on an urban scale. Color and perception, the man made and the natural, it all weaves together to form a whole. Yet, as architects and planners we can still control it, still shape our world for the better.

While your ideas are clear and simple they’re getting muddled up by poets and politicians who can’t see past their own egos. You care about more than yourself. It’s why I think I may love you.
Stay bad-ass Ed.

With Love,

Retly Corm


Dear Andrew Jackson Downing,

When I first heard you speak on the subject of personal gardens, I thought

“Ok. So I’m supposed to take care of my property not because it benefits me financially but because it makes me a better person? That’s cute.”

Maybe I’ve been too cynical, I’ve seen a lot hopeful people and brilliant ideas get crushed by indifference and sloth. But you’re different, you’re not advocating gardens just for the rich. I’m hearing that you want every person to have a chance to have a little piece of paradise of your own? How novel. How republican. How…noble.

This plan of “landscape architecture” might actually be crazy enough to work.

Yours (turns out) truly,

Retly Corm

Dear William Van Alen,

Ok. So they say the Chrysler Building lacks depth of meaning in its design. Well guess what nerds, it’s awesome. All the details reference it’s inspiration, if that’s not depth, I don’t want to know what is.

You know what lacks depth? All this neo-this, revival-that nonsense, just because it’s inspired by something ancient, doesn’t mean it’s good.

You know what else was a bunch of flash and pop and dazzle? Anything Baroque. Ever.

Listen, they’re all ready to cry themselves to sleep over Bernini but they can’t recognize a similar kind of genius in their own age. Don’t worry Bill, you know and I know one of these days they’ll be kicking themselves.

Plus, who needs them? People love the hell out of your building.

I do too.

Love,

Retly Corm


Ralph Knott,

Remember, my dearest boy, where you came from. You may be living a beautiful life, falling in love, charming the people, inventing the “Edwardian Baroque”. I know there’s nothing you’re trying to be besides a great architect. But I want to warn you, some people will only ever see you as a prentender. Before you start, I know, the County Hall building for London County Council broke barriers, structurally, aesthetically, I know. I’m just saying.

The fact is you’re the son of a tailor from Dorset. That is’nt a bad thing, it’s just the truth. Hey, Turner’s father was a wig-maker. Own it. Make it the reason why you are as great as you are.

Affectionately yours,
Retly Corm

Dear Jay Sarno,

Really? REALLY? Ceasar’s Palace? That’s what you decided to call it? I think maybe Caligula would have made more sense. No. That would have been seedy.

Ok. Now that’s out of my system.

I’d be mad at you, but damnit if it doesn’t work.
Maybe that’s why you’re in the casino business and I’m in…whatever it is that I do.
You know, when you think about it, the architecture may not be “sophisticated” or “intellectual” you were able to do what thousands, maybe tens of thousands of architects wish they could – create an entire world in your own vision.

Say what you will about design intent, you have to respect that kind of gumption.
Best Regards,

Retly Corm


Edith Wharton,

Kudos on setting some standards in this town, there is this common and popular idea currently that the more objects you have, the better off you are. We both know this is simply untrue. The more junk in the window, the less likely you are to appreciate the flowers and the trees. This whole movement is aestheticism run amok (I’m looking at YOU James Whistler, you started all this nonsense).

I just hope that the intent of the work is made clear in its reading. I know you do not mean to be condescending or snobbish regarding the correct and incorrect way. But someone has to tell them, and if not us then whom?

Best,

Retly Corm


Elise De Wolfe.

Enough of this cat-and-mouse-game. I cannot stand to be away from you any longer. Not only does your beauty shine like the sun, but you bring light into the gloomiest and darkest corner of my mind and glum Victorian houses.

You truly are “a rebel in an ugly world.”

Everyone will say of Lady Mendl, long after we both are gon that she wanted to world to be honest especially to itself. Not everyone is as brave. Please come away with me. We can be honest, simple and sophisticated. We can do cartwheels all day in fine evening gowns and we will never once hear the clucking of teeth. Not that we care anyway.

I’ll wait. Not forever.

With Love,

Retly Corm