Collaborations

The Private Life of Modern Architecture

BEATRIZ COLOMINA Princeton University

bout a year ago, I gave a lecture in Madrid, the city where I was born. The lecture was on the work of Charles and Ray Eames and, to my surprise, most of the discussion at the dinner afterward centered around the role of Ray, her background as a painter, her studies with Hans Hofrnann, her sense of color, and so on. I say "to my surprise" because, first of all, there were not many women at that dinner table-I was surrounded by very well known Spanish architects, all of them men-and also because I had not brought up the subject of Ray's contribution at all in my talk. I would not have thought that there was an interest in and audience for this kind of topic in Spain, and besides, Ray's role was not the focus of my research. The conversation drifted, as usually happens on these occasions, and before I knew it, we were talking about Lilly Reich and what an enormous role she must have played in the development of Mies van der Rohe's architecture; how Mies might never have been Mies without her and so on (Figure 1). Again, it is important to insist that it was not I who was making these points, but these middle-aged, extremely accomplished, and cultivated architects, whom one would be hard pressed to characterize as feminist. At a certain point, one of them, Juan Navarro Baldeweg, said something that has stayed with me since. We had been talking about the importance of such projects as the Silk and Velvet Cafi-a collaborative work of Reich and Mies's for the Exposition de la mode in Berlin (1927), where draperies in black, orange, and red velvet and black and lemon yellow silk were hung from metal rods to

form the space-and how there is nothing in Mies's work, prior to his collaboration with Reich, that would suggest such a radical approach to defining space by suspended sensuous surfaces, which would become his trademark, as exemplified in his Barcelona Pavilion of 1929. I was, of course, astonished because, while I had long believed this was the case, I had not yet dared to write about it-even if my students had heard me say things like that for years. And then Juan said, "It is like a dirty little secret that we-all architects-keep. Something that we all know, that we all see, but we don't bring ourselves to talk about it." The secrets of modern architecture are like those of a family, where everybody knows about things that are never acknowledged. And it is perhaps because of the current fascination with the intimate that the secrets of modern architecture are now being unveiled, little by little. If one is to judge by the publications of recent years, there appears to be an increasing interest in how the practice of architecture works. It is as if we had become more concerned with the how than the what. And the how is less about structure or building techniques-the interest of other generations of historians-and more about interpersonal relations. The previously marginal details of how things actually happen in architectural practice are now coming into focus. Critics and historians are shifting their attention from the architect as a single figure, and the building as an object, to architecture as collaboration. Attention is paid today to all professionals involved in the project: partners, engineers,

landscape architects, interior designers, employees, builders. With this shift, methodologies of research necessarily change. Pat Kirkham's book Charles and Ray Eames, Designers of the Twentieth Century (1995), for example, is extensively based on oral histories. In the course of her research, she interviewed an extraordinary number of associates, employees, and clients in an attempt to reevaluate the nature of the collaborative work of the Eames office and, in particular, the role played by Ray in what is probably the most famous design partnership of the century. Likewise, Donald Albrecht incorporated extensive testimonies from associates as videos in the international traveling exhibition The Work of Charles and Ray Eames, organized in 1997 by the Library of Congress in partnership with the Vitra Design Museum. Engineers write books that are no longer textbooks about how to solve technical problems but are instead intimate accounts of their practice. Peter Rice's An Engineer Imagines (1994) is half memoir, half reflection on the many aspects of the collaboration of the engineer with contractors, architects, clients, even with photographers and critics. Garden designers and landscape architects, for a long time largely ignored in histories of modern architecture, are now carefully studied in books such as DorothCe Imbert, The Modernist Garden in France (1993), and Marc Treib and DorothCe Imbert, Garrett Ekbo: Modem Landscapesfor Living (1997). Builders, forever the ugly ducklings of architectural history, and only of interest to sociologists, are now being acknowledged in academic conferences, books, and exhibitions, including the recent traveling exhibition on Joseph Eichler (a developer of lowcost, mass-produced, postwar modernist houses in northern California), The Eichler Homes: Building the California Dream, organized by Paul Adamson and Kevin Alter and sponsored by the Center for the Study of American Architecture at the University of Texas and the Graham Foundation of Chicago. Even photographers, graphic designers, critics, curators, and all of those who help to (re)produce the work in the media are coming into focus. It is no longer possible to ignore how much of modern architecture is produced both in the media and as media, and how much of architectural practice today consists in the production of images. Books likeJoseph Rosa's A Constructed Em:The Architectural Photography ofJulius Shulman (1994), and Shulman's own memoirs,Architectzlreand its Photography (1998), bring into closer focus the circumstances of the collaboration between Shulman and Richard Neutra at a time when architects were not only present during the photographic shoot, but also removed the client's furniture, artworks, and draperies and brought in their own props--directing, as it were, the mise-

Figure 1 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Lilly Reich on board an excursion boat on the Wannsee. a lake near Berlin, 1933. Photograph

by Howard Dearstyne, one of their students, from Ludwig Glasser,

Ludwig Mies van der Rohe (New York, 1977)

en-scsne. As Rosa points out, Neutra-as the only architect included in Modern Architecture-International Exhibition at the Museum of Modem Art in 1932 who was asked to have one of his buildings (the Love11 House) rephotographed-was well aware of the importance of photographs.' Most architects of the modem period had close and longstanding relationships with their photographers. As Neutra said about Shulman: "His work will survive me. Film [is] stronger and good glossy prints are easier [to] ship than brute concrete, stainless steel, or even ideas."2 By the end of the century, the graphic designer has assumed an equally important role. Bruce Mau, the designer of S,M,L,XL, is credited equally as author with Rem Koolhaas and the Office for Metropolitan Architecture (O.M.A.). One day historical research will have to explore this kind of partnership. Critics and institutions have similarly collaborated in the production of modem architecture (Figure 2). How to separate Sigfried Giedion and Nikolaus Pevsner, Philip
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Figure 2 Ise Gropius, Sigfried Giedion.

and Walter Gropius in the Gropius house in Lincoln, Massachusetts, around 1952, from Paul Hofer and Ulrich Stucky, Hommage a Giedion: Profile
Seiner Personlicheit (Basel and

Stuttgart, 1971)

Johnson and Henry-Russell Hitchock, the Museum of Modern Art, Arts &Architecture, and House Beautificl from the architects they helped to construct as figures? And yet, in comparison to the designers, their role has received little historical attention. In recent years, coinciding with the centenary of Giedion's birth and the establishment of his archives at the Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule in Ziirich, Giedion's work has been the focus of a series of conferences and publications, which incorporate diverse material from Giedion's archive, including SigF-ied Giedion: A Historical Project (1986), a special issue of the Italian magazine Rassegna edited by Vittorio Magnago Lampugnani; Dorothee Huber's edited volume Si@ed Giedion. Wege in die ~ffentlichkeit (1987); Sokratis Georgiadis's Si@ed Giedion, An IntellectwlBiography (1989); and the exhibition catalogue SigFied Giedion, 1888-1986: der Enmurf einer modernen Tradition (1989). More recently, Detlef Mertins completed in 1996 a dissertation on Giedion's conceptual framework. In Giedion's practice, there is no distinction between the work of the architect and that of the historian; they are both engaged with equal status as collaborators in the modern project. Similar conclusions could be drawn about the role of John Entenza, who as editor of Arts & Architecture headed the Case Study House Program in Los Angeles at mid-century, and Esther McCoy, the leading critic of those years in the promotion of modem architecture in southern California. Both the magazine and the Case Study House Program were collaborative efforts involving architects,writers, graphic designers, photographers, artists, and manufacturers, and both have received critical atten464
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tion in the last decade. Arts &Architecture: The Entenza Years (1990), an anthology of articles from the magazine edited by Barbara Goldstein, brought back the aesthetic, technical, and political debates. Elizabeth Smith's BlueprintsforModem Living (1989), accompanying a major exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, provided a comprehensive analysis from different angles. More research is under way. With the newly established Esther McCoy Archives in the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, studies of her work will soon emerge--one hopes. Today, the role of critic as collaborator has been assumed by writers as varied as Jeffrey Kipnis, Kenneth Frampton, and Charles Jencks, all of whom maintain intimate working relationships with the architects they support. Blob buildings, critical regionalism, and postrnodernism are as much a product of the critics as the architects. It is impossible to say what came first, the architecture or its promotion. Newspaper critics, like Ada Louise Huxtable and Herbert Muschamp, also actively collaborate with architects to transform the built environment. What appears to be criticism or publicity is actually design. Even the client is understood as a collaborator. If interest in the clients of modem architecture has always existed, accounts of their role tended to be testimonial rather than analytical-as when clients have spoken to reporters about the experience of building or living in their houses. Often the clients were more enlightened and insightful than the critics or the editors of the day. Loren Pope, a client of Frank Lloyd Wright's, wrote an unsolicited letter to House Beautifil in 1947 enumerating the pleasures of living for six

years in one of Wright's Usonian houses of 1939. It took a year for the editors, who were afraid of angering their more traditionally minded readers, to gather the courage to publish it.3 The Tugendhats, who commissioned Mies van der Rohe to design a house for them in Brno in 1928, responded to a negative review of the house by Justus Bier in Die Form of 193 1. To answer the question, "Can One Live in the Tugendhat House?" the title of Bier's article, one must consult the inhabitants, Grethe Tugendhat contended. She continued that Herr Bier might feel that the house forced the inhabitants into "a kind of living for show" that suppressed "intimate living," but she, who lived in the house, felt the "glass wall functions completely as a boundary" and that, as a result, the space has "a most uncommon restfulness such as a closed room cannot possibly have."4 Her husband, Fritz Tugendhat, also responded to Bier's critique by stating that he preferred "the distant horizon to the restricting pressure of close walls when I am concen~ating." ~ glass wall and the horizon defined for the The inhabitants of the Tugendhat House an enclosure, before any sophisticated architectural critic came to realize it. Until very recently such client accounts were considered to be of marginal, anecdotal interest to most historians, who saw them as providing evidence about the personality, working method, and mind of the architect, or to illustrate the conditions with which he had to contend in realizing his "vision." The client was treated as a "problem" for the architect or as a "witness" to the effects of the architecture-rather than as an active intelligence and collaboraror with the architect, as well as subject of the architecture itself. For a new generation of historians, clients have become an object of study in their own right. Sessions in conferences-including the last Annual Meeting of the Society of Architectural Historians in Houston-are now devoted to the client in the modern era. Serious research on architectural clients started about twenty years ago, when Rassegna, for example, dedicated an issue (in 1980) edited by Pierre-Main Crosset to the clients of Le Corbusier. In addition to a number of articles by noted historians-including among others Jacques Gubler, Jean-Louis Cohen, Dani6le Pauly, Julius Posener, Giorgio Ciucci, and Tim Benton-the issue contained a "catalogue raisonni" of the clients of Le Corbusier, categorized as individuals, industrialists, and public authorities. Clients had attained the status previously granted only to works of art. As if anticipating or promoting a different kind of research, the catalogue was compiled-using the resources made available by the archives of the Fondation Le Corbusier in Paris-in the hopes that it would serve as a guide to future work. While most of the articles addressed the issue of the

client only obliquely, the direction of future research had been established simply in the organization of such a special issue. The clients of Frank Lloyd Wright have also been the object of study. Leonard Eaton's book Two Chicago Architects and Their Clients: Frank Lloyd Wright and Howard E n Doren Shaw (1969) gives a profile of the typical Wright client in the period up to 1910. In contrast to the upperclass North Shore establishment, which favored revivalist architects like Van Doren Shaw, the clients of Wright, we are told, tended to be "mobile, middle-class Republicans who married suffragette wives, practiced liberal religions . . . and were passionately interested in music. . . . Selfmade men with considerable money to spend on a house but few preconceptions as to what it should look like."'j If for Eaton, Wright's clients' lack of preconceptions allowed him to develop his architecture, for Mice Friedman, in Women and the Making of the Modem House (1998), the client of modern architecture is understood to be an active participant in the project of the modern house, a kind of collaborator of the architect. Consulting correspondence, diaries, memoirs, and recorded interviews, Friedman demonstrates the crucial role that women as clients played in the making of modern architecture. Many of the houses of the Modern Movement were commissioned by independent women who headed their own households. Unmarried or widows, many were also professionals and cultivated people who aspired along with their architects to arrive at a different pattern of domesticity, and they were often in conflict with the architects about exactly what that pattern should be. In that sense, these women were deeply involved in the process of design and collaborated in the modern project of rethinking the house. Focusing on six of the most significant houses of the twentieth century, Friedman gives a detailed account of the process of negotiation and decision making in the programming and design of the modern house. Sylvia Lavin's recent research on Richard Neutra also explores the intimate relationships between architect and client by examining in detail a particular architect's philosophy and method of engaging with the client. The context is the American "psychologizing" of modernity in the postwar years. Neutra extensively interviewed the clients of his private houses, providing elaborate questionnaires and asking them to fill diaries with the intimate details of their daily life. He considered this work part of a "diagnostic procedure" and compared the client's production of information to "lying on a couch, figuratively speaking, and talking with Neutra understood his residential archia psy~hoanalyst."~ tecture as providing a kind of therapy for the clients: "The architect can't stay with [the client] for twenty
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years . . . straightening out matrimonial friction and imbalance caused by environmental design. His job is simply beyond words-a silent long range job."8 Since psychoanalysis always involves the active participation of the patient, the client is once again collaborating with the architect in the project of the modern house. Neutra particularly identified with his women clients, describing his relationship with them as "almost a love affair that ends up happily in, by far, the most case^."^ But it is not just women clients that are now being studied, nor even the private person, although these are the ones we tend to know better. Institutions, industrialists, and even governments have been crucial patrons that are beginning to be studied in detail. The military as client, for example, comes into focus in Modernism at Mid-Centuy (1994), a study of one of the most important postwar projects, the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs (1954-1962), edited by Robert Bruegmann. HClkne Lipstadt has explored the Eames office's involvement with the federal government in her essay in Donald Albrecht's The Work of Charles and Ray Eames. Eve Blau's The Architecture of Red Vienna 1919-1934 (1999) is an important contribution to the study of the involvement with modem architecture of European social-democratic governments as clients of public housing during the interwar period. And Margaret Crawford's Building the Workingman's Paradise: The Design ofAmerican Company Towns (1995) deals with the complex and sometimes contentious relationships between progressive architects and their industrialist clients for company towns between 1910 and 1930. Industrial companies, from Olivetti to IBM, offer compelling new subjects of research. Women and the military are interesting subjects of modern architecture because they were clients who shared in the project. If women were actively involved in the redefinition of domesticity in the first half of the twentieth century, the logic of the military dominated the practice of modern architecture in the postwar years. From methods of mass production developed during the war effort and applied as much in Levittown as in modern California houses, to the recycling for domestic use of materials developed during the war effort, the military had a clear affinity with modern architecture's mode of material production-but perhaps also with the mechanisms of its practice. The choice of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill as the firm to realize the Air Force Academy was, in that sense, symptomatic. As Sheri Olson has pointed out, the way SOM practiced architecture was probably the greatest factor in the firm's selection for the Air Force Academy.lo The firm was immense for its time, with multiple offices in different parts of the country, and "the decentralized character of the firm allowed each office to draw on the specialties,
466
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facilities and personnel of other offices, while operating autonomously."11Projects were organized the same way in all the offices of SOM, with a clear chain of command in the design team for each project and a highly organized work system. Personnel were often switched from one office to another. At the height of the Air Force Academy project, SOM employed 900 architects, engineers, designers, city planners, landscape specialists, and researchers and economists.12 The military must have found the logic of SOM's practice a lot more familiar than that of a "prima donna" architect. Modernism at Mid-Cenmry provides an important case study not only of the military as client but of the broader issue of architectural production as collaboration. SOM was the first design office of its kind to be recognized by the Museum of Modern Art with a monographic exhibition in 1950. For the first time, teamwork, instead of individual genius, was acknowledged in architecture. In its Bulletin, MoMA noted that SOM members "work together animated by two disciplines which they all share-the discipline of modern architecture and the discipline of American organizational methods. . . . SOM bears its name almost as a trademark. It is like a brand name."13 But resistance also ran high both inside and outside the firm. Some designers felt that teamwork prevented them from receiving credit for their work-a problem also with many of the Eames associates-and some critics found the anonymous quality of the work "intolerable."14 Frank Lloyd Wright even testified before Congress in 1955 on the inadequacies of SOM's design for the Air Force Academy, deriding it as "a factory for birdmen," and raising questions about the qualifications of SOM and its consultants (Pietro Belluschi, Welton Becket, and Eero Saarinen).15Wright had refused to compete with other architects for the job, declaring, in a telegram, "The world knows what I can do in architecture. If officials of the air force have missed this, I can do no more than feel sorry for what both have lost."16 The more one looks at collaboration the more it looks like it might be a 1950s thing, a phenomenon of that prosperous postwar decade when teamwork was canonized. MoMA exhibited SOM. Walter Gropius went into partnership with seven architects from the younger generation, forming The Architects Collaborative (TAC). Some of the great "masters" of modern architecture associated with other architects to build in Manhattan. Mies van der Rohe worked with Philip Johnson on the Seagram Building, a collaborative project (with the crucial intervention of Phyllis Lambert), from the moment of commission. Gropius "came on board" with the team of Emery Roth to build the Pan Am Building. And Wallace Harrison "stole" from Le Cor-

Figure 3 Peter and Alison Srnithson c. 1950. Photograph by Anne Fischer, rorn Alison and Peter Srnithson, The Shift .ondon, 1982), courtesy Peter Srnithson

busier the forms for the new headquarters for the United Nations in New York. "En-ablers" is what Rem Koolhaas calls the local associated architects in these partnerships. In a recent article on the subject in Bob Somol, ed., Autonomy and Ideology: Positioning an Avant-Garde in America (1997), Koolhaas suggests that such partners are always overlooked even though they often contribute the more idiosyncratic features of the buildings, the "perversions" of the master's usual style.17 The 1950s also saw the first acknowledged "couplings" in architecture, by which I mean professional partnerships that are also intimate. Ray and Charles Eames provided a model for following generations, to a certain extent for Alison and Peter Smithson, whose partnership provided a model for that of Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown, and so on (Figure 3). My own research on "couplings" has focused on this chain of identifications and the way it continues into contemporary practice. Perhaps it is the current interest in the 1950s among historians and critics that has raised the issue of collaboration. Esther McCoy described the period as America's "last 'moral' era, a time when 'people stood together,' or shared a common belief in the correctness of their actions."'* The postwar period inaugurated a new kind of collaborative practice that has become increasingly difficult to ignore or to subsume within a "heroic" conception of an individual figure. In retrospect, we are also looking at the interwar

period for signs of a more complex story of the Modern Movement. Lilly Reich and Charlotte Perriand, the sometimes associates of Mies and Le Corbusier (Figure 4), continue to fascinate historians, and new studies of their work have recently been published or are currently under way, including Sonja Gunther's Lilly Reich, 1885-1947: Innenarchitektin, Designerin, Azlsstellungsgestalterin (1988), Matilda McQuaid and Magdalena Droste's catalogue of the exhibition of Lilly Reich at MoMA (1996), and the Charlotte Perriand exhibitions at the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris (1996), the Design Museum in London (1996-1997), and the Architectural League in New York (1997-1998). A recent conference organized by Mary McLeod at Columbia University has launched a new wave of research. Other intimate partnerships still largely unstudied include Margaret McDonald, partner and spouse of Charles Rennie Mackintosh; Pierre Jeanneret, partner and cousin of Le Corbusier (Figure 5);Jean Badovici, partner, client and lover of Eileen Gray; Marion Mahony, partner and wife of Walter Burley Griffin, and so on. The 1950s also offered us other models of partnerships. Gwendolyn Wright has recently shown how Catherine Bauer, a social historian, "metamorphosed" the practice of the architect William Wurster, whom she met and married in 1940, by "politicizing" him, infusing his domestic designs with her social and political ideas, just as he helped her to "become aware of the needs of middleclass American families, both in city apartments and suburCOLLABORATIONS

467

Figure 4 Charlotte Perriand with Le Corbusier in Perriand's "Bar sous

le toit" at the Salon d'Automne, Paris, 1928, from Charlotte Perriand: Un Art de Vivre (exhibition catalogue. Paris, 19851, O Fondation Le Corbusier L1(2)9

ban homes." Bauer, Wright contends, had earlier radically transformed the work of Lewis Mumford, by spurring him "to take on the grand themes of technology and community, which will become the basis of his best-known books." Murnford, in turn, encouraged Bauer, during the years of their love affair while he was married to someone else, to "contemplate aspects of design that could not be quantified, to broaden and humanize her definition of housing reform."19 Perhaps this fascination with collaboration is part of a new voyeurism. We don't care so much about the heroic figure of the modern architect, about the falade, but about the internal weakness. On the one hand, there is a concerted effort to demystify architectural practice and debunk the heroes. On the other hand, the embarrassing details of private life are being incorporated into the heroic images, as if in a kind of therapy. Architects themselves have started to tell us private stories about their desperate attempts to get jobs, about their pathological experiences with clients, about falling in the street, and even about their masseuses. And we pay more attention than when they were trying to dictate to us what their work meant. Television, also from the 1950s, has brought a new sense of limits. Talk shows bring increasing levels of privacy into the public eye. Can we expect architecture to remain immune? And why would historians, detectives by nature, pretend to be disinterested? Browsing through the exhibition of books at the SAH Annual Meeting in Houston in April 1999, I came upon the recent book by Anne Tyng, Louis Kahn to Anne Tyng: The Rome Letters 1953-1954 (1997), which I was immediately attracted to because of my interest in partnerships in archi468
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tecture (Figure 6).20 Tyng, a young Harvard graduate working in Kahn's office, became his lover while collaborating closely on key designs, so closely that Kahn would later describe the relationship as "another form of love."*' As the full tragedy of the relationship and Kahn's ultimate selfishness unfolds, the letters between them are filled with the details of designs. Published design becomes inseparable from private soap opera. The question of collaboration is that of the secret life of architects, the domestic life of architecture. Nowhere is this more emblematic than in architects who live and work together. With couples who practice together, there is a complete identification between domestic life and the life of the office, between the private life and the private side of architectural practice. Both have been kept secret for too long. But who has been keeping the secret? Perhaps it is the historians and critics, who have felt more confident-reassured-responding to the idea of an individual author and to the formal qualities of the building as an art object than to the messiness of architectural practice. Paradoxically, practicing architects have tended to be more sensitive to the subject, perhaps because they know from their own experience what goes on and are endlessly curious about other architects' practices. Architects in partnerships, from Denise Scott Brown to Rem Koolhaas, have publicly complained about the obsession of critics and the media with the single figure, despite their offices' efforts to provide precise credit. Women architects are opening up, although feminist historians complain that for the most part women avoid the subject of their everyday life in practice-the complications of designing in partnership and of juggling the office while rearing children-in favor of talking about design. Since Denise Scott Brown's talk to the Alliance of Women in Architecture, in New York in 1973, on sexism and the star system in architecture, and the subsequent article "Room at the Top? Sexism and the Star System in Architecture," which circulated privately for many years before it was finally published in P. Berkeley and Matilda McQuaid's Architecture:A Placefor Women in 1989, a number of women architects have been raising issues of their own. It is not by chance that women and gay scholars have been leading the way; the issue of collaboration is indebted to feminist criticism, with its focus on the veiling of contributions, the domesticity of power, and so on. More recent scholarship on race, sexuality, cultural studies, and postcolonial studies has also begun to act as a crucial resource. While rarely referring directly to this scholarship, architectural history is starting to absorb many of its lessons and to open research to new questions. Many secrets are bound to come out.

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Figure 5 P~erre Jeanneret and Le

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Corbus~er, around 1926, from Michael Raeburn and V~ctor~a W~lson, eds.,
Le Corbusier Architect of the Century (exh~b~t~on catalogue, London, 1987)

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Photograph courtesy Fondat~on Le Corbus~er O FLC L1(2)9

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Figure 6 LOUIS Kahn. Anne Tyng, and construction of Lenore We~ss dur~ng the Welss house. Photograph by Morton Werss, from Anne Gr~swold Tyng, ed , Louis Kahn to Anne Tyng The
Rome Letters 1953-1954 (New York,

1997), courtesy Rizzoli International

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Notes
1.Joseph Rosa, A Constructed View: The Architectural Photography of Julius Shulman (New York, 1994), 47. 2. Richard Neutra, letter, 29 January 1969, Shulman Archives, quoted in Rosa, A Constructed View, 49. 3. "We held it for more than a year before we decided to be brave enough to publish it. We say 'brave' because it will make a lot of our readers very angry." House Beauti&l, August 1948, reprinted in H . Allen Brooks, ed., Writings on Wright, Selected Comment on Frank Lloyd Wright (Cambridge, Mass., 1981), 51-57. 4. "What the People Who Lived in the Tugendhat House Had to Say About It," English translation of the Tugendhats contribution to Die Form 11 (193 1),in Wolf Tegethoff, Mies van der Robe: The Villas and Country Houses (New York, 1985), 97-98. 5. Ibid., 98. 6. Joseph Connors, The Robie House of Frank Lloyd Wright (Chicago and London, 1984), 6-7. Leonard Eaton, Two ChicagoArchitectsand Their Clients: Frank Lloyd Wright and Howard Van Doren Shaw (Cambridge, 1969). 7. Richard Neutra, "The Architect Faces the Client and his Conditionings-'The Layercake,"' typescript manuscript, 19 March 1957, Neutra Archive. Quoted by Sylvia Lavin, "The Avant-Garde Is Not at Home: Richard Neutra and the American Psychologizing of Modernity," in R. E. Somol, ed., Autonomy and Ideology: Positioning an Avant-Garde in America (New York, 1997), 194. For detailed discussions of Neutra's relationships to his clients, see also Thomas S. Hines, Richard Neutra and the Searchfor Modern Architecture: A Biography and History (Berkeley, 1982). 8. Richard Neutra, "Client Interrogation-An Art and A Science," AIA Journal uune 1958): 285-286. Quoted in S. Lavin, "The Avant-Garde Is Not at Home," 195. 9. Richard Neutra, "Women Makes Man Clear," typescript manuscript, 13 November 1953, Neutra Archive. Quoted by S. Lavin, "The Avant-Garde Is Not at Home," 195. 10. Sheri Olson, "Skidmore, Owings & Merrill: Early History," in Robert Bruegmann, ed., Modernism at Mid-Century (Chicago, 1994), 27. 11.Sheri Olson, "Skidmore, Owings & Merrill: T h e Project Team," Modernism at Mid-Century, 35. 12 Ibid. U. "Skidmore, Owings & Merrill," Museum ofModern Art Bulletin 18, no. l(1950): 5-7. 14. Sheri Olson, "Skidmore, Owings & Merrill: T h e Project Team," Modernism at Mid-Century, 36. IS.Modernism at Mid-Century, 43-46,65 11.109. 16.Telegram from Frank Lloyd Wright to Richard Hawley Cumng, 3 July 1954, quoted in Modernism at Mid-Century, 43. 17. "From the 1930s when he began 'working' with Lily [sic]Reich, on, Mies left the theatrical to others-perversion by proxy. From her silk and velvet to Johnson's chain mail in the Four Seasons, what is the connection? Who took advantage?" Rem Koolhaas, "En%bling Architecture," in Somol, ed., Autonomy, 298. 18. Esther McCoy, quoted by Barbara Goldstein, "Introduction," Arts & Architecture: The Entenza Ears (Cambridge, Mass., 1990), 8. 19. Gwendolyn Wright, "A Partnership: Catherine Bauer and William Wurster," in Marc Treib, ed., An Everyday Modernimt: The Houses of William Wurster (Berkeley, 1995), 188. 20. As I picked up the book, David Morton, a senior editor at Rizzoli, told me the story of how he had given the book to the architect Richard Meier on a Friday and Meier had called him on Monday to say that he had spent the weekend reading the book, unable to put it down, and that it had been the most depressing weekend of his life. Now I really wanted to read the book. 470
J S A H / 5 8 : 3 ,S E P T E M B E R , 1999

21. Letter of Lou Kahn to Anne Tyng, 1954, quoted in Anne Griswold Tyng, ed., Louis Kbhn to Anne Tyng: The Rome Letters 19J3-1954 (New York, 1997), 7.

Selected Texts
Albrecht, Donald, ed. The Work of Charles and Ray Eames: A Legary of Invention. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1997. Blau, Eve. The Architecture of Red Kenna 1919-1934. Cambridge, Mass.: M I T Press, 1999. Bosman, Jos, et al. Si$ried Giedion, 1888-1986: der Entwurfeiner modwnen Tradition. Zurich: Ammann Verlag, 1989. Brooks, H. Allen, ed. Writings on Wright: Selected Comment on Frank Lloyd Wright. Cambridge, Mass.: M I T Press, 1981. Bmegmann, Robert, ed. Modernism at Mid-Century: The Architecture of the United Stated Air Force Academy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. Colomina, Beatriz. "Couplings." Oase 5 1 (1999), special issue dedicated to Alison and Peter Smithson: 20-33. Connors, Joseph. The Robie House of Frank Llqd Wright. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984. Crawford, Margaret. Building the Workingman's Paradise: The Design of American Company Towns. London and New York: Verso, 1995. Crosset, Pierre-Alain, ed. "I Clienti di Le Corbusier." Rassegna 3 Uuly 1980). Eaton, Leonard. Two Chicago Architects and Their Clients: Frank Lloyd Wright and Howard Van Doren Shaw. Cambridge, Mass.: M I T Press, 1969. Friedman, Alice T. Women and the Making of the Modem House: A Social and Architectural History. New York: Harry N . Abrams, 1998. Georgiadis, Sokratis. Si@ied Giedion, An Intellectual Biography. Translated by Colin Hall. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1993. Goldstein, Barbara, ed. Arts &Architecture: The Entenza Years. Cambridge, Mass.: M I T Press, 1990. Giinther, Sonja. Lilly Reich, 188J-1947: Innenarchitektin, Designerin, Ausstellungsgestalterin. Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1988. Hines, Thomas S. Richard hTeutraand the Search for Modem Architecture: A Biography and History. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982. Zurich: Huber, Dorothee, ed. Si$ried Giedion. Wege in die ~ffentlichkeit. Ammann Verlag, 1987. Imbert, Dorothie. The Modernist Garden in France. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. Kirkham, Pat. Charles and Ray Eames, Designers of the Twentieth Century. Cambridge, Mass.: M I T Press, 1995. Koolhaas, Rem. "EnO/ablingArchitecture."In Robert E. Somol, ed., Autonomy and Ideology: Positioning an Avant-Garde in America. New York: Monacelli Press, 1997. Koolhaas, Rem, Bruce Mau, and the Office for Metropolitan Architecture. S,M,L,XL. New York: Monacelli Press, 1995. Lampugnani, Vittorio Magnago, ed. Si@ied Giedion:A Historical Project, special issue of Rassegna 25 (1986). Lavin, Sylvia. "The Avant-Garde Is Not at Home: Richard Neutra and the American Psychologizing of Modernity." In Robert E. Somol, ed., Autonomy and Ideology: Positioning an Avant-Garde in America, 180-197. New York: T h e Monacelli Press, 1997. Lockhead, Ian. "Beyond Architecture: Marion Mahony and Walter Burley Griffin-America, Australia, India."JSAH 58 (June 1999): 199-201. McQuaid, Matilda, and Magdalena Droste, eds. Lilly Reich. New York:

Harry N. Abrams and the Museum of Modern Art, 1996. Mertins, Detlef. "TransparenciesYet to Come: SigFried Giedion and the Prehistory of Architectural Modernity." Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1996. Olson, Sheri. Various contributions in Bruegmann, ed., Modernimr at Mid-Century. Rice, Peter. An Engineerlmagines. London: Ellipsis, 1994. Rosa, Joseph. A Constructed Vim:The Architermral Photography ofjulius Shulman. New York: Rizzoli International, 1994. Scott Brown, Denise. "Room at the Top? Sexism and the Star System in Architecture." In P. Berkeley and Matilda McQuaid, eds., Architemre: A Placefor Women,237-246. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institu-

tion Press, 1989. Shulman, Julius. Architemre and iu Photography. Cologne: Taschen, 1998. Smith, Elizabeth, ed. Blueprintsfor Modern Living: Histo? and Legacy of the Case Study Houses. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1989. Treib, Marc, and Dorothie Imbert. Garrett Ekbo: Modem Landscapesfor Living. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Tyng, Anne Griswold, ed. Louis Kahn to Anne Tyng: The Rome Letters 19F3-1914. New York: Rizzoli International, 1997. Wright, Gwendolyn. "A Partnership: Catherine Bauer and William Wurster." In Marc Treib, ed., An Everyday Modernism: The Houses of William Wurster, 184-203. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995.

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