Eisenmann's Arrow
Chapter I
INTRODUCTION TO HISTORIC PRESERVATION
What is the role historic preservation is meant to play in our society? And who are the primary actors in this historical drama? These are questions still being debated, if not in so many words at least indirectly through the actions of various organizations and individuals across the country. In city council chambers, among property owners and developers, during historic commission meetings, as well as among concerned citizens, questions arise: Why preserve the old when society is changing, and our physical environment should be allowed to change with it? Who are you (i.e., the preservationist) to tell me what I can and can't do with my own property? Why stand in the way of progress?
Clem Labine, a confirmed preservationist
and former publisher of The Old House Journal,
considered the role of the preservationist in an article titled
"Preservationists Are Un-American."
And then it hit me. The more I inquired into the
forces that make preservationists do the things we do, the more
I realized that preservation is really un-American.
...the fact is that preservation goes against the basic historical thrust that built America into a world power. America was built on the concept of the frontier. Land was limitless. Resources were never-ending. The pioneer way was to use it up, throw it away and move west.
...So where do preservationists fit into this scheme of things? Are we merely folks who think that the apex of civilization was reached in the 19th century and are vainly trying to recreate that vanished world? No, we are not making futile, reactionary gestures. Rather, we represent the cutting edge of a true cultural revolution, a revolution generating new perceptions that will have a dramatic impact on America's way of thinking in the next 50 years.
That is why we are un-American. Preservationists oppose the conventional American idea of consuming ever more. We are actually the new wave of pioneer. We are struggling to reverse the "use it up and move on" mentality. We are moving in and picking up the pieces. We are taking individual buildings and whole neighborhoods that have been discarded and trying to make them live again. We are cleaning up after society's litterbugs.
These are strong words with which he has challenged the American psyche, for indeed the history of America is one of opportunism. The founding fathers can be seen as opportunistic. The new American civilization strove to leave its old world traditions behind, to strike forth on an adventure in the uncharted wilderness of the frontier. Such growth was recognized as this country's Manifest Destiny.
Why, then, do preservationists feel so strongly committed to glorifying the past, when America's challenge should be seen in its future? To answer that question, it is important to recognize that preservationists are not against growth and development. Rather they see them as part of a continuum in which our future as a society grows out of our past. "The past is prologue," a phrase commonly used to represent this perspective, challenges us to accommodate plans for future growth based on our past, looking at how we as a society have evolved over our history, and having that past serve as a determinant of the future. As stated by John Lawrence, Dean of Tulane's School of Architecture,
The basic purpose of preservation is not to arrest time, but to mediate sensitively with the forces of change. It is to understand the present as a product of the past and a modifier of the future.
The twentieth century represents an era of unprecedented change in our society. We realized we could accomplish virtually anything, and in shorter and shorter time periods. The process of change is now so fast it is almost incomprehensible.
This is why historic preservation has taken on such significance. Adele Chatfield-Taylor discussed this perspective in a presentation at the 20th anniversary celebration of Columbia University's program in historic preservation.
So it is no wonder that an interest in historic preservation (a puny term to describe a gigantically important moment in this progression) surfaces in earnest in the early part of the twentieth century, in the swirling midst of these other developments.And far from being a form of nostalgia, as an interest in old buildings is frequently seen to be, it was-even in its beginnings, even in its most primitive, inarticulate form-a pioneering, heroically revolutionary, and completely avant-garde activity-the prototype of what is going on now.
...It is our increasing lack of access to a familiar world that has generated a hunger for the sight and touch of a gritty reality that old buildings provide-and not impenetrably preserved, bionic old buildings-but buildings that have registered the imprint of the passage of time. Old buildings that are a time line, old buildings that are real.
I think in some simple-minded fashion this is the reason so many people have turned to saving old buildings-because, in the face of unthinkable abstractions, saving buildings is so concrete...It is an antidote, a corrective measure, so that change will no longer occur by remote-control, but on purpose, when it seems necessary, and when it is deliberately undertaken.
This is what gives historic preservation its new validity, and what makes it exemplify and symbolize the most stunning circumstance of modern life-which is that we have a choice about what will happen.
That is, the technological ability to build 100-story buildings on every square inch of the face of the earth-whether it be Madison Avenue, Times Square, of the plains of Kansas-is not necessarily a mandate to do so.
In a sense, then historic preservation represents a desire to reduce this power to a possibility rather than an inevitability. It also represents a desire to invest even our most ordinary surroundings with a sacredness that they may have had in ages before this one, but which in our inability to understand that, appeared to be more of an obstacle than a condition of life.
Peter Eisenmann, an architect
and theorist, gives a graphic example to consider. Imagine, he
suggests, a picture of an arrow.
From that picture can be perceived a static representation of the object (the arrow). What cannot be perceived is whether the arrow is still or in flight. One instant is not sufficient, for much of the dynamic nature of the situation may be lost when looked at from the limited perspective of a single point in time.
Similarly, a city should not be seen simply in terms of what exists at the present time, for this singular perspective would overlook too much. Rather, one should consider the element of time-of where it has come from in the past and where it is going in the future.
The role the preservation is to ensure the important elements
where a society, or community, has been are incorporated into
the notion of where it is now and where it is going. As the Jewish
writer, I. L. Peretz
said, "Memory...establishes the continuity of generations
and rescues human life and effort from futility. Not only an
individual, but a people, too, must possess a memory. A people's
memory is called history. What is true of an individual without
memory is also true of a people without history: they cannot
become wiser or better."
An analogy can be made by thinking of the preservation of buildings in terms of "nouns" and "verbs." When buildings are viewed as static landmarks, they can be seen as nouns; they make up a part of the physical presence of a space. But if they also are seen as places of involvement-places where the events of the city happen every day, and where buildings serve simply as backdrops for activities taking place there-then we can see them as verbs as well. In other words, buildings are part of the active history of a community, and are not simply static places.
The value of historic buildings should be recognized as much for how they represent the history (verb) of a community as how they represent its architecture (noun). To only preserve buildings can lead to their serving as staging for a period set piece, where they serve as objects of curiosity and interest but not as vital parts of the community. It is important to also consider the types of spaces those buildings create and how they are used.
Therefore, the role of preservation should not be seen only as a means to protect older buildings. This can lead, in the absurd, to the kind of protection represented by a sign found in a South Carolina gas station:
the architectural traditions of Charleston, the brickwork and woodwork of the demolished Gabriel Manigault house (1800 AD) were used in this station. |
Although protection is certainly a primary focus, its role should be seen as broader. Buildings also represent earlier lifestyles from various periods, and how they contribute to their contemporary environment.
Museums can be used to illustrate. Conventional museums have been places where historical items are collected, archived and displayed. The basic function has been to simply display artifacts in an exhibit gallery for the public to view. It has been shown, however, that a visitor's interest in historical artifacts increases significantly if they are displayed in their actual environment, rather than simply in museumdisplay cases. Curators have become aware that the impression on a visitor can be increased even more if live recreations of historical events, using actors in period costumes, are presented. In this way history becomes a living event with which the visitor can identify as an active participant.
In a few instances this format has been carried even
further, and visitors become active participants in history.
A good example of this type of "living museum" is the
Plimoth Plantation re-creation in Massachusetts.
In 1969 static exhibits were removed and replaced with a daily
reenactment of 17th-century village activities, performed by staff
dressed in period costumes. The village is inhabited, at least
during museum hours, by these "residents," who are continuously
building and living in the Plimoth Plantation settlement. The
public is invited to walk through the settlement, which is based
on the layout of the original Plimoth Plantation, and talk with
its "residents." The actors pretent to know only of
17th century life, and a visitor must adapt him- or herself to
that historical perspective in order to talk with them. Plantation
residents often will question visitors on their strange dialect,
and look askance at their "heathen" manner of dress,
including shorts, and women in pants. However, they are a friendly
group and are willing to share information about their daily activities.
What has made museums like Plimoth Plantation so successful are
their ability to go beyond the concept of a static representation
of artifacts (history as nouns) and to present it as a complete
environment, including historicactivities (history as verbs).
Similarly, when local historians consider methods to keep alive
a sense of local history, they should try to incorporate a fuller
understanding of historic context. With this view in mind, a
community's Courthouse Square could not only be saved, but could
also be used as a point of congregation for community events.
Similarly, older residences should not only be protected from
demolition, but the context of the neighborhood to the surrounding
area should also be recognized as important. In these ways a
town can preserve some of the life of a community and its historic
heritage as well as its buildings.
There are a variety of approaches to preservation.
Some individuals feel historic structures must be protected,
but also feel later changes should also be accommodated. Others
feel the old must be protected, in their original form, at all
costs. The pendulum swings with the times and circumstances,
and what may have been considered an appropriate response at one
point in time may be seen quite differently at another. Indeed,
as a society Americans may have changed. The attitude prevalent
in the 1960s was that nothing old was good; the current attitude
is closer to the idea that everything old is good. This debate,
in fact, is not a new one.
The contrast is nowhere greater than the differences found in the 19th century writings of the French architect, Viollet leDuc and the English art historian and essayist, John Ruskin. Viollet leDuc was one of the first builders to deal with the restoration of older landmarks. Prior to this time buildings were allowed to follow a natural course of deterioration or were only maintained on an informal basis by local craftsmen. LeDuc not only devoted his entire career to restoration work, and thus is considered the first restoration architect, but he also presented his restoration methods, technology, and philosophy in a series of books, including a ten-volume dictionary of architecture. Although much of his philosophy of restoration is now discounted, the knowledge he catalogued of historical and technical information was invaluable. His work had no precedent, and was both unique and influential.
LeDuc's attitude was that important monuments should be rebuilt not necessarily as they originally were, but as they "should have been."
To restore a building is not only to preserve it, to repair it, or to rebuild, but to bring it back to a state of completion such as may never have existed at any given moment.
In his first major project, the Church of La Madeleine de Vezelay, in France, he sculpted new stone elements to duplicate the old and installed new statuary which he deemed compatible. Because new elements were added or embellished without an appropriate historical basis, his restoration methods are now generally discredited.
After le Duc's death, one critic desagreed with his approach,
saying, "a monument to be a testimony to the past must stay
as the past has bequeathed it. To pretend to restore it to its
original state is dangerous and deceitful; we must preserve buildings
as they are, respecting the contribution of successive generations."
There are contemporary examples, however, which have been based more or less on this philosophy. For example, the city of Santa Barbara, California was largely destroyed by an earthquake in 1925. The downtown needed to be rebuilt almost from scratch. City authorities saw this as an opportunity to establish new, rigid design controls, and determined that newly constructed buildings in Santa Barbara would be in the Spanish Mission style. They established a Board of Architectural Review to insure the city was rebuilt in this uniform architectural style. Much of the new construction since then has been in this style, giving an almost unparalleled uniformity to the streetscape. A good example is the Third Santa Barbara County Courthouse, 1927. The guiding philosophy taken by Santa Barbara was that the image of the city would now be better than had ever existed previously, just as leDuc had espoused.
In contrast with leDuc, the nineteenth century writer and critic John Ruskin felt that older buildings should not be restored, but should remain untouched. He argued that a society has no right to either improve, or even restore, the craftsmanship of another era. "...It is impossible, as impossible as to raise the dead, to restore anything that has ever been great or beautiful in architecture." Old buildings should be left to look old, he argued. They gain their beauty only after four or five centuries, and the richness of their beauty is enhanced when seen as ruins. "...The greatest glory of a building is not in its stones, or in its gold. Its glory is in its Age." As Ruskin would say, buildings should be built to last; "when we build, let us think that we build forever."
Who are we to try to restore a former glory, Ruskin would ask. In his mind it would be comparable to erasing the character evident in the face of an older person and, through plastic surgery, trying to make that person look young again. There is beauty in the age lines, which should be respected, rather than artificially changed through the scalpel. We often want to make older buildings look too perfect, to restore them to a state where they look more like museum pieces than buildings used on a daily basis. "We have a tendency to clean old buildings too much, to strip them of their age and character, to make them look too new, and to turn them into spectacles, rather than allow them to look old and merely befriended."
Ruskin saw restoration as that same type of artificiality, what he termed an "indiscreet zeal for restoration."
Restoration may possibly... produce good imitation of an ancient work of art; but the original is then falsified, and in its restored state it is no longer an example of the art of the period to which it belonged. [In fact] the more exact the imitation the more it is adapted to mislead posterity.No restoration should ever be attempted, otherwise than... in the sense of preservation from further injuries... Anything beyond this is untrue in art, unjustifiable in taste, destructive in practice, and wholly opposed to the judgment of the best Archaeologists.
Do not let us talk then of restoration. The thing is a Lie from beginning to end
Many contemporary writers and critics have written about and discussed
the issues of preservation. Their viewpoints vary widely, from
those who see the need for much more sensitivity to historic context
to those who feel it is just a bunch of "flap."
One of the latter is Philip Johnson, one of the most quoted and most controversial of today's architects. Once an architect who designed only in the Modern style, he is now an avowed preservationist with significant credentials to that effect. He nevertheless feels much of current preservation is a sham.
In an early 1954 article, in which he wrote of his feelings toward preservation and the preservation movement, Johnson remarked, "What's fun in life is change." Preservation is "rather a phony movement," for it tries to restrict change rather than encourage it. "Preservation can always be used as an argument to kill something," even if a proposed project is well planned, needed and in the community's best interests.
Johnson is hard on preservationists for what he considers to be their inability to distinguish between what is old and significant and what is simply old. "Today, preservationists are trying to save everything, but there is no criterion for how important a building is... Sentiment overlaps architecture and history."
In a 1978 interview Johnson said, "If I'm used to seeing
that ugly building or good-looking building or zilch building,
my little corner drugstore, I don't want to lose it. How far
you carry that is not yet clear in America in this great wave
of preservation....If you live in a place long enough, you are
violently for its preservation. You can preserve a doghouse if
you are used to it."
Robert A.M. Stern, an influential architect and educator, has been a leader of the "Post-modern" approach to architecture. Post-modernism is an attempt to counter the sterility found in architecture from the 1950s and '60s, with its abstract, empty white interiors and anti-historic exteriors. Post-modernism brings historical references back to architectural design, inspired primarily by classical styles, but with classical elements reinterpreted in contemporary terms. Mr. Stern explains:
There is a desire to return to the larger tradition of architecture-not to revive it, because no one can ever really revive anything. But we want to look again at the work of the past, classicism in particular, but also various vernacular styles, to see them afresh, to recombine them in new programs, new situations, new techniques. We want to forge a synthesis that bespeaks our time, but also make connections to the past, so that it does not seem strident or iconoclastic.
Stern has said that post-modernists share a common interest in:
1) Contextualism: the possibility for the future expansion of
a given building and the desire to relate it to the immediate
surroundings. 2) Allusionism: references to the history of architecture
which somehow go beyond 'eclecticism' to a somewhat vague category
called 'the relationship between form and shape and the meanings
that particular shapes have assumed over the course of time.'
3) Ornamentalism: the simple pleasure in decorating architecture.
LeDuc and Ruskin certainly presented the case for and against restoration in unqualified terms. However, over time, the consideration of these extreme viewpoints has been tempered, refined and a general consensus formed as to the appropriate strategy for intervention in historic buildings.
In this country, the Office of the U.S. Secretary of the Interior has formulated its own definitions of intervention strategies, which have now become generally accepted as guidelines. Although somewhat similar, each strategy has its own special meaning and each represents an intervention which may be the most appropriate for a particular situation. A review of these definitions, with examples of their application, will point out these differences as well as similarities.
Changes which may have taken place in the course of time are evidence of the history and development of a building, structure, or site and its environment. These changes may have acquired significance in their own right, and this significance shall be recognized and respected.
For this type of building, the only appropriate intervention would be normal maintenance or special work needed to protect the structure against further damage.
A project that has used preservation as an intervention strategy in an innovative way is Pike Place Market in Seattle. This old city market was threatened with demolition to make way for an urban renewal project. However, the residents of Seattle considered the Market to be an important part of their city's life and culture, and wanted to preserve it. A ballot proposal provided clear evidence that most people wanted the Market saved. Soon a new problem was perceived by city planners-there was the possibility the Market would become so successful that its character would change into that of a "boutique" center. and lose its essential character. To protect against this, the city developed an ordinance that not only protected the structure against demolition but also protected it from becoming too "trendy" in both its appearance and its operation.
The protective ordinance dealt with two primary considerations.
The first part said that the structure must remain common, or
ordinary, in its construction materials. If any structural material
needed to be replaced because of deterioration, it should not
be replaced with a new material of a quality different from the
original. In other words, a solid wood beam could not be replaced
by a wood box beam or steel beam, but must be replaced by a solid
wood beam. Similarly, the ordinance provided
protection in the market's management techniques by designating
that all vendors must either make or grow their own products.
This would protect against upscale franchisees becoming the primary
market tenants.
The city also tried to maintain the ambience of the market's neighborhood, which consisted largely of low-income, single room occupancy (SRO) housing inhabited by transients. Rather than pushing this segment of society out to another area of the city to allow for "gentrification" of the neighborhood, the city insisted that the neighborhood buildings must retain their SRO function.
As a result of these unusual measures, the Pike Place Market area in Seattle has retained, at many levels, the character which residents first recognized, loved, and then protected.
As an example, over the decades the home and studio of architect Frank Lloyd Wright in Oak Park, Illinois had been split into apartments and represented little of its historic significance. A foundation established to preserve the Wright Home and Studio was able to purchase the structure and began a program of restoration. But restorers faced a problem, for Wright lived in the home for many years and was continually adding to and modifying the structure. From a small, modest home, the property gradually became a complex of wings and additions. Thus, the decision to restore made it necessary to decide which period of its construction should be chosen. Restoring it to one period would mean not including elements from other periods.
After intensive study and discussion, the decision was made to restore the property to the year 1913, Wright's last year there. At that point, the Foundation began an extensive study of the original plans and photographs and other archival material to determine just what elements remained from that period and which had to be reconstructed. The Home and Studio is now restored, and visitors can see the spaces created by Wright during this period.
A guiding principle of good restoration practice is that an original element, even if in poor condition, is preferable to a replicated element; especially discouraged is historical conjecture. If documentation does not show what an original element was, then it is generally better to leave it out, or if necessary, replace it with a compatible contemporary element, than to guess about what historical element it might have been. In other words, the lay public should not be deceived into thinking a non-historic element is historic. As stated in the Secretary of the Interior's Guidelines,
Deteriorated architectural features shall be repaired rather than replaced, wherever possible... Repair or replacement of missing architectural features should be based on accurate duplications of features, substantiated by historic, physical, or pictorial evidence rather than on conjectural designs or the availability of different architectural elements from other buildings or structures.
Cobblestone Farm, a historic homestead in Ann Arbor, Michigan, includes an original farmhouse constructed with a cobblestone veneer exterior. Because of its unique construction, the Cobblestone Farm Association, a group of dedicated volunteers, organized to restore the structure and open it as a house museum to represent farm life in the 19th century.
The original farm also included a number of other
structures, including a barn and sheds. Although the layout of
the original farmstead is well documented in photographs, the
Association decided to relocate the structures to better accommodate
visitors and the frequent festivals and outdoor activities held
at the site. Since much of the farm's character had already been
altered, due to the fact that the site was located in what is
now a developed portion of the city, along a busy thoroughfare
and surrounded by a large city park, these revisions were considered
acceptable.
However, there was also a need for a large barn to complete the grouping of buildings, and to serve as an assembly and office facility. Since the farm's original barn no longer existed, three options were open. The first was to replicate the original barn, based on the photos available of it. The second was to find an existing barn from that era at another location and move it to the site. The third was to design a contemporary "barn-like" structure. The third option was decided on, since it would best accommodate the space needs for new uses. A new barn could also be designed to better accommodate current space needs and code requirements, including access for the handicapped, and would allow for income to be derived from its rental, which could be applied to the restoration costs of the house.
From a preservationist viewpoint, however, this third option should have been considered as the least desirable. The "barn-like" design was neither an authentic replication of an existing structure nor a compatible new design. Instead, it tried to be both, and failed at both. Future visitors to the historic farm complex may be confused as to whether or not this structure was part of the grouping of otherwise authentic historic structures. Some elements will make it appear to be, and yet other elements will clearly be out of place. This kind of confusion, unfortunately, can cast doubt on the other structures as well, and should be considered an inappropriate response to the need for a barn, as well as for certain functional spaces.
