A PERSONAL VIEW OF LATE-TWENTIETH-CENTURY ARCHITECTURAL TRENDS
The term Post-Modernism caught on as the name for all developments since the general exhaustion of modernism itself. . . . It told you what you were leaving without committing you to any particular destination.
—Tom Wolfe, From Bauhaus to Our House, 1981
Since the early 1960s many architects have attempted with varying degrees of success to create a new “postmodern” architecture. C. Ray Smith’s Super-mannerism: New Attitudes in Post-Modern Architecture offers an articulate explanation of this phrase. Smith says that this new architecture of the sixties is characterized by “a systematic manipulation of established principles, its alteration of scale, its reordering of surface detail . . . expanded to include the vernacular, the anonymous, and such elements of our ordinary life or popular culture as comic books.”*
It requires a considerable intellectual adjustment (at least for me) to leap from the underlying rationalism of modern architecture to such an arbitrary and capricious approach to design. The results are not just whimsical—that I could understand—they are simply perverse. Windows are often randomly placed with no consistency of pattern or even window type. They sometimes appear to have been bought at a jumble sale of odds and ends. (It is almost the same as hanging pictures in your house at odd locations and purposely off horizontal.) Details are apt to be self-consciously awkward as if put together by an inexperienced do-it-yourselfer rather than a master craftsman. Siding is often mismatched and combined in bizarre ways; shingles may be used on one wall and clapboard or occasionally cheap composition siding on another even when cost is not a primary factor. I have seen several instances where part of a house may actually be left unpainted as if the house was not yet finished. The studied awkwardness of this design philosophy is self-conscious and contrived.
Robert Venturi (b. 1925) was the standard-bearer for the legion of reformers who embraced this new fashion. It was an architecture that purported to be “inclusivistic,” witty, and amusing and its proponents evocative, daring, and profound.
In lauding a Venturi house in Chestnut Hill, Pennsylvania, Smith wrote: “Inside, the most celebrated of his design jokes is a stair that leads to nowhere; it can be used as a large whatnot and as a ladder to aid in washing a window, but otherwise it has no function. It is, nevertheless, a gantry to the sky, an infinity stair that is a clear symbol of our age.”
I believe I am as receptive as the next person to new ideas, but I have yet to be persuaded that I am missing something really important here. There is so much attention given to the novel, the quirky, and the slick that one has to remember that many dedicated, talented, and inventive architects simply do not subscribe to the gospel of Postmodernism or any other fad that happens to come along. There are counterparts today to the talented architects of the 1920s whom Mark Alan Hewitt described as working “quietly to create a large oeuvre almost unnoticed by anyone save their appreciative clients.” In contrast to these professional men and women, there were others who “strutted society’s stage like Tartuffes”—men who were the prototypes of “the avant-garde propagandist, the master of public relations, which the architect of today continues to emulate.”†
Perhaps it is time to have some quietly competent, simple, livable houses again and give less adulation to buildings that strive desperately to be different in the mistaken belief that they are truly innovative. Originality comes from within a person, and a solution to an architectural problem is found in the nature of the problem itself. Too much recent architecture seems less concerned with complementing an existing community of buildings than standing apart with a patronizing air of condescension.
Even the words used to describe houses have changed. Houses are no longer charming, comfortable, livable, or homey; they are witty, amusing statements. But isn’t wit inherently spontaneous? The quick retort, the sudden quip, and the zinger inevitably pale when given architectural permanence. It’s like having to listen to the same wisecrack repeated ad infinitum.
Deconstructionism, the latest of the new fads, celebrates structures that are made to look like they are about to fall down. Perhaps it is the artist/architect commenting on the shortcomings of our society and a reflection of the hopeless prospects for the future. Should we as architects really reflect the problems in our social structure by designing chaotic-looking buildings? I think it is a lowering of standards at a time when positive leadership is needed.
There is a chasm between self-styled avant-garde architects and the public. The essence of this gap was captured in a letter to the editor in the November 1992 issue of The Atlantic magazine, from a reader named Elizabeth Frazer: “. . . as I’ve come to expect from architects and their cohorts, function and utility lose out to form’s designs, whims, and egos.” She is not alone in her view.
It is an unfortunate impasse because this is a time when builders and architects should be working together more than they do. It is a time when factory-built housing is desperately needed and could benefit from creative contributions from competent architects who are concerned with creating simple, low-key designs that will blend together in cohesive communities and not always fight for attention to be the most distinctive and conspicuous of the lot. Is it really so gauche to find comfort in simple, unassertive surroundings that wear well in changing seasons and adapt to our moods throughout the course of our domestic lives? Mies’s “Less is more” became “Less is a bore” in Postmodern parlance. An appropriate twist now might be “More is a bore.”
There is a need today for responsible use of our remaining rural areas. Cluster or conservation zoning encourages the preservation of open space to the benefit of the developer and the community. One need only visit the hamlets in the English Cotswolds to see how effective clustering can be. It has worked for hundreds of years in Britain and still sets a worthy standard.
Unfortunately, most houses we live in today are badly planned, devoid of inherent character, and deficient in fundamental design. The 1980s saw a plethora of pretentious monstrosities that “upscale” developers think will attract buyers by a blatant “curb appeal.” The new proliferation of witty statements by trendy architects can be just as offensive. In fact, I’m not sure which is the more grating of the two. But I have more faith in the American public and believe there is another way.
What is the answer? Let me use the analogy of language. There are several helpful books on how to write effectively: William Zinsser’s On Writing Well, Clarkson Potter’s Writing for Publication, and of course Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style. They all give the same advice and admonishment: Writing is communication. We write effectively when we write concisely, clearly, and succinctly. We should avoid adverbs when a terse verb works, favor the active tense and not the passive, and avoid business jargon and trendy clichés. Writing style—that personal touch—evolves in good writers by their effective use of the English language. If you have something to say, say it crisply and simply so the meaning will be clear and the text fun to read.
The analogy should be evident. There is a language of architecture, and structures should say what they mean. The Gothic cathedral, for example, is simple in that there is almost nothing superfluous or extraneous in its design. All elements are defined and emphasized by the articulation of the structure. When the more floral embellishments of the tracery disguise the structural system, the style overwhelms the substance and the building loses clarity and definition. It loses that power and strength which derives from the celebration of its essence. Words like “honest,” “cohesive,” “unity,” and “straightforward” should still have a place when discussing architecture, and a deference to natural surroundings and community is still appropriate.
In the 1980s our colloquial expressions lost vigor and snap. “Like” and “ya know” are endemic in our vernacular and the near future doesn’t look promising. People with little or nothing to say try to disguise that fact by the use of excessive verbiage. Ask any teacher who corrects written examinations!
Much of the architecture of the eighties was a visual equivalent of verbosity. “Ya know, like, let’s use a column. It doesn’t have to do anything, but let’s just use it.” “Better yet, lest anyone think we wanted to use a column of a recognizable order, let’s distort its proportions and shape it so grotesquely—maybe even just make a silhouette out of plywood and now we can really show our disdain for the public, sneer at the past, and be comforted that we have made a statement worthy of our era.”
It is my hope that the houses built in the coming years will be simpler and less pretentious than we saw in the eighties. Houses should have more substance than style; plans should be more thoroughly developed than the ones in most plan books or than most developers offer to the public. The character of houses should be less self-conscious and less intrusive than most architects produce today. Throughout our history, our best houses have derived elegance from simplicity, dignity from restraint, and richness from subtle diversity. There should always be a place in our communities for comfortable, livable houses that express the character of the region, the site, and the people who live in them. A good house has integrity of design rather than a jumbled collection of glitzy gimmicks. Let’s not worry so much about what particular style our houses are; let’s trust that they will simply have style—an inherent, intrinsic style that derives from the nature of the materials used and an expression of the spaces defined. Above all, let’s build houses that live comfortably with their surroundings, are courteous to their neighbors, and are deferential to the environment. I believe our American houses can continue to provide the comfort and sense of well-being that they have in the past. The need to show off will be less important to a society that is increasingly comfortable with itself, one that is enriched by a knowledge of our history and a greater appreciation of our architectural heritage.
* Smith, C. Ray, Supermannerism: New Attitudes in Post-Modem Architecture (New York: Dutton, 1977).
† Hewitt, Mark Alan, The Architect & the American Country House (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990).