Rendering of the Libeskind Villa. (Image from DesignBoom.)

The problem with the Libeskind Villa is that its dramatic, angular forms exist only for their own sake.  Since it is designed to be prefabricated, sold, and installed anywhere a client wants to put it, it is little more than a habitable piece of lavishly expensive, second-rate garden sculpture which mimics the appearance of architecture.

My interest in architecture developed through exposure to so-called “organic” architects like John Lautner, who believed that a building’s design must be generated by the unique, specific demands of its site and client.  When I look at Lautner buildings, which can be just as dramatic and “sculptural” as the Libeskind Villa, I know that every grand, gestural form actually has at least one specific, carefully considered purpose–to frame a particular view, to provide shade or privacy, or to reflect a particular angle of sunlight, for example.  This, largely, is what architecture is about: responding to the site.  A Lautner building cannot be transplanted to a different site, because it wouldn’t make any sense.

Ideally, pre-fab allows a client who cannot afford to commission an original architectural residence to at least reside in something that was thoughtfully designed by an architect.  With the cost of the Libeskind Villa estimated to range from 2.8 to 4.2 million USD, it misses this market entirely.  For $3 million, why on earth wouldn’t I simply hire an architect to design something that actually fits my needs and my site?  Really, there can’t be that many people who would pay such a premium just to be able to say that they own a house by the architect of the Jewish Museum Berlin and 1 World Trade Center (formerly called the Freedom Tower), a design which, if built, will actually redefine tragedy on what is already the most tragedy-identified site in the world.

DWR's Trestle Table (2009), inspired by Castiglioni. "Designer" unnamed.

I suppose Achille Castiglioni wasn’t the first person to put a table top on two sawhorses, but as far as I’m concerned, he gets the credit for it.  His 1940 design, Leonardo, is the first such table to find its way out of the workshop and into the homes and offices of discerning, design-conscious consumers, thanks in part to its manufacturer, Zanotta.  DWR’s Trestle Table certainly isn’t the first product to take the idea down-market, but because it comes from DWR, the company that once championed “authentic, licensed classics” and pretended to educate its clients about important designs, it is perhaps the most upsetting.

Achille Castiglioni's Leonardo Table (1940), made by Zanotta.

DWR knows, of course, that they couldn’t sell the Zanotta product; it’s too expensive, and it’s not well-known enough in the United States.  The honorable thing to do would be to simply ignore it.  Instead, they have ripped it off, and they present it to their clients as though it were their idea to take this utilitarian, workshop concept into the office and dining room.  This table is not a product of design so much as market research.  DWR undoubtedly got the idea by visiting higher-end design shops where the Zanotta table would have been on display.

From a business standpoint, I can’t fault DWR for wanting to make a profit, and they undoubtedly make more money with their “DWR exclusive” products like the Trestle Table and Dining Bench than they do when they sell legitimate designs from license-holding manufacturers.  The problem is, they have undermined the idea that original designs matter, and that designers deserve credit for their work.  It seems inevitable that they will degenerate into a low-end knock-off shop, which, like Room & Board, attempts to legitimize itself by carrying a few recognized products like the Eames Lounge and Noguchi Table.  Design “within reach,” it seems, is mostly design that has been stolen from someone else.

I arrived at Lindell Terrace about an hour ago.  It was before midnight, so the Gateway Arch was still lit.  Entering my apartment, I approached the windows and pulled open the blinds.  I was awestruck.  The view… it’s absolutely phenomenal!  Yes!  Yes, I say.  The San Luis is gone, and I say, “yes!”

I knew this would happen.  Despite my feelings about the demolition of that building, I knew that once it was gone, I would be thrilled.  And, I am.  Right now, all that remains of the San Luis (at this height, anyway) is the elevator tower.  I actually like it, all by itself.  I wish they could leave it that way.  Perhaps I’ll take a picture tomorrow.  Anyway, the perfection of the view is now hindered only by the abominable Cathedral Basilica.  I’ll work on that next (or whenever I get around to abolishing Catholicism).

Welcome, St. Louis, welcome back.

The San Luis, marked for demolition.

It is really a great shame.  The demolition of almost any building is upsetting to me, but it is especially painful to see a thoughtful, modern building like this one brought down.  I don’t think it’s a great work of architecture, but at least it is architecture.  (Most buildings are not.)  It is a building that can be learned from; one can analyze the features of its design and understand the reasoning behind them.

Comic relief: this puny loader looks like it's trying to take on the building all by itself.

My self-interested desire for the destruction of the San Luis is known.  However, if they had been required to ask my permission before bringing it down, I would not have been able to give it to them.

The sun sets on the San Luis.

When I say this is painful for me, I am not exaggerating.  I find myself anxious about leaving the house tomorrow morning; what if I come home and it’s already gone?  I feel like I need to be here at the end.  I know, demolition takes time, but I want to see all of it.  A little over a year ago, I watched the Doctor’s Building come down with remarkable rapidity.  Though I did get some excellent photos of its demolition, I wish I had taken more.  As horrible as it is, demolition can be incredibly beautiful.  So, while I am dreading what tommorrow will bring for the San Luis, I’m looking forward to photographing the carnage.

When I think back to previous seaons, I often long for the ability to go back and review some of my favorite productions.  Starting with this season, I can!  I am really thrilled about this.  Part of what makes opera such a poignant experience is the knowledge that once it is over, it’s over.  You can’t rewind it, or put it on and watch it again later.  Still, it always seems like such a shame to produce something some beautiful, at such great expense, and be left with hardly any record of it, a token to remember it by.  Now, this will change.  I am thrilled because these videos are extending the period of elation I experience during and after every Opera Theater season, and because I will be able to look back on these first-rate productions in the future.  Also, I think these videos will be useful in my continuing efforts to persuade friends from around the country to come to St. Louis in June.

But, enough of my jibber-jabber, you now must go and watch the wonderful, wonderful Opera Theatre of St. Louis 2009 videos!

OTSL has my sincerest gratitude for producing these.

Alek Shrader

It recently came to my attention that tenor Alek Shrader, who was a big winner in the Met’s documentary The Audition (which is about the National Council Auditions) made his professional debut at Opera Theater as Almaviva in The Barber of Seville in 2006.  I was there on opening night, and I remember it vividly because it was my first opera in St. Louis, and because it is still one of my favorite productions.  He also returned to OTSL this year in Il Re Pastore.  I thought he looked familiar.  He is definitely one to watch.

Prior to his professional debut at OTSL, Shrader was actually a Gerdine Young Artist for two years.  It’s wonderful to see that the OTSL young artist program actually moves singers into professional prominence.

In many cases, Modani uses the actual names of the original design or designer.  Fake Barcelona chairs are actually called Barcelona chairs!  And, even worse, Modani actually uses photographs of the real product, stolen from the license-holding manufacturer!  These images are easily identifiable as exact matches for images on the websites of manufacturers like Knoll, Herman Miller, Vitra, Flos, Foscarini, and B&B Italia.  Sometimes, as with Eames and Noguchi designs from Vitra, dimensioned line-drawings are taken straight from the manufacturer’s literature!  In a few cases, the authentic product is shown in the primary image, with secondary images apparently depicting the product Modani is actually selling, which is, of course, visibly different and inferior.

Modani stole this image of Tufty Time from B&B Italia.

Now, here is something really upsetting.  I was aware of this hideous, Chinese knock-off of Tufty Time, and I had come to terms with it, but seeing these assholes misrepresent it with stolen photography of the real thing was really shocking.  How dare they try to undermine my sofa!  At times like these, it would be very convenient to believe in hell; I would really enjoy watching these people burn.  The image clearly belongs to B&B Italia, and even includes a B&B pillow designed by Marcel Wanders.  Modani’s secondary image, on the same product page, shows something entirely different: the ugly, disproportionate, and cheap-looking impostor!

Disgusting! This piece of Chinese trash is nothing to B&B Italia's Tufty Time.

A colleague of mine called Modani’s 800-number today to ask why the sofa looked so different in the two pictures.  The person who answered the phone insisted, in broken English, that the only differences were camera angle and lighting.  Modani calls its fake Tufty the “Sorento” sofa.  I had never heard that name before, but the Tufty knock-off I was previously aware of appears to be a perfect match, and my eyes don’t mistake these things.  It can be seen at www.made-in-china.com.  On this site, we learn that this piece of $#!% is made with a wood frame (B&B Italia uses welded steel) by an entity called Shenzhen M&F Furniture Co., Ltd. (try finding them at the Milan Fair!), and that it can be purchased ex-factory in quantities of 20 or more.  And, brace yourself, they actually refer to their shameless knock-off as Tufty Time!  They even identify the designer, Patricia Urquiola, and the license-holding manufacturer, B&B.  Blood-sucking parasites!  At least Modani has the decency to give it a different name, though I could be confusing decency with cowardice.

Made-in-china.com actually calls it Tufty Time, and says it was designed by Patricia Urquiola! Screen capture from the date of this post.

If you’re reading this, I’m sure you’re already familiar with the usual arguments against knock-offs.  Intellectual property, integrity, and all of those things.  But there’s another angle: the environment.  B&B Italia products are made to last a lifetime, to be used and handed down, and auctioned and reused.  These knock-offs are garbage; they are literally pollution.  No matter what Modani says, the quality of these pieces is so poor that they’re not likely to outlast your next laptop computer, but they require a lot more landfill space.

The operators of Modani are misleading and unethical, if not outright dishonest.  At least, though, they also seem to be rather stupid, and they think that we are too.  Here is an excerpt from Modani’s poorly written, obviously contrived f.a.q. page:

With awkward and excessive repetition, as though fearing you won’t believe them, they imply that the only reason their prices are so low is that they are a wholesaler.  Obviously, they are not strictly a wholesaler, and even if they were, that simply could not account for the enormous difference between the prices of their products and the “similar style” products by B&B Italia, Flos, and other leading Italian manufacturers.  Also, note the wording in the last item.  They only say that some products come from Europe and the US, they don’t deny that others (probably the vast majority) come from Asia.  Innovative sourcing solutions? Hah!  It’s a euphemism, and it’s outrageous, but at least it is relatively honest.  I have another name for the activity to which they’re referring: theft.

The following is addressed to the plagiarists and profiteers who perpetrate this crime all around the globe, and especially the ones at Modani and their suppliers:

You are completely without integrity.  You probably don’t even understand what integrity is.  You survive by stealing the ideas of creative people, swindling money from stupid people, and enslaving poor people.  You are absolutely the worst kind of person in the world, and I wonder whether you are even really human.  You have no soul.

I had set aside a few more words for you.  However, I fear they would offend the refined sensibilities of my vast and otherwise excellent readership, so I’ll just say “fuck you,” and call it a night.

Here are some note’s on this year’s season, which ends tonight with a final, sold-out performance of Salome.

THE GHOSTS OF VERSAILLES (again):

I saw The Ghosts of Versailles again last night.  This time, I was even more impressed, particularly by the vivacity of the first act, which is decidedly opera buffa.  Also, I was struck by the visual richness and impact of this production, very effectively aided with video projection.  It’s true that the crowded stage was, a some points, a bit frenzied, but for the most part I think the small size of the stage was handled very well.  It reminded me of Opera Theater’s Barber of Seville from 2006, which remains one of my favorite productions, though it, too, was visually too busy for some critics.  For me, Ghosts was the highlight of the season, and one of my favorite opera experiences to date.  It is, for reasons I touch upon in my previous post, a great triumph for Opera Theater.

I am fixated on when I might be able to see this opera again.  This production will run at the Wexford Festival (Ireland) in October of this year, and again at the Vancouver Opera in November of 2011.  I’m going to put it on my calendar.

SALOME:

Though Ghosts was my personal favorite, I have to say that Salome was probably the best production I have ever seen at Opera Theater.  I’ve heard from several long-time subscribers that this may be the best production OTSL has ever done.  Kelly Kaduce was stellar, as she has been every time I have heard her.  From his opening lines as Jokanaan, Gregory Dahl’s performance was absolutely gripping and powerful.  From the front row (side), the head of Jokanaan was shockingly realistic.  There she was, deranged, holding it by the hair, having her bloody way with it.  The severed neck was sufficiently disgusting, and a stream of blood never ceased to run from it.  An unforgettable sight, to say the least.

My only regret is that I could not see Salome more than once.  The final performance (tonight) sold out several days in advance.  Virtually everyone I spoke with last night was trying to get tickets, especially those who had already seen it.  At this moment, I’m contemplating driving out to Webster with a wad of cash, and trying to buy a ticket off of someone.  At the very least, I could stand in the lobby and watch it on the TV screens, as I did for the first act of the final performance of La Traviata in 2007.

IL RE PASTORE:

An interesting production.  Not having read the program notes before hand, I was a bit confused, then a bit put off by the concept.  We see the (very beautiful) parlor of a British country house, where families are preparing for a wedding, passing the time by acting out the Mozart opera.  At intermission, my comment was: “the only thing this adds is an explanation for it being sung in English.”  After seeing the rest, however, I knew why it had been done this way: it would have been tiresome otherwise.  By having a household servant sing one of the roles, issues of rank and class (central to the opera as written) are highlighted, particularly at the end, when the servant must return to her duties and set the dinner table while she completes the role.  Though I think the concept was lost of much of the audience, I applaud OTSL for their willingness to do something unconventional.

LA BOHEME:

I know these things are necessary.  I know that audiences demand operas like this one, and that they expect to a fairly traditional presentation.  And, with the other three productions being as ambitious (and successful) as they were, I really can’t complain about this one.  My only comment is this: does La Boheme always have to look exactly the same?  Are opera directors shying away from anything that would look too much like Rent?  The production was certainly well done, but from an artistic standpoint, I just can’t understand why anyone would want to do something that’s been done hundreds of times before.  In the art world, a painter who doesn’t have anything new to offer cannot expected to be taken seriously in the market.  In the opera world, unfortunately, demand supports faithful repetitions of tired ideas, over and over and over.  Oh well.

I have never enjoyed any contemporary opera so much.  In fact, there are few operas of any era that I have enjoyed so much.  It seems to have absolutely everything you could want in an opera.  It is decidedly silly, yet also complex and intellectual.  It is a meta-opera, which addresses, engages, and satirizes the audience in unexpected ways.  It invites serious reflection about the relationship between past and present.  And the music, simply put, is perfect.  It offers lush melodic delights reminiscent of Mozart, Puccini, and others, along with moments of late-Romantic high-drama, both tempered with Modernist restraint and an element of Post-Modern anxiety.  The tension between present and past is pervasive and glorious.

Though substantially scaled down, this production seems actually to have added dramatic complexity and meaning over the little bits I’ve seen (on video) of the original Metropolitan Opera production.  For example, watch this video of the quartet “Come Now, My Darling” from the 1992 Met telecast, and then read the following comment left by YouTube user “zibiza”:

Opera Theatre St Louis staged this scene with both couples simultaneously, as here – and with two breath-taking changes transformed it into the happiest and saddest love song ever, all at the same time. Cherubino and the Countess are bathed in hot, golden, southern European sunshine, and they glow with lust and passion. They really get down with the sex, and the contrast of the bathed-in-silvery-white-blue-d ark of Beaumarchais and Marie Antoinette (as all the characters in this video are bathed in the dark-silvery-blue-white coloring) with the passion and the colors and the light of the Figaro characters makes you completely understand what it is to be totally alive, and what it means to be dead. The lighting design is magic to be able to show summer and winter, paradise and hades, right next to each other – especially with the small stage the St Louis opera is on compared to the Met but there they all are, only a few yards away from each other, yet worlds apart.

It is interesting to note that the producer of the original Met production was Colin Graham, the late artistic director of Opera Theater.  In 1991, it as a wild success, but many critics seemed to believe that the extravagance of the production would doom it, for few other opera companies would have the resources to present it.  In fact, it was planned for a revival at the Met in the coming season, but it was cut for budget reasons.  That Opera Theater has “duplicated its original success” (in the words of George Loomis, writing for the Financial Times) with a tiny stage and relatively meager resources is nothing short of astounding.

I really cannot say enough good things about this opera, or about this production.  For more on the opera, read the original New York Times review from 1991.  For more on this production, I’ll be adding some links later.  For now, visit OTSL’s page on this opera, and also check out the Financial Times review.

At Lindell Terrace, we are rejoicing.  While I am excited that about the dramatic improvement in my view, I am saddened by the senseless loss of a fine piece of modern architecture.  Personally, I would rather they raze the Cathedral Basilica.  It would be a tremendous waste, but it was a tremendous waste when they built it in the first place.  How can you really justify such an outlandish monstrosity of a building?  At least the San Luis has potential to be used in a relatively wholesome, productive manner.  But, I digress.

Today’s topic is surface parking in the city.  Believe me, I loathe parking lots just as much as you do.  They are the antithesis of urbanity as it is traditionally defined.  In the urban landscape, they are ugly, lifeless voids, vacuous obstacles to city living.  People, particularly when removed from their cars, don’t like being in or around them any more than necessary.  But there’s the rub: they are necessary.

Like it or not, we are a car-dependent culture.   I don’t like it, and I have long hoped that environmental consideration or increasing fuel prices might “drive” Americans away from cars and suburbs, and back into cities like St. Louis.  But even if this starts to happen, sooner or later new technology will emerge that will alleviate the financial and environmental costs of automobile use, and we’ll spread out all over again.  So, as tempting as it is to imagine a widespread revival of urban life in America, I don’t think it’s going to happen in my lifetime.

A crucial element of the Central West End’s greatness is the heavy, pedestrian-friendly concentration of independent, locally-owned businesses, which form an oasis of cosmopolitan sophistication and urban convenience in St. Louis.  These businesses share a close proximity to Euclid Avenue, and a similar proximity to numerous parking facilities.  We have large, multi-level parking structures adjoining the Chase Park Plaza and the nearby Schlafly Library.  There are also surface lots on Maryland, McPherson, and at several places along Euclid and Lindell.  They are not the most attractive features of the neighborhood, but the neighborhood depends on them for its survival.

Ed Ruscha, Parking Lots (6), 1967/99.

Ask any business owner in the West End, and I suspect they’ll tell you that most of their customers come to them in cars.  Consider the Straub’s grocery store on Kingshighway at Maryland.  Even though the majority of its customers probably live or work within walking distance, they drive, overwhelmingly, to the store, entering from the adjoining, dedicated parking lot.  No one complains about Straub’s having a parking lot, but if every business in the neighborhood had a similar parking arrangement, Euclid, Maryland, and McPherson would resemble suburban strip malls.  If we want to have the wonderful, walkable density of attractions and services that we do, we need to put the parking spaces somewhere.  As dense as the Central West End is, it’s not dense enough to sustain all of the shops, restaurants, nightlife, and other attractions that make it such a great place to live.

Now, lets consider the San Luis site.  Taylor Avenue is only one block from Euclid, and it is a well-traveled thoroughfare, but it has very few commercial spaces, and most of them are vacant.  Lindell Terrace, opposite the San Luis on Taylor, has an excellent, glassy restaurant space on the lobby level, adjoining the building’s vast terrace.  It was conceived as a prime location for an upscale restaurant, but it has been vacant for years.  As one of the owners of the building, I can tell you that lack of parking is the reason.  The corner space at 4501 Maryland (Maryland Towers) suffers from the same problem.  Though slightly off of “the beaten path” of Euclid, both of these locations are surrounded by high-density development, and, as many San Luis supporters have pointed out, Lindell and Taylor is one of the most prominent intersections in the area.  In contrast, Atlas (my favorite St. Louis restaurant) occupies a much more obscure location in the Central West End (on Pershing Ave at Belt), where the density is lower.  Nonetheless, Atlas frequently fills to capacity.  Its patrons are allowed to park in a surface lot directly across the street.

A parking lot in this location might not be an entirely bad thing.  If its owners (the abominable Catholics) can be persuaded to open it after hours for public use, it could be a great asset to this part of the Central West End, and would have potential to actually expand the pedestrian area of the neighborhood.  Conventional wisdom tells us that parking lots are bad for cities.  Maybe it’s time to and reexamine that assumption, like Charles Colbert did when he designed the San Luis in the first place, as the DeVille Motor Hotel.

To be fair: this is my point of view. (Tufty in the foreground.)

Since there has been abundant coverage of this issue, I will not delve into the background.  Nor will I attempt to describe the building’s architectural merits, which, it suffices to say, are numerous.  Rather, I refer you to the following sites:

No Parking Lot on Lindell! – a site dedicated to preventing the demolition of the San Luis.

Built St. Louis: Crubmling Landmarks – The San Luis Apartments – from one of my favorite sites about the St. Louis built environment, builtstlouis.net.

Vanishing STL – insists that a surface lot is the “worst possible use imaginable” for this site.

Ecology of Absence – yet another “voice for historic preservation and chronicle of architectural change in St. Louis”

B.E.L.T. – CWE Mid-Century Modern – an excellent summary of the modernist buildings on Lindell Blvd., including the San Luis and Lindell Terrace.

Designed in 1961 by New Orleans architect Charles Colbert, the San Luis (originally the DeVille Motor Hotel) is not a particularly important building.  It is derivative of earlier European Modernism, and when taken with the body of innovative American design in the 1950s and 60s, the San Luis is hardly a prominent example of anything.  In the context of St. Louis, however, it is something of a treasure, at least as an architectural object.   I realize that this is a highly subjective claim, and I won’t attempt to hide that it’s coming from someone who genuinely likes the building, though I have never been inside.  I admire the sleek geometry, the clean, durable materials, and the abundance of glass.  I applaud the building’s thoughtful (though not perfect) negotiation of site and program, of the urban environment and the car, and of outward transparency and inward privacy.  It is a building that addresses a unique set of conditions with relatively fresh thinking, and without apparent pretense or inhibition.  However, I often hear it denounced as an eyesore, even by other modern design enthusiasts.  Considering the building’s condition, it’s hard to blame them.

Although the San Luis does have the potential to be a valuable component of urban life in the Central West End, at present it more a detriment than an asset.  Like many very interesting buildings in St. Louis, the San Luis is in disrepair, and has been unoccupied for years.  It does continue the line of the street, and though vacant, it still provides the appearance of urban density, even though it is not a particularly urban program.  The reality today is that aside from an serving as a bit of modernist eye candy, the San Luis contributes virtually nothing to the neighborhood.  As it sits, it provides no employment (except for  a few security positions), no housing, and no other amenities or attractions to draw people to the area.

Large, vacant buildings, fascinating though they are, are rarely a good thing for neighborhoods, urban or rural.  Even before it was vacated, the San Luis had a decidedly dilapidated appearance.  Its contribution to the street and to the neighborhood have been wildly exaggerated.  After all, the design is not particularly friendly to the street.  Steve Patterson, writing for UrbanReviewSTL, elaborates: San Luis Apartments Not a Good Urban Building.

Obviously, most of my neighbors at Lindell Terrace are eager for the thing to come down.  I’ve also heard from many of other people who would consider the building’s demolition an improvement to the neighborhood, and I think they probably represent majority opinion.  I’m not one to cite majority opinion as evidence of rightness, but if it could be shown that this is how most St. Louis residents feel, then the argument that demolition would ruin the streetscape and be bad for the neighborhood falls flat on its face.  They might well have bad taste, but the masses would probably prefer a parking lot.

As I conclude the first part of this discussion, I hope the reader will forgive me for the following reminder: at this point, I am only making observations, and I am not proposing or supporting anything.  If you want to know what I support and propose, subsequent entries will enlighten you.