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25un GIOcO dI cOlORI, luce, RIcORdIJean-Marie Martin

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34AbItARe Il pAeSAGGIOMassimo Ferrari

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Il nome di alcuni architetti evoca già un luogo e un’epoca: è sufficiente sentirlo per visualizzarne subito il mondo. l’archi-tetto americano gordon Bunshaft è uno di questi: quando lo si cita viene subito in mente la new York del dopoguerra che sperimentava l’espressionismo astratto, dominata dalle grandi corporations e immersa nei ritmi del cool jazz. nella grande Mela sorsero gli edifici moderni “pelle e ossa” di gordon Bunshaft: la lever House (1952) e le sedi della Manufacturers Trust

Company Bank (1954) e della Chase Manhattan Bank (1961). e quella fu la città in cui visse Bunshaft: un uomo caustico, laconico, brusco, apparentemente a proprio agio sia con i capitani d’industria del tempo sia con i sistemi produttivi moderni. Bunshaft lavorava per skidmore, owings & Merrill (soM), uno dei principali studi d’architettura dell’epoca.

Benché dal 1939 al 1983 abbia firmato ufficialmente solo trentotto edifici, la sua mano è rico-noscibile in moltissimi altri progetti1. Bunshaft fu responsabile della progettazione architettonica di soM dal suo ritorno negli stati Uniti dopo la guerra fino al 1962 circa, quando altri colleghi (Bruce graham, Walter netsch, Chuck Bassett) assunsero ruoli di rilievo all’interno dello studio. Tuttavia, la sua influenza si avvertì anche dopo quella data. Fu autore di edifici di tipologie diverse (residenze, biblioteche, fabbriche e musei) realizzati a new York come a new orleans, Pittsburgh e gedda e co-struiti nei centri delle città, nei sobborghi o in aperta campagna. Il riconoscimento dell’alta qualità del suo lavoro è attestato dai premi conquistati nel corso della sua carriera, tra cui l’arnold W. Brun-ner Memorial Prize dell’american academy of arts and letters (1955), la gold Medal dell’american Institute of architects (1984) e il Premio Pritzker per l’architettura (1988), per il quale, a quanto si rac-conta, si autocandidò.

nato a Buffalo, nello stato di new York, in una famiglia di immigrati relativamente modesta, Bunshaft frequentò il Mas-sachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), dove conseguì la laurea e un master in architettura rispettivamente nel 1933 e nel 19352. ottenne la rotch Traveling scholarship (1935–37) che gli consentì di visitare l’europa dove ebbe modo di vedere di-versi esempi della nuova architettura. Tornato a new York, iniziò a lavorare per soM, diventando socio nel 1949 e, fatta ec-cezione per il periodo della guerra (1942–46), rimase nello studio fino al 1979, anno in cui andò in pensione. la sua quaran-tennale carriera si svolse parallelamente alla crescita di soM: dal primo studio a Chicago (1936) a una partnership con più sedi: quella di new York aprì nel 1937, seguita dagli studi di san Francisco (1947), Portland (1951), Washington (1967), Bo-ston (1971), los angeles (1974), Houston (1976) e Denver (1977)3.

la formazione al MIT si svolse nell’ambiente relativamente moderno che più tardi avrebbe accolto alvar aalto. Bunshaft non era né un gran lettore né un attento studente di storia dell’architettura, e neppure un disegnatore particolarmente do-tato. Come lui stesso riconosceva: «non sono un intellettuale. sono solo una persona diretta»4. le esperienze formative cru-ciali furono legate ai compagni di studio e alla biblioteca. riferendo una conversazione con uno dei colleghi di Bunshaft al MIT, l’architetto ambrose richardson ha fornito un’indicazione utile sul metodo di progettazione che avrebbe adottato in se-guito: «l’uomo mi raccontò: “gordon era il tipo che se ne andava in giro –e mi sembra ancora di vederlo– a guardare i dise-

a cura di Chiara Baglione

—In cinque puntate le opere del progettista che ha portato a soM il Pritzker Prize.

76

Gordon Bunshaft, 1909–1990nicholas adams

1—gordon Bunshaft all’età di circa otto anni —Gordon Bunshaft, ca. aged 8

2—gordon Bunshaft all’epoca del Padiglione del Venezuela, «Buffalo Courier-express», 14 maggio 1939—Gordon Bunshaft at the time of the Venezuela Pavilion, «Buffalo Courier-Express», 14 May 1939

3—gordon Bunshaft, ritratto, 1958 ca.—Gordon Bunshaft, portrait, ca. 1958

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era diventato il punto di riferimento. e per quanto la sua ar-chitettura fosse più gioiosa e colorata (e solo di rado altret-tanto coerente in senso estetico), anche Bunshaft fu etichet-tato come “miesiano”12.

sulla scia del seagram (e dei nuovi edifici di calcestruzzo di le Corbusier), soM e Bunshaft cerca-rono una nuova direzione. nel gen-naio del 1958, nathaniel owings di-chiarò in un’intervista: «lo studio non è fermo allo “standard dell’acciaio inossidabile” come lo chiama la no-stra concorrenza. Ciò che ci interessa è la plasticità ed esploriamo tutte le strade per ottenerla»13. soM assunse l’ingegnere di origini ungheresi Paul Weidlinger (1914–99) per una serie di edifici originali di calcestruzzo a forma di scatola collocati su piccoli piloni di forma piramidale. Per rea-lizzare i nuovi edifici anche Bunshaft doveva in qualche modo rinnovarsi. le tecnologie dell’acciaio e del cur-tain wall di vetro non avevano segreti per lui, ma il calcestruzzo, che cono-sceva molto meno, lo obbligava ad andare coi piedi di piombo. negli anni Cinquanta Bunshaft era solito riman-

dare la consultazione con gli ingegneri fino a quando il pro-getto non fosse in fase piuttosto avanzata. negli anni ses-santa e settanta, però, preferiva anticipare il coordinamento con Weidlinger: «sapevamo di poter fare di tutto con il cal-cestruzzo… ma avevamo bisogno di studiarlo bene. non ap-

pena avevamo buttato giù qualche idea, il progettista senior, Paul e io –soprattutto Paul e io– ci consultavamo»14. Come ricordano i colleghi, Weidlinger diventò “un vero collabora-tore”, una figura di cui il giovanile Bunshaft non aveva avuto bisogno fino ad allora. anche il nuovo linguaggio architetto-nico gli si rivelò congeniale; dalla collaborazione con l’inge-gnere nacquero edifici importanti come la Beinecke library (1963), la Banque lambert (1965) e la sede dell’american re-public Insurance Company (1965).

Come capita spesso con le teste coronate, gli ultimi anni da soM non furono facili. Una nuova generazione di proget-tisti acquisì posizioni di potere all’interno dello studio e per quanto le opinioni di Bunshaft fossero pungenti come sem-pre, il suo stile non era più in sintonia con i tempi: le pru-denti decisioni collegiali delle aziende misero fine alle ini-ziative coraggiose dei capitani d’industria che lo avevano as-sunto negli anni del dopoguerra. Il crescente disprezzo da lui manifestato per le torri di uffici («non sono neppure si-curo che un edificio di uffici sia architettura. In realtà è solo un calcolo matematico, un investimento tridimensionale…») era frutto di questi cambiamenti15. gli capitò ancora di in-contrare uomini forti convinti che valesse la pena spendere tanto per l’alta qualità dei suoi progetti (per esempio l’im-prenditore immobiliare sheldon solow per il grattacielo al 9 di West 57th street, 1974), realizzò altri edifici pubblici (lBJ library, 1971; Hirschhorn Museum, 1974) e lavorò per nuovi uomini potenti all’estero (national Commercial Bank, gedda, 1983; the Hajj Terminal, 1981). si trattava di costruzioni mo-numentali e con strutture robuste, astratte e moderniste, erette a mo’ di baluardo contro le prime manifestazioni di postmodernismo. In quel contesto Bunshaft appariva fuori luogo, un dinosauro proveniente da un altro mondo, un eroe nell’epoca degli antieroi, un uomo d’azienda quando anda-

7—gordon Bunshaft, seymour H. knox Jr. e gordon M. smith, direttore della albright-knox art gallery, studiano l’ampliamento della albright-knox art gallery di Buffalo; new York, 14 dicembre 1961—Gordon Bunshaft, Seymour H. Knox, Jr., and Albright-Knox Art Gallery Director Gordon M. Smith study addition to the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, New York, 14 December 1961

8—gordon Bunshaft e Walter severinghaus, socio dello studio soM, osservano il plastico del Convention Center di new York, 1973 —Gordon Bunshaft with SOM Partner Walter Severinghaus study the model for the New York Convention Center, 1973

9 —gordon e nina Bunshaft con lo scultore Isamu noguchi, 1969—Gordon and Nina Bunshaft with the sculptor Isamu Noguchi, 1969

4—gordon Bunshaft, veduta del Pont neuf, Parigi; acquerello, 1935—Gordon Bunshaft, view of the Pont Neuf, Paris, watercolor, 1935

5—gordon Bunshaft, veduta di san Francesco, assisi; acquerello, 1936—Gordon Bunshaft, view of San Francesco, Assisi, watercolor, 1936

6—gordon Bunshaft, veduta di Tarragona; sanguigna, 1936—Gordon Bunshaft, view of Tarragona, red chalk, 1936

gni degli altri. non rubava necessariamente la tua idea ma ru-bava il meglio di ogni progetto”. e quando dico “rubava” cito esattamente le sue parole. “rubava il meglio di ogni progetto, metteva insieme il tutto e vinceva il premio”. gordon aveva una

straordinaria capacità di selezionare gli aspetti migliori di un lavoro»5.

Bunshaft aveva bisogno dello stimolo degli altri e utilizzava quegli spunti per valutare diverse alterna-tive. sempre stando ai ricordi di ri-chardson, anche in seguito, nell’am-biente di lavoro: «gordon ci usava come fossimo mani a sua disposi-zione. era fantastico. era una sorta di piovra. lui si occupava dell’ideazione del progetto e poi faceva eseguire a noi giovani bei disegni o qualsiasi al-tra cosa di cui avesse bisogno»6.

Ciò che contava per Bunshaft erano l’ampiezza, la varietà e la mol-

teplicità degli spunti architettonici. la lever House, l’edificio grazie a cui Bunshaft con-

quistò la fama, cambiò la sua vita per sempre. nathaniel a. owings (1903–84), socio fondatore dello studio, aveva vinto l’incarico con una partita a dadi e aveva fornito il parti della “perfetta torre per uffici” che Bunshaft aveva poi sviluppato7. l’opera ebbe un successo straordinario: la lever House rap-presentava al contempo un imponente simbolo pubblicita-rio per l’azienda di saponi e prodotti per la pulizia, una solu-zione al problema delle strade buie e sporche della città e un’opera d’architettura davvero notevole8. Benché la sua co-struzione non fosse ancora ultimata, il suo plastico costituì l’elemento centrale della mostra dedicata a soM allestita al

Museum of Modern art di new York9. Una volta completato, l’edificio divenne un’attrazione turistica, soprattutto per il si-stema di lavaggio delle finestre con un ponteggio mobile. Dopo la clamorosa accoglienza riservata alla lever House, le aziende si misero in fila per richiedere il lavoro di Bunshaft: la Manufacturers Trust Company Bank (1954), l’Hilton Hotel (1955), la Connecticut general Insurance (1957), la reynolds Metal (1958), la Pepsi Cola (1960), la Union Carbide (1960), la First City national Bank (1961) e la Chase Manhattan Bank (1961). grazie al progetto per la sede della Chase Manhattan Bank di new York, ancora una volta ottenuto con l’interme-diazione di owings, Bunshaft e soM diventarono gli archi-tetti di riferimento della famiglia rockefeller, una delle più potenti (e ricche) degli stati Uniti. nei racconti sulla scelta delle opere d’arte per il nuovo edificio, venne sottolineato il ruolo di Bunshaft10. Bunshaft diventò anche l’architetto dell’élite politica e fu incaricato di progettare la lyndon Bai-nes Johnson Memorial library della University of Texas (1971).

Cosa ottenevano i suoi clienti? Innanzitutto, avevano la certezza di un progetto originale e ben studiato. soM era celebre per la sua capacità di reinterpretare attività tradizio-nali e ripetitive (come quella bancaria o assicurativa) dando loro espressione con edifici originali e sempre degni di at-tenzione da parte della stampa. la sede della Manufacturers Trust fu presentata sul «new Yorker» e sul «saturday eve-ning Post»; l’edificio della Connecticut general Insurance comparve su riviste come «Time», «newsweek», «Business Week» e «Fortune» e sul «saturday evening Post». Il grat-tacielo della Chase Manhattan Bank fu pubblicato pratica-mente ovunque11. Più specificamente, i clienti ottenevano un’opera architettonica perfettamente in linea con l’estetica del dopoguerra, improntata all’efficienza e alla modernità per le quali Mies van der rohe, grazie al seagram Building,

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Traduzione italiana di Irene Inserra per Scriptum, roma.

vano di moda gli individualisti e soprattutto un vecchio in una società che aveva deciso di non credere più in chi aveva su-perato i trent’anni.

Bunshaft era un uomo complicato. Famoso, famigerato persino, per il carattere e le opinioni taglienti; ma questo suo modo di essere nascondeva delle insicurezze: non amava parlare in pubblico, si rifiutava di scrivere di architettura, si scontrava spesso con i clienti. Pare che si trovasse vera-mente a proprio agio solo con gli artisti. Il lungo carteggio con Jean Dubuffet (1901–85) e Henry Moore (1898–1986), conservato alla avery library della Columbia University, è al-legro e arguto al tempo stesso, descrive piacevoli conversa-zioni e rivela una persona del tutto diversa. Bunshaft fu ge-neroso con l’albright-knox Museum di Buffalo (era un caro amico di seymour knox, il fondatore). lasciò la casa di long Island, la cosiddetta Travertine House (1963), e gran parte della sua collezione d’arte al Museum of Modern art di new York, non dispiaciuto, a quanto pare, che la casa venisse venduta e la collezione dispersa.

Per questa serie di cinque saggi ho scelto alcuni de-gli edifici meno noti tra quelli realizzati da soM sotto la di-rezione di gordon Bunshaft. le opere dimostrano la va-rietà di cui era capace e attestano la sua attenzione per le linee ampie e i particolari eleganti, per la monumentalità e l’astrazione, per lo humour e i materiali. oggi che gli archi-tetti guardano di nuovo con interesse alla ricca tradizione del movimento moderno, il lavoro di Bunshaft va conside-rato con maggiore (e non minore) attenzione. Bunshaft fu, senza vergognarsi di esserlo, un architetto commerciale che lavorò negli ambienti più commerciali e tuttavia riuscì a im-porsi con un'identità propria, ricercando i livelli qualitativi più elevati, tanto nella progettazione quanto nella costru-zione dei suoi edifici.

10—gordon Bunshaft (soM), Pepsi-Cola Corporation, sede mondiale, new York, 1956–60—Gordon Bunshaft (SOM), Pepsi-Cola Corporation, World Headquarters, New York, 1956–60

11—gordon Bunshaft (soM), albright-knox art gallery, nuova ala, Buffalo, 1958–62—Gordon Bunshaft (SOM), Albright-Knox Art Gallery Extension, Buffalo, 1958–62

12—gordon Bunshaft (soM), lever House, new York, 1952—Gordon Bunshaft (SOM), Lever House, New York, 1952

13—gordon Bunshaft (soM), Manufacturers Trust Company Bank, new York, 1954—Gordon Bunshaft (SOM), Manufacturers Trust Company Bank, New York, 1954

14—gordon Bunshaft (soM), Beinecke rare Book & Manuscript library, Yale University, new Haven, 1963—Gordon Bunshaft (SOM), Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven, 1963

Note1 Carol krinsky, Gordon Bunshaft of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, MIT Press e architectural History Foundation, Cambridge e new York 1988, pp. 335-338. Conto altri ventidue edifici in cui si nota l’influenza di Bunshaft precedenti al 1962. Vedi nicholas adams, Gordon Bunshaft: What Convinces is Conviction, in «soM Journal», 9, 2014, pp. 8-19.2 suo padre, David Bunshaft, vendeva uova all’ingrosso. nel 1946 lasciò un considerevole patrimonio di 51,236 dollari alla moglie Yetta (vedi «Buffalo Courier express», 20 luglio 1946). la famiglia viveva in una semplice casa unifamiliare di legno al 55 di Manchester Place. 3 successivamente altre sedi furono aperte a londra (1986) e shanghai (2001). gli studi di Portland, Boston, Houston e Denver sono stati chiusi.4 Oral History of Gordon Bunshaft, intervista di Betty J. Blum, art Institute, Chicago 1990, edizione rivista 2000, p. 209.5 Oral History of Ambrose M. Richardson, intervista di Betty J. Blum, art Institute, Chicago 1990, p. 160.6 Oral History of Ambrose M. Richardson, cit., p. 787 nathaniel a. owings, The Office Building of Tomorrow, in «skyscraper Management», 32, novembre 1947, pp. 10-11 e 24-27; A Radically New Conception of Tomorrow’s Office Building, in «national real estate and Building Journal», gennaio 1948, pp. 28-29; The Ideal Office Building–A dream boat speech by Architect Owings, in «architectural Forum», 91, agosto 1949, pp. 75, 164, 165. la lever House fu recensita per la prima volta nel giugno del 1949.8 Vedi la relazione di J.e. Drew, direttore delle pubbliche relazioni della lever Brothers presentata durante un incontro sul tema “economic Values of Design”, tenutosi nell’ambito della aIa annual Convention a new orleans nel giugno del 1959. Una copia è conservata nella divisione marketing di soM a new York.9 Skidmore, Owings & Merrill architects, U.S.A., in«Bulletin of the Museum of Modern art», 18, autunno 1950.10 Vedi Art at Work: The Chase Manhattan Collection, a cura di Marshall lee, e.P. Dutton, new York 1984.11 Showcase in The Talk of the Town, in «The new Yorker», 30, 2 ottobre 1954; Jack alexander, The Bank That Has No Secrets, in «saturday evening Post», 30 novembre 1957, pp. 36, 105-106; sul Connecticut general, vedi Office Building Gets Trial Run, in «Business Week», 20 agosto 1955, p. 48; For Corporate Life ’57, in «newsweek», 16 settembre 1957, pp. 114-115; Building with a future, in «Time», 16 settembre 1957, pp. 86-91; A Dramatic New Office Building, in «Fortune», settembre 1957, pp. 164-169 e 228-229; Joe alex Morris, It’s Nice to Work in the Country, in «saturday evening Post», 5 luglio 1958, pp. 21, 70-72. «architectural Forum» dedicò ben ventinove pagine alla Chase Manhattan Bank (Chase, portrait of a giant; report on the biggest office building in Manhattan in 25 years, in «architectural Forum», 115, luglio 1961, pp. 66-95. l’edificio fu pubblicato sulle principali riviste d’architettura, d’arte e di arredamento d’interni americane, francesi («architecture aujourd’hui», 6, dicembre 1961, pp. 82-91; «l’oeil», 87, marzo 1962, pp. 80-87) e tedesche («Bauen und Wohnen», 11 aprile 1957, pp. 122-123; 16 gennaio 1962, pp. 9-21; «Baukunst und Werkform», 15, 1962, pp. 30-36, supplemento 2-4).12 nicholas adams (con nicola Mcelroy), Column and Frame: Mies van der Rohe and Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, in La Colonne: Nouvelle histoire de la construction, a cura di roberto gargiani, Presses polytechniques et universitaires romandes, lausanne 2008, pp. 484-493.13 Vedi The Architects from Skid’s Row, in «Fortune», 57, gennaio 1958, pp. 137-140; 210, 212, 215. Citazione a p. 215.14 krinsky, gordon Bunshaft, cit., p. 138.15 Citato in Walter McQuaid, A Daring New Generation of Skyscrapers, in «Fortune», 87, febbraio 1973, p. 81.

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l’esposizione Universale di new York del 1939–40 fu la prima fiera mondiale esplicitamente dedicata al futuro. l’o-belisco Trylon, alto 185 metri, e la Perisphere progettati da Wallace Harrison (1895–1981) e andré Fouilhoux (1879–1945) simboleggiavano l’entusiasmo per “il mondo di domani” che animava la manifestazione. seguendo il loro esempio, gli ar-chitetti incaricati di realizzare i vari padiglioni si sentirono in-coraggiati a proporre idee sperimentali e innovative. Il Futu-rama di norman Bel geddes, con il suo sistema di percorsi su più livelli e la simulazione del rumore di aerei che volavano a bassa quota, fu una delle costruzioni di maggior successo. Tra i padiglioni dei vari paesi alcuni erano interessanti, altri meno. Quello italiano, firmato da Michele Busiri Vici, non era particolarmente memorabile e presentava una statua della dea roma assisa su un piedistallo alto 60 metri, che si er-geva su una fontana dedicata a guglielmo Marconi. la rivi-sta «architectural Forum» lo descrisse come: «Una curiosa perversione delle convenzioni classiche»1. Molto elogiati fu-rono i progetti della Finlandia (alvar aalto), della svezia (sven Markelius) e del Brasile (lucio Costa e oscar niemeyer)2. In genere, poi, le aziende commerciali cercarono di sfruttare la situazione per dare risalto ai loro prodotti di punta, a disca-pito dell’architettura dei loro stessi padiglioni. la Continen-tal Baking, per esempio, volle replicare sull’esterno dell’edifi-cio, progettato da skidmore e owings con John Moss, il mo-tivo che decorava le confezioni del popolare “Wonder Bread”.

skidmore e owings (ai quali non si era ancora unito Mer-rill) svolsero un ruolo importante all’esposizione, sia come con-sulenti sia come progettisti. affiancati da John Moss, ottimo di-segnatore, realizzarono nove padiglioni: swift Premium Meats, Continental Baking, radio Corporation of america (rCa), il pa-diglione delle gas Industries, il padiglione Westinghouse, l’edi-ficio standard Brands, il glass Building e lo stand dedicato alla

medicina e alla salute pubblica. l’unico padiglione nazionale firmato dallo studio, il padiglione del Venezuela, era uno dei progetti che Bunshaft non includeva tra i “pessimi”, o quanto meno considerava “quasi buono”. Fu la prima opera su cui ap-pose anche la sua firma3, cogliendo l’occasione per cominciare a sperimentare la nuova architettura moderna che lo aveva colpito durante i viaggi in europa, compiuti grazie alla rotch Travelling Fellowship. nella foto che accompagnava un articolo pubblicato sul quotidiano della sua città natale, Bunshaft è raf-figurato mentre osserva con attenzione un disegno del padi-glione; nel testo viene citata una sua descrizione dell’esposi-zione come «un pallone sonda lanciato nel futuro»4.

Il padiglione del Venezuela fu un piccolo segnale della ripresa delle relazioni diplomatiche tra gli stati Uniti e l’a-merica del sud5. nel 1933 il presidente Franklin Delano ro-osevelt aveva lanciato l’iniziativa “good neighbor” (“Il buon vicino”) che stabiliva una nuova politica di non intervento e non interferenza nell’area da parte degli stati Uniti. Da quel momento i rapporti con l’america del sud sarebbero stati improntati allo sviluppo economico e alla crescita de-gli scambi commerciali. Uomini come nelson a. rockefeller (1908–79) avevano tutto l’interesse a promuovere un’imma-gine progressista e moderna dell’america latina all’esposi-zione. a quanto pare l’intervento di rockefeller –che aveva lavorato per la Creole Petroleum in Venezuela e la cui madre era tra i fondatori del Museum of Modern art di new York– ebbe un suo peso nell’assegnazione dell’incarico a skid-more & owings (l’unico altro padiglione nazionale con pro-getto americano fu quello del Cile, ideato da T. smith-Mil-ler, sanders & Breck). Benché due anni prima a Parigi i ve-nezuelani avessero presentato un padiglione neocoloniale di loro progettazione (architetti luis Malaussena e Carlos raúl Villanueva), gli americani pensavano fosse più oppor-

Il padiglione del Venezuela all’Esposizione Universale di New York del 1939nicholas adams

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15—gordon Bunshaft, proposta per il Padiglione del Venezuela, veduta dall’interno del giardino incorniciato da una mela, disegnatore John Moss, 1938—Gordon Bunshaft, proposal for the Venezuela Pavilion, view from interior to the garden framed by an apple, John Moss renderer, 1938

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17—gordon Bunshaft, Padiglione del Venezuela, veduta da sud, 1939—Gordon Bunshaft, Venezuela Pavilion, view from the south, 1939

tuno rivolgersi a un architetto del posto6. È possibile, inol-tre, che rockefeller sia stato in qualche modo sollecitato dai tanto ammirati progetti di Costa e niemeyer per il padi-glione del Brasile. Probabilmente rockefeller e Bunshaft eb-

bero la possibilità di vederli (Co-sta e niemeyer erano entrambi a new York nell’estate del 1938) in tempo sufficiente per rendersi conto della necessità di proporre qualcosa di moderno per i vene-

zuelani, un progetto che, sulla falsariga dell’idea brasiliana, coniugasse l’architettura moderna e l’espíritu venezolano7.

Di conseguenza, pur includendo stand e allestimenti de-dicati a prodotti come il caffè, il cacao e il petrolio «destinati a rappresentare le grandi risorse del Venezuela», il padiglione proponeva anche elementi di cultura moderna rappresentati dalle decorazioni degli artisti venezuelani dell’epoca. Come sottolineato dal console generale all’inaugurazione del padi-glione, il governo del presidente lopez Contreras «era l’incar-nazione della democrazia più avanzata» e il suo paese era «tra i più liberi del mondo»8. Come si leggeva sul muro del padi-glione, inoltre, il Venezuela era un paese «senza disoccupa-zione, né debiti né tasse». Bunsahft racchiuse la modernità del paese in un volume di vetro dalla forma aerodinamica.

È possibile che i primi progetti siano stati disegnati in-sieme a John Moss. Vi si osserva una copertura, simile a un’ala, che si estende da ovest a est, con una spettacolare inclinazione, sopra una semplice scatola di vetro. nel lato est del volume di vetro, coperti dalla parte più bassa di questo tetto inclinato, si trovano la caffetteria e il ristorante. a ovest la copertura è sostenuta da un solo pilastro libero, il più alto; la veduta da sud-ovest ci regala l’immagine più caratteristica dell’edificio. altre vedute mostrano la scatola di vetro, raffor-

zata da travi a doppia T a flangia larga, lungo la facciata sud9. sul lato inferiore della copertura inclinata, luis alfredo lópez Méndez e Miguel arroyo dipinsero scene di vita quotidiana in Venezuela, anticipando, secondo Joan ockman, «l’elegante integrazione di arte e architettura che segnò i lavori del do-poguerra di Bunshaft»10. orchidee racchiuse in sfere di ve-tro punteggiavano il giardino antistante il padiglione e all’in-terno decoravano delle installazioni simili ad alberi. Il tetto, comunque, era il motivo architettonico dominante della fac-ciata sud: la gioiosa connessione tra esterno e interno ri-specchiava il clima tropicale del Venezuela, mentre la linea astratta indicava la modernità in via di sviluppo del paese. le altre facciate erano meno rilevanti. Come rivelano i disegni di Moss, visto da est e da ovest, l’edificio aveva le caratteri-stiche di una moderna stazione ferroviaria o degli autobus, o magari di un ufficio postale; richiamava persino il padiglione d’ingresso progettato da gunnar asplund per l’expo di stoc-colma del 1930. Bunshaft aveva particolarmente ammirato anche la fabbrica Van nelle di rotterdam realizzata da Brin-kman e Van der Vlugt nel 1931: nell’opera di new York c’è un ricordo della semplicità di quell’edificio, con i nastri traspor-tatori esterni tradotti nel tetto inclinato.

all’interno del padiglione Bunshaft ebbe poco controllo sul progetto. l’elemento centrale era il cosiddetto “altar of the good neighbor” (“altare del buon vicino”, contenente una ciocca di capelli di george Washington appartenuta a simon Bolivar), intorno a cui erano esposti i prodotti tipici del paese. Interno ed esterno erano collegati dal vetro, ovviamente, e dalla collocazione della scritta “VenezUela” che attraver-sava la griglia di vetro del padiglione11. Un pannello curvili-neo libero (un’eco del padiglione finlandese di aalto?) faceva da sfondo alle sculture di legno create sul posto da France-sco narváez (riflettendo a posteriori sull’esperienza, Bunshaft

16—gordon Bunshaft, Padiglione del Venezuela, pianta—Gordon Bunshaft, Venezuela Pavilion, plan

«Furono preparati almeno diciannove progetti diversi, tutti pessimi tranne forse uno».

—gordon Bunshaft

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19—gordon Bunshaft, proposta per il Padiglione del Venezuela, disegni della sezione, disegnatore John Moss, 1938—Gordon Bunshaft, proposal for the Venezuela Pavilion, section drawings, John Moss renderer, 1938

18—gordon Bunshaft, proposta per il Padiglione del Venezuela, veduta prospettica, disegnatore John Moss, 1938—Gordon Bunshaft, proposal for the Venezuela Pavilion, perspective view, John Moss renderer, 1938

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espresse la necessità di mantenere il controllo su tutti gli aspetti del progetto). Il «new York Times» descrisse la scena come un insieme di «bellezza e affari». Particolari consensi ot-tennero le orchidee che, stando al quotidiano, «facevano bat-

tere più forte il cuore di tutte le donne»12. Benché il padiglione avesse un discreto

successo –e contribuisse a rinsaldare il rap-porto tra soM e la famiglia rockefeller, de-stinato a durare altri vent’anni– in Venezuela fu accolto con qualche polemica13. I costi elevati –sia di manodopera (artisti e musi-cisti venezuelani, infatti, non erano iscritti ai potenti sindacati newyorkesi) sia di ma-nutenzione– costrinsero il governo a chiu-dere il padiglione dopo il primo anno. Pro-

babilmente anche gli architetti venezuelani non gradirono l’as-segnazione dell’incarico al giovane e inesperto Bunshaft. la regola americana del non intervento e della non interferenza, evidentemente, valeva solo per più importanti questioni diplo-matiche. solo quando il rappresentante venezuelano all’espo-sizione minacciò di dimettersi («troppi mal di testa») l’ordine di chiusura fu cancellato per un breve periodo14. nel maggio del 1940 il Venezuela si ritirò e stilò dei preventivi per la spedizione del padiglione a Caracas dove, se il piano fosse andato a buon fine, sarebbe stato adibito a centro turistico15.

secondo «architectural Forum» il padiglione di Bunshaft «non suscitava particolari emozioni»16. Considerata a posteriori, tuttavia, l’opera si distingue per essere stata il primo lavoro indipendente di Bunshaft, il progetto in cui si ri-velò il suo talento per quelli che lui stesso definiva «il fascino e il divertimento», qualità che sarebbero emerse con forza nei due capolavori del dopoguerra: la lever House e la sede della Manufacturers Trust.

Note1 «architectural Forum», 70, giugno 1939, p. 456.2 «architectural Forum», 70, giugno 1939, p. 459: sono riportati i risultati di un sondaggio secondo cui il padiglione preferito dal pubblico era quello dell’Unione sovietica di Boris Iofan e karo s. alabian.3 Carol Herselle krinsky, Gordon Bunshaft: Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, architectural History Foundation, new York 1988, p. 9.4 «Buffalo Courier express», 15 maggio 1939, p. 3.5 Tra i paesi dell’america del sud solo il Venezuela, il Brasile, l’argentina e il Cile avevano un loro padiglione.6 Vedi lorenzo gonzález Casas, Nelson A. Ro c kef e l l e r y l a m o d e r n i d a d v e n e z o l a n a : intercambios, empresas y lugares a mediados del siglo XX, in Petróleo Nuestro y Ajeno: La illusión del modernidad, a cura di Juan José Martín Frechilla e Yolanda Texera arnal, Universidad Central de Ve n e z u e l a , C a r a c a s 2 0 0 4 , p p . 1 7 3 - 2 3 4 . ovviamente, tra gli architetti venezuelani c’erano anche esponenti del movimento moderno come Cipriano Domínguez, che aveva lavorato nello studio di le Corbusier a Parigi, Villanueva stesso e Manuel Mujica Milán. 7 Vedi zilah Quezado Deckker, The Brazilian Pavilion at the New York World’s Fair 1939, in Brazil Built: The Architecture of the Modern Movement in Brazil, spon, london 2001, cap. 3. Bunshaft pensava che sotto il profilo qualitativo, il padiglione venezuelano fosse secondo solo all’edificio di Costa e niemeyer. Vedi krinsky, Bunshaft, cit., p. 9.8 «new York Times», 27 maggio 1939, p. 9.9 I francobolli per la posta aerea emessi dal Venezuela in questo periodo raffiguravano un velivolo in virata. l’immagine potrebbe aver suggerito a Bunshaft la forma del tetto.10 Joan ockman, Art, Soul of the Corporation: Patronage, Public Relations, and the Interrelations of Art and Architecture after World War II, in «soM Journal», 5, 2007, pp. 170-186, in particolare p. 182. 11 Il passaggio di forme tra interno ed esterno, attraverso il volume di vetro, fu utilizzato in seguito nell’atrio-giardino della lever House.12 «new York Times», 30 aprile 1939, p. 128. 13 successivamente lo studio skidmore, owings & Merrill fu incaricato dalla Creole Petroleum di progettare un insediamento residenziale e una chiesa cattolica ad amuay Bay. Vedi Permanent Housing Project: Creole Petroleum Corporation, Amuay Bay, Venezuela, S.A., new York, 1946.14 «new York Times», 25 ottobre 1939, p. 18. Il Venezuela aveva tentato di mandare muralisti, musicisti e camerieri venezuelani a lavorare al padiglione ed era poi stato costretto ad assumere una squadra di americani (che non lavorò) che affiancasse i venezuelani. 15 «new York Times», 4 maggio 1940, p. 17.16 «architectural Forum», 70, giugno 1939, p. 451.

Traduzione italiana di Irene Inserra per Scriptum, roma.

21—Joseph Binder, poster dell’esposizione Universale di new York del 1939–40 raffigurante il Trylon e la Perisphere progettati da Wallace Harrison e andré Fouilhoux—Joseph Binder, poster of the New York World’s Fair of 1939–40 depicting the Trylon and the Perisphere designed by Wallace Harrison and André Fouilhoux

20—gordon Bunshaft, Padiglione del Venezuela, interno, pannelli espositivi per il petrolio venezuelano, 1939—Gordon Bunshaft, Venezuela Pavilion, interior, display panels for Venezuelan oil, 1939

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the forceful tactile and visual expressive qualities of the material. Once visitors have entered the full-height hall through the entrance compressed as a point of transition between contraction and di-lation of the space, they find a well-proportioned chamber whose ceiling, gradually bending towards the altar, im-proves the acoustics inside the church and displays a nudity that gains its only ornamentation from the light: «Perfec-tion is achieved, not when there is noth-ing more to add, but when there is noth-ing left to take away. It results from this that perfection of invention touches hands with absence of invention» (An-toine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939).

page 25A game of colors, light and memories

Jean-Marie Martin

In 1989 the Diocese of Milan, guided by Cardinal Giovanni Battista Monti-ni, assigned the New Churches commit-tee chaired by Monsignor Giuseppe Aro-sio the task of building 25 new churches. Some of the commissions were assigned by means of competitions, and therefore Mauro Galantino, Giangiacomo D’Ardia and Marco Contini had the opportuni-ty to build the churches of San Ireneo at Cesano Boscone, San Romano in the Gallaratese district and Varedo. In a pe-riod in which the Italian Episcopal Con-ference, above all thanks to Monsignor Giancarlo Santi, became one of the most enlightened clients in the promotion of professional assignments for Italian ar-chitects, in 2001 a competition was held, also open to European architects, for the construction of the Pentecoste church at Quarto Oggiaro, on the outskirts of Mi-lan. The architects invited were Franc-esco Cellini, David Chipperfield, Justus Dahinden, Simo Paavilainen, Alfredo Payá, Boris Podrecca and Eduardo Souto de Moura. Podrecca was the winner, and now the church he designed has been consecrated. The parish complex is organized in two zones with different functional and structural characteristics. A large con-crete portal, with a length of 25 and a height of 23 meters, frames the volumes of the church and the weekday chap-el, while in the open space, given their different heights, a three-dimension-al cross has been inserted. The church has a rectangular plan measuring 30.3 x 15.7 meters, while the height of the hall is 18.15 m. Not only the typological or-ganization suggests that of the Turku Cemetery Chapel in Finland designed by Erik Bryggman (1938–41). Just as in Bryggman’s church the basilica nave that concludes in a flat roof supporting a vaulted wooden covering is joined by a lateral aisle, so it concludes in a wood-en vault in the case of the church de-signed by Podrecca. The spaces of differ-ent heights, organized in keeping with the memory of the chapel of Turku, are connected and lit by the nimble inser-tion of a blade of zenithal light that de-scends from a skylight created the side of the roof summit. Behind the altar a large surface in alabaster-glass, a Pale-ochristian “memory,“ spreads light and functions as a backdrop for the proces-sional cross. The baptismal font, a mon-olith of quartzite enclosed by a metal housing, and the confessional with ac-

cess to the weekday chapel, are at the side of the main entrance. The walls, 50 centimeters thick, are in concrete, while the roof is formed by a reticular steel structure supporting a full plat-form made with the use of slabs. Flank-ing the church on the side towards the street, lower volumes contain the week-day chapel and the lateral aisle with the altar of the Virgin. Both spaces are in di-rect visual contact with the presbytery of the hall. The weekday chapel has a trap-ezoidal plan of 34.75 x 10.32 x 2.70 me-ters, and a height of 7.05, with a struc-ture similar to the one described above. Along the southern side of the area a longitudinal volume made with prefabri-cated cementitious panels occupies the entire length of the lot; it is connected to the church by a glass atrium and con-tains the oratory and the parish center. The elevation, similar to an enveloping ribbon, is shaped by two overlaid com-positional themes: the rhythmical, reg-ular and materic theme of the prefabri-cated panels, and the other “liquid“ and variable theme of the glazed portions. A double-height external pergola in wood completes the composition. The longi-tudinal volume of the oratory has two stories and contains the multifunction-al space, a meeting room, auxiliary spac-es and the side entrance to the parish center. A long staircase with a handrail in colored glass, dramatically placed in the entrance atrium, leads to the up-per level of the building where the cat-echism rooms face onto a transparent gallery. The roof of the atrium is made with a light metal structure resting on the walls of the oratory and the church. The clergy house faces towards the play area. This building with a limited height (about 6.8 meters) has a traditional structure with concrete pillars and slabs and brick infill. In a limited zone where the presence of an auditorium requires large spans, the slabs are made light-ened predalles. A large churchyard de-signed to host community gatherings and festive occasions leads to the parish complex. The entrance to the main nave is through a large bronze-color door set into the main facade, whose panels con-tain the smaller door for ordinary access to the church. The large door is appro-priately sized with respect to the church-yard and the concrete portal that frames the main building of the complex. As we have seen, this also frames the lower vol-ume of the weekday chapel, for which –unlike what Podrecca imagined when preparing the competition version of his project– cladding has been applied in panels identical to those used for the volume connected to the church. Thus the white elevation of the church stands out powerfully from the volume, also thanks to the chromatic dissonance pro-duced by the coloring of the panels that form the enclosure of the service vol-ume that extends along one side of the churchyard, beyond the footprint of the church proper.

page 54Simulation is not always falsehood

Marco Mulazzani

São Lourenço do Barrocal is located in central Alentejo, a few kilometers from the walled city of Monsaraz and the big artificial lake of Alqueva, with an area of 250 km2, created in 1995–2002 after the

construction of the dam on the Guadi-ana River along the border between Por-tugal and the Spanish Estremadura. On an estate of 780 hectares with vine-yards, olive and cork groves, the settle-ment takes its name from the barrocais, granite boulders naturally protruding from the ground, which the local pop-ulace in ancient times selected for its megalithic monuments. Built in the sec-ond half of the 19th century in relation to the agricultural development of the lands around Monsaraz, São Lourenço do Barrocal is a typical Alentejo “monte,” a small rural village where the produc-tion of cereals, legumes and wine, hunt-ing and livestock raising ensured surviv-al for a certain number of families (up to about fifty) that lived there year round – a population confirmed by the presence of a chapel, an oven for baking bread, and a small praça de touros. Abandoned during the last quarter of the last centu-ry, the Barrocal estate has been revived in the first decade of this century based on a transformation plan for non-inten-sive tourism, organized in several phas-es, the first of which called for the ren-ovation of the complex of the “casas do monte,” creating a hotel outfitted with a fitness center, restaurant and winery. Designed and built –apart from the in-terior furnishings– by Eduardo Souto de Moura from 2008 to 2016, the project is interesting not only for its results, but also due to a series of questions regard-ing the very concept of historical her-itage, the value we assign to it and that defines its status, and the actions that can effectively permit its conservation. In Souto de Moura’s experience, no rec-ognition of historical value can protect a construction against the passage of time that has shaped it; instead, it has to con-tinue to be experienced and used «be-cause only everyday life transforms it into something natural and can grant it the status of Heritage.» This transform-ative approach can be seen in the recent works of Souto de Moura like the con-version of the Robinson factory at Porto Alegre, the renovation of the Convento das Bernardas at Tavira, and the Abate Pedrosa municipal museum in Santo Tirso («Casabella» no. 798, 2011; no. 817, 2012; no. 865, 2016): different projects, because «each case is unique,» that share an ability to investigate the past without nostalgia, selectively taking every oper-ation of renewal as the result of a pri-or exercise of critical interpretation. The same can be said of the “monte” of Bar-rocal, where we can still observe many particular features, starting with the ex-ceptional charm of the “great and spir-ited land” that surrounds it. The urban character of the settlement is a clear fac-tor, a sort of in miniature universe with a clear hierarchy, with a main street –la rua do monte– faced by the doors of the homes and the public facilities, a small plaza beside the manor house, a system of courtyards open towards the moun-tains, and service buildings towards the outside: a value of memory and use to be reinforced, because the “village” is in any case designed to host a small community, though it is one that is no longer permanent but temporary. One quality that is no less important is the essential natural quality of the construc-tions, based on the use of simple mate-rials and of forms corresponding to the utilitarian origin of the aldeia: a suita-bility (a value and a goal that represent

the backbone of the work of Eduardo Souto de Moura) that also has to be con-served in relation to the lifestyle sought by the new residents, namely the guests of the hotel. For these reasons, the ru-ined constructions of Barrocal have not been taken as a vestige to be restored to an impossible “original state,” but as an opportunity to be grasped, making the decision to continue the transforming action of time through design, to make the complex ready for use once again, i.e. available for everyday activities, en-abling it to become a shared “legacy.” For the architect from Porto, the Barro-cal thus becomes a sort of experimental laboratory, configured on the one hand as a process of discovery and knowl-edge of its “style” and of its constructive modes and materials, and on the other has an ongoing search for solutions ap-propriate to the challenge raised by the necessary changes of the utilization of the buildings – the olive press becomes a lounge, the workers’ lodgings, store-rooms and garages for agricultural vehi-cles contain the fitness center and com-fortable hotel rooms, the former manor house and agricultural sheds become small two or three-room apartments, on two levels, the kennel becomes a res-taurant… Each of the new functions has been developed and positioned where it is less “invasive” with respect to the specific characteristics of the host con-struction, but also more “convenient” with respect to the overall configura-tion of the settlement. Hence, for exam-ple, the decision to slightly extend the two wings of the residential block at the eastern end of the village, to recoup the alignment with the outer facade of the new winery; and, at the same time, to “shift” by one span the passage separat-ing this construction from its neighbor, bringing greater clarity to the relation-ship between the volumes, the route and the lengthened patio-garden placed be-tween the winery and the intermediate volume of the residences.The images that document the work-site clearly convey a sense of the difficul-ty and complexity of the project, which called first of all for the recovery of all the existing materials that could be re-cycled –roof tiles, bricks, sheets and blocks of stone for thresholds, floors and pavements– and for their supple-mentation where needed – for exam-ple, with bricks and tiles made by hand, or recovered (as in the case of the roof tiles) from other nearby constructions. This does not mean that every building was reconstructed “as it was” – an op-eration that would also not have been possible, due to the very nature of the implemented transformations. Never-theless, wherever possible the existing load-bearing walls have been reinforced and the vaults have been restored –as in the building that contains the reception area, cafe and lounge of the hotel, in the fitness center, and on the ground floor of the former manor house– while the large masonry arches of the agricultur-al buildings and garages have been con-served; rugged outdoor stucco now coats the existing brick surfaces as well as the newly laid masonry, done with salvaged bricks placed over the new walls in hol-low brick, and the pillars and architraves in reinforced concrete inserted where required in the reconstructions. All the casements have been replaced and rede-signed for artisan production, conserv-

ing the thicknesses and proportions; the new roof structures, not left visible, are made with steel beams with a slight-ly curved design – a sort of “advance” deformation of the pitches, barely per-ceptible in the descending profile of the tiles from the peak to the eaves, in keep-ing with a tradition that comes from the Inquérito à Arquitectura Regional Portu-guesa and which Souto de Moura shares with his friends from Porto.Undoubtedly the recovery of the “mon-te” of Barrocal, in the words of Sou-to de Moura himself, represents a pro-ject «done on the razor’s edge,» because it runs a dual risk: “to do too much” and “to do too little”; nevertheless, the sur-vey of the transformations done at Bar-rocal and the decision to carry them out by taking maximum care not to betray the character of the place, restoring its image, has turned out to be a winning strategy. Upon closer consideration, we can see that this is a theme found in all of Souto de Moura’s work: to design sim-ulation with great clarity, because “the facade that is telling a lie tells the truth.”

page 69Reinterpreting the Medina

Camillo Magni

Sometimes architecture is the happy re-sult of the meeting of a client, a func-tional program and an architect. The contaminations that arise between those who construct spaces and those who fi-nance and inhabit them become the project’s life’s blood. Observing the chil-dren’s center built at Tadjourah in Dji-bouti, the interaction and exchange be-tween the different subjects is clear. The sensitivity of the client regarding such a special function corresponds to that of the design towards the context, the en-vironment and a program dense with meanings. The client in this case is SOS Children, a non-governmental organi-zation that operates to protect children. Founded in Austria in 1949 with the aim of helping the orphans of World War II, today it works in 132 nations, reaching 80,000 children each year and running over 500 centers. The architect is the Spaniard Urko Sanchez, who has always been involved in projects of internation-al cooperation, and moved definitive-ly to Kenya to concentrate on projects in the central-eastern area of Africa. The project responds to the need to build 15 residences for troubled families and disadvantaged kids. Urko Sanchez takes the historic Arabian city as the ref-erence point for the organization of the domestic spaces. This original choice is the factor that sets the project apart and distances it from the repetition of the most widespread types of collective res-idences that take the approach of lin-ear row buildings. The project uses a low, dense fabric that saturates the en-tire lot bordered by a perimeter enclo-sure. In this way the form of the build-ing vanishes; there is no main facade, no idea of the building itself. In its place Urko Sanchez designs a village, a city portion with an intricate maze of pedes-trian routes, patios and plazas, in an ap-parently disorderly layout for the fami-ly lodgings. The composition focuses on the almost obsessive repetition of regu-lar volumes. Observing the plan, we can see that every individual room is defined by an autonomous volume, in group-

page 5The intelligent and cultured application

of simplicity brings together the best chefs and the most talented architects

Francesco Dal Co

Every year in the world 1.3 tons of food end up in the trash bin. At the same time, over 700 million people are under-nourished. This chilling fact has prompt-ed the project Food for Soul, organized by Massimo Bottura. The first step coin-cided with the opening of the Refettorio Ambrosiano; an abandoned theater in Milan was transformed into a soup kitch-en for the poor, where the victuals were prepared using leftovers from Expo 2015. This initiative is now famous, but Food for Soul has also launched other projects. In 2016 they created Refettorio, a res-taurant to recycle the surplus from the Olympic Village during the period of the games in Rio de Janeiro. The construc-tion in the lively Lapa district in Rio was completed in less than two months. It is hard to imagine a better architecture stu-dio than METRO to interpret the needs and the spirit of the project supervised by Bottura. Martin Corullon, Gustavo Ce-droni, Helena Cavalheiro, Marina Ioshii, Amanda Amicis, Gabriela Santana, João Quinas, Luis Tavares, Manuela Porto, Ra-fael de Sousa, Renata Mori are the archi-tects who have worked with him. They are all part of METRO, a studio based in São Paulo founded in 2000, which on multiple occasions has collaborated with one of the few great contemporary archi-tects, Paulo Mendes da Rocha, absorb-ing his lessons and standing out as one of the most solid and interesting profes-sional groups active in the world today.Food for Soul does not only set up spac-es to offer food to those for whom it is in precarious supply. The kitchen in Mi-lan has welcomed some of the most fa-mous international chefs, artists and de-signers to contribute to the process. In the case of Rio de Janeiro, METRO creat-ed a construction in an abandoned area of 50 x 8 meters, adjacent to a small pla-za that has now been revitalized, using the most common materials. A polycar-bonate skin wraps a steel structure. On the side facing the plaza, the posts sup-port translucent panels that open out-ward; on the opposite site, the beams are inserted in the masonry of the existing building that determines the lot. On the side of the kitchen, at the center of the plan, stand the tables; the opposite end contains a small flight of steps in wood, to underline the fact that this space can have different, multiple uses. The ma-terials have been used in the most logi-cal and simple, though not naive, man-ner, as can also be seen by observing the slight squared overhang that adds move-ment to the front of the construction fac-ing the street. There are no indulgent ep-isodes in the design of the structure, the enclosure, the furnishings, the kitchen, and the entire project is a demonstra-tion of the aesthetic advantages of pur-suit of the essential. The cultured and in-telligent use of the essential, after all, is the earmark of the finest works complet-ed by METRO, which like those of Pau-lo Mendes da Rocha never succumb to banality, which is the inevitable result when the essential is no longer seen as a means, but as a kind of cult. As a whole, the backbone of the Food for Soul project can be seen precisely in this intelligent, erudite, essential approach.

page 6Restoring dignityMassimo Bottura

To care for food as you care for people: the absolute responsibility of a chef. For me the time has come to give back eve-rything I have received in these years of successes and honors, challenges and hard work; likewise, chefs should get out of their kitchens and make them-selves available to the community, to lis-ten to its needs and roll up their sleeves. And together with chefs, everyone has to be aware. Of what? Of the fact that today they are about 800 million people suffering from hunger or malnutrition. And that in the same world, our world, one third of total food production passes from supermarkets, restaurants and homes directly into the trash bin. The mission of chefs has to go beyond the satisfaction of taste buds: we have a moral duty to respect ingredi-ents, to care for the planet and our com-munities. This is why, with my wife Lara, we have decided to found the non-profit organi-zation Food for Soul. With this associa-tion, we are replicating the model of the Refettorio Ambrosiano launched during the Expo in Milan, in places where phys-ical hunger goes hand in hand with the need for culture. There, on the outskirts of Milan, some of the world’s greatest chefs cooked in a dining hall for disad-vantaged people, starting with the food surplus generated by the Expo pavil-ions. We welcomed guests in a space en-hanced by works donated by great con-temporary artists and designers, also making the value of beauty available to our guests. And we served up tasty, nu-tritious meals, right on the table, thanks to 100 volunteers who responded to our appeal.We tried to shift the focus from the Uni-versal Exposition to the outskirts of Mi-lan, with my response to the theme of the Expo: Feeding the Planet. In 2016 we were able to do the same thing in Rio de Janeiro, during the Olympic games. The dream we have been developing with David Hertz since his visit to Refet-torio Ambrosiano has become reali-ty: together we have built the Refettorio Gastromotiva in Lapa. Gustavo Cedro-ni of the studio Metro Architecture was with us during all 55 days of the con-struction; Vik Muniz oversaw the artis-tic part, donating his works and involv-ing other great artists in the project, like JR and the street artist Pas. The Cam-pana Brothers got into the spirit of re-cycling we promote with Food for Soul, making beautiful tables and chairs with scrap wood. We invited chefs from all over Brazil, Latin America and the world to cook with the leftovers of the Olympic Villages. At the end of the Olympics and the Paralympics, we had provided over 20,000 meals.But the mission of Refettorio Gastro-motiva and Refettorio Ambrosiano, and of the services we have activated in Bo-logna and Modena, is not limited to of-fering food: we want every space to be a gathering place, a container of art and music, a reference point for the whole community. For this reason, we build and outfit the dining halls so they can operate for the duration of an event, while also ensuring that the project can continue over the long term, without an expiration date. Food for Soul is not a

charity program: it is a cultural project.So when I ask myself what I can do to-day, what chefs can do, what anyone can do, I respond:Restore dignity. To a spotty apple, an overripe banana, stale bread. Talking about people, we often say they have “inner beauty.” We have to understand that food can also have inner beauty. An imperfect piece of fruit still has much to give in terms of flavor, aroma, complexity. Chefs have the responsibility of making use of foods in every moment in their lifespan: just baked bread, warm and fragrant, with a crisp crust, can reach the table just as it is. On the next day it will be perfect for making pappa al pomodoro, and a few days later it can be grated for use in meatballs or passatelli.Restore dignity. To an abandoned theater, a suburb, a derelict structure. Ethics and aesthet-ics are one and the same: Beauty with-out Goodness isn’t beautiful at all. And Goodness needs Beauty to communicate its message.Restore dignity. To a homeless person, a struggling fam-ily, an outcast. Putting them back at the center of attention does not only mean getting them away from the outskirts of the city, from our everyday life. It means giving them the opportunity to recreate a social network, to have human contact and exchange, making them feel wel-come, included, part of a community. Restoring dignity to people can happen through food and its sharing, because cooking is an act of love.

page 15Towards the essential

Giovanna Crespi

From 7 in the morning to 8 in the even-ing, a sequence of 12 shots taken each hour documents the variations of light inside the church of the Monasterio Benedictino de la Santisima Trinidad de Las Condes in Santiago, Chile, a work from the 1960s by the architects Mar-tin Correa and Gabriel Guarda. A photo-graphic multiple shows, from the same position, the corner apse of the altar ob-tained by intersecting three inclined planes along whose perimeter the light enters and invades the hall. A visual pro-gression that brings out the beauty and dynamism of an impalpable and indis-pensable material, in continuous, viv-id renewal.This is the eloquent image used by Eli-sa Valero Ramos to introduce the first pages of the book Light in Architecture. The Intangible Material (RIBA Publish-ing, London 2015; expanded and updat-ed Spanish edition La materia intangi-ble: reflexiones sobre la luz en el proyecto de arquitectura, Ediciones Generales de la Construccion, Valencia 2004). Shortly before it, she includes a famous passage from the Book of Genesis: «In the be-ginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good» (1:1-4).Catholic, linked by background to fig-ures of Latin American modernity and a descendent, not only for geographi-

cal reasons, of Andalusian architectur-al culture, Elisa Valero reveals the role that has always been played by light in her work, and by the need to make care-ful, mature use of that element. «Light changes without ceasing to be itself, with a constant devotion to change.» The awareness in her work of this una-voidable condition is translated into an economics of the necessary, into archi-tecture capable of bringing out the ex-pressive potential of each material while at the same time controlling costs and the use of available resources.After years of work on the creation of ed-ucation facilities –schools, daycare cent-ers, colleges– as well as art spaces and workplaces, assiduously documented by «Casabella», starting with her own studio (see no. 780, August 2009, later joined by no. 809, January 2012 and no. 848, April 2015), Elisa Valero was com-missioned by the Parrocchia di Nuestra Señora del Carmen of Motril to design her first church. The place of worship is named for St. Josephine Bakhita, an Af-rican nun belonging to the Company of the Daughters of Charity, born in Su-dan, who lived for many years in Italy and was made a saint by Pope John Paul II in 2000.The land set aside for the church is at Playa Granada, the southern part of the city of Montril, south of the Sier-ra Nevada, halfway between Malaga and Almeria, and faces the Mar de Alborán, the westernmost portion of the Mediter-ranean between Spain and Morocco.Punctuated by young palm trees, the area has a slight slope that made it pos-sible to place a direct access to the vol-ume of the base to the north at the po-sition of the crypt, and to the church from the south by way of a few steps that lead from the garden to the level of the church hall. The planimetric and volu-metric organization of the architectur-al organism is clear and immediately un-derstandable. Terse geometric volumes have the task of conveying the religious character of the building, whose dis-tinguishing and recognizable features are the steeple and the precisely placed openings along the facades.Light is the elective material in the pro-ject, and through its abstract and es-sential use Elisa Valero underlines the concept of the trinity, cutting three openings into the rough mass of the building from which to watch the en-try of the light in the hall set aside for worship. The first is a skylight made in the thickness of the roof, facing east, where the sun rises, arranged cross-wise between the end of the zone for the congregation and the presbytery, bringing indirect light to the altar; the oblique evening light crosses the gaps of an opening to the west, at the choir, and projects the iridescent silhouette of a cross on the altar; finally, light in-vades the nave from the south, enter-ing between the vertical parts of the jal-ousie facing the garden and, beyond it, the sea.The materic identity of the church re-lies exclusively on concrete. The use of a construction system with double walls in reinforced concrete containing ther-mal insulation, previously applied for the addition of the Cerrillo de Marace-na school in Granada (see «Casabella», no. 848, April 2015), makes it possible to achieve a terse architecture, reduced to the necessary minimum, exploiting

enGlISh teXtS 9796 cASAbellA 870

80-87) and german (Bauen und Wohnen, 11, april 1957, 122–123; 16, January 1962, pp. 9-21; Baukunst und Werkform 15, 1962, pp. 30-36, sup. 2-4).12 nicholas adams (with nicola Mcelroy), “Column and Frame: Mies van der rohe and skidmore, owings & Merrill,” in La Colonne: Nouvelle histoire de la construction, ed. rob-erto gargiani (lausanne: Presses polytech-niques et universitaires romandes, 2008), 484-493.13 see, “The architects from skid’s row,” Fortune 57 (January 1958), pp. 137-140; 210, 212, 215. Quotation from p. 215.14 krinsky, Gordon Bunshaft, p. 138.15 Quoted in Walter McQuaid, “a Daring new generation of skyscrapers,” Fortune 87 (February 1973), p. 81.

page 83Gordon Bunshaft 1/5

Venezuela Pavilion, New York World’s Fair, 1939 (destroyed)

Nicholas Adams

«They did about nineteen different projects, all of them lousy except maybe one.» gor-don Bunshaft

The new York World’s Fair of 1939–40 was the first international fair explicitly dedicat-ed to the future. The 610-foot obelisk Trylon and spheroid Perisphere, designed by Wal-lace Harrison (1895–1981) and andré Fouil-houx (1879–1945) were symbols of the Fair’s enthusiasm for “the world of tomorrow.” Following their lead the pavilion architects were encouraged to be experimental and innovative. norman Bel geddes’s Futurama was one of the most popular displays with its multi-level system of motorways and simulated sounds of low-flying aircraft. The international pavilions were a mixed bag. Italy’s pavilion by Michele Busira-Vici was unmemorable with a statue of the goddess roma seated on a 200-foot high pedestal over a water pool dedicated to guglielmo Marconi. Architectural Forum described it as “a curious perversion of classical prec-edent.”1 Those of Finland (alvar aalto), sweden (sven Markelius), and Brazil (lucio Costa and oscar niemeyer) were especially praised.2 Typically, commercial firms sought to capitalize on their product design in their pavilions to the detriment of their architec-ture: Continental Baking (skidmore and owings with John Moss) used the wrapper design for their popular product “Wonder Bread” as exterior cladding.

skidmore and owings (they had yet to be joined by Merrill) had a significant pres-ence at the Fair, as consultants and as de-signers. They teamed with John Moss, a not-ed delineator, and produced nine pavilions: swift Premium Meats, Continental Baking, the radio Corporation of america (rCa), the gas Industries Pavilion, the Westinghouse Pavilion, the standard Brands Building, the glass Building, and a Medicine and Public Health display. The one national pavilion the firm undertook, the Venezuela Pavilion, is the one building of the group that Bunshaft called not “lousy,” or at least, “semi-good.” It was the first work he acknowledged.3 Here he was able to begin his experimentation with the new modern architecture that had absorbed his attention on his travels in eu-rope as a rotch fellow. In an article in his hometown newspaper he is pictured look-ing intently at a rendering of the pavilion and quoted as calling the Fair a “trial balloon into the future.”4

Venezuela’s pavilion at the Fair was

a small sign of diplomatic rapproche-ment between the United states and latin america.5 In 1933 President Franklin De-lano roosevelt’s “good-neighbor” initia-tive had established non-intervention and non-interference as the new policies of the United states for the region. economic development and reciprocal trade would now mark United states relations with the south and men like nelson a. rockefeller (1908–1979) had a significant interest in the presentation of a progressive up-to-date image of latin america at the Fair. rockefeller, whose mother was a founder of the Museum of Modern art in new York, and who had worked for Creole Petroleum in Venezuela, seems to have had a hand in advancing skidmore & owings as designers for the Pavilion. (The only other pavilion with an american design was that of Chile by the team of T. smith-Miller, sanders & Breck). Though the Venezuelans had designed their own neocolonial pavilion two years earlier in Paris (architects luis Malaussena and Car-los raúl Villanueva) the americans thought a local architect would be advisable.6 rock-efeller may also have been stimulated by the much-admired designs of Costa and nie-meyer for the Brazilian Pavilion. rockefeller and Bunshaft would have had the chance to their designs in sufficient time (both Costa and niemeyer were in new York through the summer of 1938), to realize the need to push through something modern for the Venezue-lans –something that, echoing the Brazilian entry, united modern structure with el es-píritu venezolano.7

Thus, though the Venezuelan Pavilion included displays dedicated to products such as coffee, cocoa, and oil, “designed to represent the potential wealth of Venezuela,” there was a strand of modern culture, with contemporary Venezuelan artists provid-ing the decorations. The administration of President lopez Contreras, as the Consul general pointed out at the inauguration of the Pavilion, was “the very incarnation of the most advanced democracy,” and the country was “among the freest countries in the world.”8 It was a country too, as was em-blazoned on the wall of the Pavilion, “where there is no unemployment, no debts, and no taxes.” Bunshaft encapsulated the country’s modernity in an aerodynamic glass box.

Initial plans may have been drawn up together with John Moss. They show a dra-matically angled wing-like roof sweeping through a simple glass box from west to east. To the east side of the glass box under the lower end of the sloping roof are cafete-ria and restaurant facilities. To the west the roof is supported by a single detached pier, the tallest, and the view from the southwest provided the most characteristic view of the building. Views show the glass box stiffened by wide-flange steel I-beams along the southern façade.9 on the underside of the roof, luis alfredo lópez Méndez and Miguel arroyo painted scenes of daily Venezuelan life, prefiguring, according to Joan ockman, “the elegant integration of architecture and art in his postwar work.”10 orchids in glass globes dotted the garden in front of the Pavilion and inside they decorated tree-like displays. The roof was, however, the domi-nant architectural motif on the southern façade –its playful inside-outside connec-tion reflecting Venezuela’s tropical climate and its sweeping abstract line its develop-ing modernity. The other facades were less prominent. From east and west, as revealed in the Moss drawings, the building had the characteristics of a contemporary train or bus station, or possibly a post office –even asplund’s entry pavilion for the stockholm

exhibition (1930). Bunshaft was also great admirer of Brinkman and van der Vlugt’s van nelle factory, rotterdam (1931) and here too is a recollection of the simplicity of that building with the glass conveyor belts trans-lated into the sloping roof.

on the inside Bunshaft had little control over the design. The central feature was an “altar of the good neighbor” (containing a lock of george Washington’s hair that had been owned by simon Bolivar) and there were displays of natural resources. Inside and outside were drawn together through glass, of course, and by the placement of the name VenezUela both inside and out-side the glass grid.11 a freestanding curving screen (echoing aalto’s Finnish pavilion?) provided a backdrop for wooden sculptures created on site by Francesco narváez. (re-flecting on the Pavilion later, Bunshaft ex-pressed the need to maintain control over all aspects of design.) The New York Times de-scribed the scene as “beauty and business” on display. The most popular part of the Pavilion were the orchids that, as the news-paper observed would “make any woman’s heart beat faster.”12

Though the Pavilion was a popular one –and helped seal a relationship between soM and the rockefeller family that lasted another two decades– in Venezuela there was controversy.13 High costs –both labor (since the Venezuela artists and musicians were not members of the powerful new York labor unions) and continuing maintenance– led the government to close the Pavilion af-ter the first year. Venezuelan architects, too, may have felt slighted by the awarding of the contract to the young, unproven, Bunshaft. american non-intervention and non-inter-ference, it seemed, applied only to larger diplomatic issues. only when the country’s representative at the Fair threatened to re-sign (“too many headaches”) was the order briefly rescinded.14 In May 1940 Venezuela withdrew and prepared estimates to ship the Pavilion to Caracas where, had the plan been followed through, it was to have found its home as a tourist center.15 Bunshaft’s Pavilion, in the opinion of Archi-tectural Forum, was “not too exciting.”16 In retrospect, however, it stands out as his first independent work and a work that revealed his talent for what he called “fascination and fun,” qualities that would emerge promi-nently in his two post-war successes: lever House and Manufacturers Trust.

Notes1 Architectural Forum, 70 (June 1939), p.456.2 Architectural Forum, 70 (June 1939), p. 459 reported that an opinion poll designated the soviet Union pavilion (Boris Iofan and karo s. alabian) as the popular favorite.3 Carol Herselle krinsky, Gordon Bunshaft: Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (new York: ar-chitectural History Foundation, 1988), p. 9.4 Buffalo Courier Express, 15 May 1939, p. 35 only Venezuela, Brazil, argentina, and Chile among south american countries had their own pavilions.6 see lorenzo gonzález Casas, “nelson a. rockefeller y la modernidad venezolana: in-tercambios, empresas y lugares a mediados del siglo xx,” in Petróleo Nuestro y Ajeno: La illusión del modernidad, ed. Juan Jose Martin Frechilla and Yolanda Texera arnal. Caracas: Universidad Central de Venezuela, 2004, pp. 173–234. There were, of course, Venezuelan modernists such as Cipriano Dominguez who had worked in le Corbusier’s studio in Paris, Villanueva himself, and Manuel Mujica Milán.7 see zilah Quezado Deckker, chapter 3, “The Brazilian Pavilion at the new York

World’s Fair 1939,” in Brazil Built: The Archi-tecture of the Modern Movement in Brazil (london: spon, 2001). Bunshaft thought the Venezuela Pavilion second in quality only to that of Costa and niemeyer’s building. see krinsky, Bunshaft, p. 9.8 New York Times, 27 May 1939, p. 9.9 Venezuelan airmail stamps from this pe-riod show a banking aircraft. That image could have suggested the roof form to Bun-shaft.10 Joan ockman, “art, soul of the Corpora-tion: Patronage, Public relations, and the Interrelations of art and architecture after World War II,” SOM Journal 5 (2007), pp. 170–186, see p. 182. 11 The passage of forms between inside and outside across the glass envelope was later used in the garden atrium at lever House.12 New York Times, 30 april 1939, p. 128. 13 skidmore, owings & Merrill (as they be-came) subsequently received the commis-sion for a housing development and Catholic church for Creole Petroleum at amuay Bay. see Permanent Housing Project: Creole Pe-troleum Corporation, Amuay Bay, Venezuela, S.A. (new York, 1946)14 New York Times, 25 october 1939, p. 18. Venezuela had attempted to bring Ven-ezuelan muralists, musicians, and waiters to the Pavilion and had been forced to hire a non-working american team to shadow the Venezuelan. 15 New York Times, 4 May 1940, p. 16 Architectural Forum, 70 (June 1939), p. 451.

ings that form housing units and then an entire village. This produces a sort of disorientation in the visitor, where the scale of reference of the building disap-pears, replaced by a continuous land-scape. This is the characteristic with the greatest debt to the historical fabric of the Medina. Nevertheless, the reinter-pretation does not come from a reading of the context, but from a more theoret-ical process of abstraction. At Djibouti, in fact, there are no Medinas: until the last century the inhabitants were mostly nomads, and the capital itself grew only at the end of the 19th century through the initiative of the French colonists who introduced settlement models typi-cal of colonial cities, using the figure of the regular block and the grid of streets. From this standpoint, Urko Sanchez draws on very distant formal repertories that refer to an abstract idea of an Islam-ic city. The principle of “critical region-alism” is interpreted in a wider, arche-typal and –to some extent– formal way.While in typological terms the project does not have immediate links to the context, from the viewpoint of climate and environment it has profound im-plications. In Djibouti the weather is very hot, and in spite of the proximity to the sea summer temperatures reach levels above 40°C. The dense organiza-tion of the dwellings stands up to this heat, ensuring plenty of shade. The nar-row streets and the lack of doors and windows in the daytime zones facilitate cross-ventilation, while windcatchers are inserted inside the homes to provide nat-ural cooling. The 15 housing units are of the same size, but have different orientations and groupings to generate variations of plan and volume. The unit is composed of four rooms: a living room, a private pa-tio, a kitchen and an entrance. The liv-ing area has no doors or windows, and is accessed through the patios and the typ-ical device of the bayonet entrance that guarantees privacy, while the bedroom area is reached through the private spac-es of the house. This arrangement of the spaces, like the type of openings and windows, responds to a precise cultur-al need for family privacy that produces –in compositional terms– an introvert-ed building in which very closed external elevations prevail, featuring large stuc-co-clad walls in an almost abstract play of volumes.The communal space is formed by a sys-tem of walkways that wind into the cent-er, expanding in plazas and patios, nar-rowing and widening as they go along. These variations add value to the out-door space, which like the constructed part forms fluid zones for play, gather-ings and circulation. The twisting pro-gress creates a certain ambiguity of the boundaries that separate collective and private zones, and interesting contami-nations emerge, in apparent contrast to Islamic culture. The project by Urko Sanchez at Djibou-ti is one of the virtuous examples in which the intervention of international cooperation becomes a chance to rede-fine the identity of places and to contrib-ute to build a dialogue between the roots of the past and the present. The project combines historic forms and spatial ap-proaches with a contemporary language, without leaving room for picturesque or vernacular rhetoric. The use of certain historical features like the Moorish arch

is in balance with the contemporary fea-tures. The result is a microcosm capa-ble of calling forth ancient memories in the visitor, while at the same time using contemporary forms in a forceful, coher-ent way to offer needy families a place in which to live with dignity.

page 77Gordon Bunshaft (1909–1990)

Nicholas Adams

There are certain architects whose names speak clearly of place and time: we can visualize their world instantly. The ameri-can architect gordon Bunshaft is one such figure. It’s post-war new York City experi-menting with abstract expressionism, domi-nated by great american corporations, and with a soundtrack of cool jazz. There too are the skin-and-bone modern buildings of gordon Bunshaft: lever House (1952), Manufacturer’s Trust (1954), Chase Manhat-tan Bank (1961). and there too is Bunshaft himself: sharp-tongued, laconic, brusque, at ease with the corporate captains of the day and thoroughly comfortable with modern assembly-line production. He is at home at skidmore, owings & Merrill (soM), one of the largest architectural firms of the day.

Though he took responsibility for only thirty-eight buildings, from 1939 to 1983 his hand is visible in countless others.1 He was the acknowledged leader of architec-tural design at soM from his return after the war until ca.1962 when others (Bruce graham, Walter netsch, Chuck Bassett) rose to prominence within the firm and even thereafter his influence continued to be felt. He built a range of building types (houses, libraries, factories, and museums) from new York to new orleans and Pitts-burgh to Jeddah and he built in city centers, in suburbs, and on open country sites. Dur-ing his lifetime he was acknowledged for the high quality of his work as the recipient of the arnold W. Brunner Memorial Prize of the american academy of arts and letters (1955), the american Institute of architect’s gold Medal (1984), and the Pritzker archi-tecture Prize (1988) for which, it is said, he nominated himself.

Born in Buffalo, nY to a relatively modest immigrant family Bunshaft attended Massa-chusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), where he took two degrees, a B.arch (1933) and an M.arch (1935).2 He was awarded a rotch Traveling scholarship (1935-1937) that ena-bled him to see the new architecture in eu-rope. on return to new York, he went to work at soM where he became a partner in 1949, and with the exception of wartime service (1942-1946), worked there until his retire-ment in 1979. His forty-year career parallels the growth of soM: from a single office in Chicago (1936) to a multi-office partnership: new York opened in 1937 was followed by san Francisco (1947), Portland (1951), Wash-ington (1967), Boston (1971), los angeles (1974), Houston (1976), and Denver (1977).3

Bunshaft’s training at MIT was in the moderately modern environment that later welcomed alvar aalto. Bunshaft was not a great reader or an attentive student of archi-tectural history, or even an especially talent-ed draftsman. He freely admitted, “I’m not an intellectual. I am just straightforward.”4 His critical educational experiences came from his studio classmates and in the library. a remark, recollected by the architect am-brose richardson (who reports a conversa-tion with one of Bunshaft’s MIT classmates) provides a key insight into his subsequent design method:5

He said, “gordon was the kind of guy that would walk around” –and I can just see him– “and look at everybody else’s scheme. He didn’t necessarily steal your scheme, but he stole the best of every scheme.” When I say “stole,” I use his words. “He stole the best of every scheme, and then he’d put it together and win the prize.” gordon had this wonderful knack for sifting out.

Bunshaft required stimulation from oth-ers and used that stimulation to toggle be-tween alternatives. later, in the office envi-ronment, richardson reports:

gordon used us as hands really. It was wonderful. It was just like he was an octo-pus. He could do all the thinking, and he had all of us young guys do these beautiful draw-ings for him or whatever he needed done.6

What counted for Bunshaft were breadth, variety, and multiple architectural stimuli.

lever House changed Bunshaft’s life forever and became the building that made his reputation. Founding partner nathaniel a. owings (1903–1984) had won access to the commission in a game of craps and had provided the parti for an “ideal office tower,” that Bunshaft developed.7 Its success was spectacular: lever was simultaneously a massive advertising symbol for the soap and cleaning company, a solution to the problem of the dark grimy canyons of the city, and a notable work of architecture.8 even incom-plete, its model formed the centerpiece for an exhibition of the work of soM at the Museum of Modern art in new York.9 When completed the building even became a tour-ist attraction –visitors came to watch the windows being washed from its movable scaffolding.

In the wake of the tumultuous reception for lever House, corporate clients lined up for Bunshaft: Manufacturers Trust Bank (1954), Hilton Hotel (1955), Connecticut general Insurance (1957), reynolds Metal (1958), Pepsi Cola (1960), Union Carbide (1960), First City national Bank (1961), and the Chase Manhattan Bank (1961). With Chase Manhattan in downtown new York City, again brokered by owings, Bunshaft and soM became associated with the rock-efellers, one of the most powerful (and rich-est) families in the United states. accounts of the selection of art works for the new building highlighted the role of Bunshaft.10 Bunshaft was architect for america’s politi-cal elite as well –selected to design the lyn-don Baines Johnson Memorial library at the University of Texas (1971).

What did his clients get? First and fore-most, they received a well-programmed original design. soM was famous for its ability to reinterpret traditional repetitive activities (like banking or the processing of insurance) in original ways to make their buildings newsworthy. Manufacturers Trust was written up in The New Yorker and Sat-urday Evening Post; Connecticut general was featured in Time, Newsweek, Business Week, Fortune, and the Saturday Even-ing Post. Chase Manhattan seems to have been published everywhere.11 looking more closely their clients received an architecture that seemed fully engaged with the larger post-war aesthetic of efficiency and moder-nity for which, after seagram Building, Mies van der rohe became to be the defining figure. Though Bunshaft’s architecture was more playful and more colorful (and rarely as aesthetically consistent), he too received the label “Miesian.”12

In the wake of seagram (and with the new concrete buildings of le Corbusier), soM and Bunshaft sought a new direction. In January 1958, nathaniel owings assured

an interviewer: “This firm is not stuck with the ‘stainless-steel standard,’” as our com-petition calls it. We’re interested in plasticity, and we’re exploring every avenue to get it.”13 They engaged the Hungarian-born engineer Paul Weidlinger (1914–1999) for a series of original box-shaped concrete buildings placed on small pyramidal pylons. The new buildings required a new Bunshaft. The technologies of the steel and glass curtain wall had been well known. Concrete –with which he was much less familiar– obligated him to adopt the interrogative. In the 1950s, Bunshaft postponed extensive consultation with engineers until the design was well advanced, but with Weidlinger in the later 1960s and 1970s, he recognized the desir-ability of early coordination: “We knew we could do all sorts of things using concrete…but we needed education. as soon as we got some rough ideas, the senior designer and Paul and I –mostly Paul and I– would get together.”14 Weidlinger became, as associ-ates recall, “a real collaborator,” something the youthful Bunshaft had not needed be-fore. In this new idiom Bunshaft still thrived: Beinecke library (1963), Banque lambert (1965), the american republic Insurance Company (1965) are the results of this col-laboration.

The last years within soM –as is so of-ten with crowned heads– were not easy. a new generation of soM designers moved to positions of power within the firm and though Bunshaft’s opinions were as sharp as ever, his style no longer matched the times: prudent collective corporate deci-sions put an end to the manly industrial captains who had hired him post-war. Bun-shaft’s growing disdain for office buildings (“I’m not sure office buildings are even ar-chitecture. They’re really a mathematical calculation, just three-dimensional invest-ments….”) reflected those changes.15 He still found the occasional strongman who thought the high quality of Bunshaft’s de-sign worth paying for (for example, the real estate developer sheldon solow at 9 West 57th street, 1974) and he built more for the government (lBJ library, 1971; Hirschhorn Museum, 1974) and there were new strong-men from abroad (national Commercial Bank, Jeddah, 1983; the Hajj Terminal, 1981). They are all monumental structures, big-boned, abstract, and modernist, built like bulwarks against the first waves of post modernism. In the context of the times, Bun-shaft seemed out of place, a dinosaur from another world, a hero in the age of the anti-hero, corporate when the fashion was for the individual, old, as society decided not to trust anyone over 30.

Bunshaft was a complicated man. Fa-mous –infamous even– for his temper and his sharp opinions –he seems to have been most at home among artists. The exten-sive correspondence with Jean Dubuffet (1901–1985) and Henry Moore (1898–1986) at the avery library, Columbia University, is both playful and witty, describing cheerful conversations, and revealing a wholly dif-ferent person. He was generous to the al-bright-knox Museum in Buffalo (and a good friend to seymour knox, its patron). He left his home, the so-called Travertine House on long Island (1963) and much of his personal art collection to the Museum of Modern art in new York –quite content, it seems, to see the house sold and the collection dispersed.

For this series of five essays I have se-lected some of the lesser-known buildings built under the direction gordon Bunshaft at soM. They demonstrate the rich vari-ety of which he was capable and exhibit his attention to broad line and fine detail,

to monumentality and abstraction, to hu-mor and materials. as architects today look again at the rich traditions of modern-ism, the achievement of Bunshaft needs more (not less) attention. He was, without shame, a commercial architect working in the most commercial of environments, and yet –against the odds– he established a distinctive identity always insisting on, and building to, the highest standards of design. Notes1 Carol krinsky, Gordon Bunshaft of Skid-more, Owings & Merrill (Cambridge and new York: MIT Press and the architectural History Foundation, 1988), p. 335–38. I count an ad-ditional twenty-two Bunshaft-influenced buildings not acknowledged by Bunshaft prior to 1962. see nicholas adams, “gordon Bunshaft: What Convinces is Conviction,” SOM Journal 9 (2014), 8–19.2 His father, David Bunshaft, was a whole-sale egg dealer. In 1946 he left a consider-able estate of $51, 236 to his wife, Yetta. (see Buffalo Courier Express, 20 July 1946.) The family lived at 55 Manchester Place in a sim-ple single-family wooden house. 3 offices have opened later in london (1986) and shanghai (2001). The offices in Portland, Boston, Houston, and Denver have closed.4 Oral History of Gordon Bunshaft, inter-viewed by Betty J. Blum (Chicago: art Insti-tute, 1990, revised edition, 2000), p. 209.5 Oral History of Ambrose M. Richardson, interviewed by Betty J. Blum (Chicago: art Institute, 1990), p. 160.6 Oral History of Ambrose Richardson, p. 787 nathaniel a. owings, “The office Building of Tomorrow,” Skyscraper Management 32 (november 1947), pp. 10-11; 24-27; “a radi-cally new Conception of Tomorrow’s office Building,” National Real Estate and Build-ing Journal (January 1948), pp. 28-29; “The Ideal office Building –a dream boat speech by architect owings,” Architectural Forum 91 (august 1949), pp. 75, 164, 165. The first discussion of “lever House,” occurred June 1949.8 see the lecture of J.e. Drew, the Public relations director for lever Brothers deliv-ered to a session on the economic Values of Design at the aIa annual Convention in new orleans in June 1959. a copy is located in the Marketing Division, soM, new York.9 “skidmore, owings & Merrill architects, U.s.a.,” Bulletin of the Museum of Modern Art, 18 (Fall 1950).10 see Art at Work: The Chase Manhattan Collection, ed. Marshall lee (new York: e.P. Dutton, 1984).11 “showcase,” in “The Talk of the Town,” The New Yorker 30 (2 october 1954); Jack alex-ander, “The Bank That Has no secrets,” Sat-urday Evening Post, 30 november 1957, pp. 36, 105-106; on Connecticut gen-eral, “office Building gets Trial run,” Busi-ness Week, 20 august 1955, p. 48; “For Corporate life ’57,” Newsweek, 16 sep-tember 1957, pp. 114-115; “Building with a future,” Time, 16 september 1957, 86-91; “a Dramatic new office Building,” Fortune (september 1957), 164-169; 228-229; Joe alex Morris, “It’s nice to Work in the Coun-try,” Saturday Evening Post, 5 July 1958, pp. 21, 70-72. Chase Manhattan received a twenty-nine page spread in Architectural Forum (“Chase, portrait of a giant; report on the biggest office building in Manhattan in 25 years,” Architectural Forum 115, July 1961), pp. 66-95 as well as publication in the ma-jor american architectural, interior, and art magazines. It was also featured in French (Architecture Aujourd’hui 6, December 1961, pp. 82-91; L’Oeil, no. 87, March 1962, pp.

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