St. Patrick's Cathedral, New York (all photos by me)
New
York is a thick forest of towers, many of them distinctive and running a gamut
of styles. Its dystopian doppelganger is the imagined Gotham City of the Batman
comics, in its consummate form the dark Gothic vision of Tim Burton’s Batman movies.
The equally dark and romantic monumentality of Hugh Ferris’ moody, chiaroscuro-heavy
renderings further the mythos of New York as an enigmatic metropolis whose
primary axis is the vertical. The layering of architectural styles is
remarkable and yet, in my mind at least, Manhattan is the epitome of a
contemporary Gothic city: breathtakingly perpendicular, grotesque, and compact.
Like a work of Gothic architecture, the complex whole is ordered and coherent,
even as its constituent parts teeter on the brink of chaos.
I’ve
always been drawn to Gothic architecture despite my decidedly modernist upbringing.
I believe it’s an instinctual response. It’s a response that comes naturally to
non-architects, one that many designers since the advent of Modernism have
struggled to reconcile with their education and biases. The Gothic style relied
heavily upon its ability to convey a narrative, most often of an ecclesiastical
nature, striving for spirituality through lightness of form and a lavishing of
expressive and didactic ornamentation, in contrast with the relatively spare
ponderousness of the Romanesque forms that preceded it. The Gothic vocabulary
would come to be distinguished by pointed arches, rib vaults, flying
buttresses, large stained-glass windows, and elaborate tracery.
Of
course, all the “Gothic” buildings in New York (and elsewhere in North America)
are not actually Gothic but rather derivative and historicist. They are “Neo-Gothic”
or “Gothic Revival.” The resurgence of the Gothic style during the 19th century
was championed by A.W.N.Pugin, John Ruskin,
and others claiming it was the style of the great age of faith and thus inherently
superior to other forms. Even architects who were more secular in outlook would
deem the Gothic appropriate for a variety of new applications, particularly
those for which stylistic precedents did not exist. Thus, train stations, university
buildings, parliament houses, country estates, and ultimately skyscrapers
around the world would all utilize the style to imaginative effect.
Despite
my characterization of Manhattan as Gothic in character, the actual number of
buildings genuinely designed in the Gothic manner is small. I visited several
of the most noteworthy examples while I was in New York for the 2018 AIA Conference
on Architecture. These included St. Patrick’s Cathedral, The Cathedral of Saint
John the Divine, Saint Thomas Church, and the Woolworth Building.
Nave, St. Patrick's Cathedral
St. Patrick’s Cathedral
Definitely
one of the highlights of my A’18 experience was a tour of the recently restored
St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Members of the restoration team from Murphy Burnham & Buttrick Architects provided a wealth of informative details about the 3-year,
$150 million project, which included 30,000 individual repairs to the stonework,
plaster, wood, and stained glass.
Originally
designed by architect James Renwick and constructed between 1858 – 1888, St. Patrick’s was upon its
completion the tallest structure in New York (and remains the largest
neo-Gothic Catholic cathedral in North America), which seems remarkable now that
it is completely overshadowed by the bulky towers of the neighboring Rockefeller
Center. The cathedral’s exterior is largely comprised of Tuckahoe marble and
richly ornamented in a highly unified and consistent Flamboyant Gothic style.
Inside,
the cathedral does indeed soar, appearing much larger than I’d imagined as I
approached the cathedral from outside. The restoration repaired decay in the
roof structure and removed decades of accumulated candle soot on the ceiling
over the nave. The interior is bright, lofty, and very impressive.
West facade, Cathedral of Saint John the Divine
The Cathedral of Saint John the Divine
Looming
over the Morningside Heights neighborhood, the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine is the largest Episcopal cathedral in the world,
and the fifth largest Christian church overall. Its list of superlatives
includes the longest Gothic nave in the country, the largest rose window, being
taller at its interior crossing than the Statue of Liberty, and seven apsidal
chapels (a nod to the different national origins of various immigrant groups the
church initially welcomed). It is, in other words, enormous.
Choir, Cathedral of Staint John the Divine
The cathedral
has mockingly been dubbed “Saint John the Unfinished” because construction and
restoration has continued ever since the first cornerstone was laid in 1892. Unlike
St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Saint John the Divine is a mish-mash of styles. The original
architects, Heins& LaFarge, intended the building to be of Romanesque-Byzantine design.
Following the death of George Heins, the Cathedral Trustees elected to hire Ralph Adams Cram to
complete the design along neo-Gothic lines. Saint John the Divine suffered a
large fire in 2001, which destroyed part of the north transept. The south tower
on the west façade has only partly risen, while the north tower lags even
further behind. It’s immediately evident the cathedral remains a work in
progress.
Saint Thomas Church
Saint Thomas Church
Like
St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Saint Thomas Church is located in the heart of Midtown
Manhattan, and like the Cathedral of Saint John Divine, Saint Thomas was
designed by Ralph Adams Cram (along with his partner Bertram Goodhue). I
was previously familiar with the building because of an essay written by Gerald
Allen in the book Dimensions,
co-authored with Charles Moore. In that essay, Allen explained how Cram and Goodhue designed the
church in a way that addressed the particulars of its site within a modern city,
as well as its general purpose as a place of worship. The result is an oddly asymmetrical
design allied to its specific corner location at the intersection of Fifth
Avenue and West 53rd Street.
As
Gerald Allen wrote, Saint Thomas does not make the kind of coherent,
self-contained sense that architects typically strive for in their designs. I
like Saint Thomas’ consequent eccentricity. Cram and Goodhue demonstrated their
mastery of the Gothic Revival style, expertly adapting it to its location
within Midtown. The church confidently stakes claim to its location without
attempting to compete with much taller neighbors.
Woolworth Building
Woolworth Building
The Woolworth Building
was the tallest building in the world when it was topped off in 1912. Architect
Cass Gilbert, a
leading proponent of the neo-Gothic style for tall buildings, designed the richly
ornamented 60-story tower, which would aptly be nicknamed “the Cathedral of
Commerce.” The building’s piers, pinnacles, pointed arches, and patinated copper
roof all draw one’s eyes skyward. Gilbert over-scaled the Gothic detailing on
its upper reaches so they remain legible from the street level far below. The
design exploits the Gothic style’s use of vertical elements to emphasize its height.
Somewhat incongruously, Gilbert used Romanesque forms for the building’s elegant
two-story lobby.
While following
Louis Sullivan’s
adage that a skyscraper should be “every inch a proud and soaring thing,” the
Woolworth Building also admirably functions as an urban block. Its lower 27
floors are configured around U-shaped floors that define the public space on
all sides, while bringing daylight to the center of the plan by means of a central
court open to the west. The Woolworth Building, like most pre-WWII towers, manages
to work effectively at both the pedestrian level and as part of Manhattan’s impressive
skyline.
Other New York skyscrapers employing features reminiscent of Gothic architecture
include the American Radiator Building, the Sherry-Netherland Hotel, the
Lincoln Building, and the General Electric Building. Following the completion
of the General Electric Building in 1931, architects would largely eschew the
Gothic Revival style in favor of the more fashionable Art Deco or Modernist
idioms. The asceticism of most post-war skyscrapers may have reached its apogee
(or nadir depending upon your point of view) with the completion of the
astoundingly banal 432 Park Avenue in 2016, a supertall and slender tower that rises 1,396 feet without
relief or any sense of proportion or grace.
432 Park Avenue
I’m no
architectural revivalist or historicist; however, I do admire architecture regardless
of style that inspires, is rich in detail and meaning, and joyous in character.
Neo-Gothic works like St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the Cathedral of Saint John the
Divine, Saint Thomas Church, and the Woolworth Building greatly contribute to New
York’s appeal and coherence as an incredibly diverse amalgam of memorable
places, images, and ideas. I favor identity over anonymity, and architecture
that connects people with their environment rather than alienating them from
it.
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