The Fredösphere

Gravity Lens comes through again with a Frank Lloyd Wright link.  You simply must watch this CG video of Fallingwater growing before your eyes.  They don't call it organic architecture for nothing.  Dang, people, this is good.

Labels: Architecture, VideoClip

Jeffrey Hart records in the January 2005 New Criterion his fond memories of the 1939 World's Fair in New York.  (I got my copy only a few days ago.  I don't know who screwed up, the publisher or the post office, but getting a magazine mid-month is pretty pathetic.  Come on, guys, I have needs.)  Hart  was a nine year-old with a season ticket and he visited the Fair repeatedly.  Clearly, it made a lasting impression, particularly the centerpiece:

In the sunshine, the first thing you saw as you came down the boardwalk and into the Fair was its dominating symbols, the Trylon and Perisphere [sic; why not Perösphere?  Looks like someone dropped the ball, har-har] the former a triangular spire fifteen stories high, the latter a gigantic globe a city block across....The Trylon and Perisphere remian in our minds today.  They have become something like the archetypes Jung imagined as central to the mind.  We have them in salt-and-pepper shakers, plates, scarves, pencil sharpeners, glasses, rings, ash-trays.  I have a copper penny rolled oblong with the image of the Trylon and Perisphere stamped on it, a souvenir of the Fair.  I wear it on a silver chain as a necklace along with a silver cross....The two gleaming structures were of course male and female symbols.  Inside the female globe, the designers had gestated their vision of the World of Tomorrow.  The called it Democracity, and it was the most popular exhibit at the Fair.

Let's look carefully at this bun in the Perisphere's oven.  Hart describes it as a model of a Corbu-inspired city planned according to rationalist principles, zoned into massive tracks devoted to worker's housing, industry, agriculture, recreation, and commerce, each linked to the others via superhighways.  Much effort was put into designing the Perisphere total spectator experience, with visitors riding revolving balconies while watching a multi-media presentation:

As the crowd watched from the two circular and suspended balconies, the familiar voice of radio announcer H. V. Kaltenborn exmplained how Democracity functioned.  After two minutes, daylight faded under the great dome of the Perisphere, and as dusk slowly deepened toward dark the dome twinkled with stars.  To a musical accompaniment a thousand-voice chorus sounded from the glittering heavens, while at ten locations on the dome you same images of marching men -- farmers in their work clothes, mechanics carrying tools -- and as they came closer you saw that they represented the various ethnic groups that make up the American metropolis, her presented as an image of national unity.

"Ah-ha!"  you cry; you see why the heck this article is quoted at length here at the Fredösphere -- its the juxtaposition of choral music and sci-fi!  Or at least sci-fi's twin, futurology.

What's with the "thousand-voice" chorus?  Clearly its purpose is to signal that the visit to the Perisphere is a religious event.

That's it.  I don't have any more points to make, really.  I saw it, I thought it was cool, I blogged it.  That's the formula.  I could express my horror one more time at the social engineers, but that's getting old.  I'm even getting tired of laughing at these outdated visions of the future, even though their predictions were so bad they failed to predict obvious stuff like this just six years away.

Labels: Architecture, Culture, Futurism

Der Drübermensch wanted to look at houses last night. This is a desire he doesn't express every day, so I wanted to act on it. I concluded the best way to do it and keep the whole family entertained was to take them all to downtown Saline, Michigan, which is about 10 minutes away. We would look at a few houses, then get treats at the Drowsy Parrot, an ice cream parlour on Ann Arbor Street right at the heart of down town.

First thing, we stopped and photographed this landmark on the west side. It and its lawn and outbuildings occupy an entire large block; you simply can't miss it as you drive in on Michigan Ave. It is the one unforgettable building in the whole town.

It must have been at the outer edge of town when it was built. Now it is still near the edge but well within a residential neighborhood. The historical marker says William H. Davenport, a leading merchant built the house in 1875, at a cost of $8500. William Scott was the designer.

Because of the presence of the marker, and because the house is so well maintained, it has the feel of something owned by a historical society. Yet we were shy about walking up the drive for a better view. This sign had a lot to do with it.

Der Drübermensch is nothing if not a relentless quantifier. He asked me how many stories are in the tower. I told him three and a half. That bumping up of the top windows is odd, but a good move to get the proportions of the facade right.

Labels: Architecture

I devoted Saturday afternoon to a walking tour of Ypsilanti with my old friend Alan Young.  We saw lots of restored classic homes, some in grand style.  Sadly, it's possible to live for years and years in this county and not know of the gems that Ypsilanti contains.  The city has always had to fight its reputation  as the poor stepsister to Ann Arbor.

I took lots of pictures and I will be sharing more later, but today I wanted to highlight this Queen Anne mansion on the northeast side.


This picture inadequately conveys just how impressive the house is.  Trees obscure the view from the sidewalk, and I didn't feel like invading the huge lawn to get a better view.  What you see here is only a small part of the whole.

Shelly Byron Hutchinson [Wow.  Shelly Byron.  Whoa.  I think I'll name my next child Pound Yeats if he's a boy, or Plath Dickenson if she's a girl]  made his fortune by inventing trading stamps -- he's the "H" in S and H Green Stamps.  He built this house, then lost everything.  Today, the house is headquarters for the High Scope Foundation.  This information comes courtesy of a book by James Thomas Mann.  It is published by Arcadia, a publisher specializing in regional history.  Thank you, Arcadia.  I have two of Arcadia's books on Ypsi, one on Ann Arbor, and I covet the several volumes on Detroit.

Labels: Architecture