Architecture is Awesome #18: Evanescent Ruins

The New Hayward Field under construction (photo by me)

This is another in my series of posts inspired by 1000 Awesome Things, the Webby Award winning blog written by Neil Pasricha. The series is my meditation on the awesome reasons why I was and continue to be attracted to the art of architecture. 

There is a phase during the construction of new buildings when I imagine them being the ruins they might one day become, objects of venerable decay rather than new symbols of optimism and progress. The fleeting charm of this phase is only present as the naked structures rise, as transient as the blooming of cherry blossoms; however, rather than the ephemeral vitality of the blossoms, their charm resides in their resemblance to the enduring remains of ancient civilizations. Whether the new buildings ever actually become aesthetically pleasing and durable ruins is immaterial.

Roman Forum (photo by Carla Tavares, CC BY-SA 3.0)

Internal View of the Atrium of the Portico of Octavia, from the Views of Rome by Giovanni Battista Piranesi

Architects and historians since the Renaissance have romanticized the notion of ruins, so I suppose I follow in their footsteps. The 18^th century Italian artist Giovanni Battista Piranesi was famous for his fantastical etchings, many of which depicted the ruins of Imperial Rome as metaphors for the imperfection and transience of human existence. Conversely, Louis Kahn contributed his notions of permanence, materiality, and memory to modern architecture. As architectural historian Vincent Scully wrote, Kahn wanted to “deal with beginnings—with the primeval reality of architecture as physical mass.”

Acropolis, Athens - pastel sketch by Louis Kahn; 1951

Kahn believed that to create a work of architecture you need to picture it as a ruin. I suspect most architects today don’t always have this in mind, particularly imagining how similar to ancient remains their buildings might appear during construction. Nevertheless, I enjoy imagining works in progress as poetic ruins when I visit them at the right moment. With all the construction activity underway here in Eugene, there are plenty of opportunities to do just that.

Eugene Civic Park under construction (my photo)

The Market Expansion under construction (my photo)

I enjoy being an architect for many reasons. One of them is having an expansive capacity to engage in flights of fancy, which allows me to associate what is patently unfinished with the sublime, lasting, and AWESOME monuments of the past.

Next Architecture is Awesome:  #19 Every Day is Different

Interviewing

My office (Robertson/Sherwood/Architects pc) recently participated in five interviews for potential clients—all inside a three-week span—and I personally was involved in four of the five. While not a remarkable number within such a short period to some firms, for a small one like ours it was unusual. Three of the five projects we pursued would be among the largest we might ever become involved with. In every instance, the interviews were part of formal, multi-step selection processes conducted by corporate clients or public agencies.

For each project, the process entailed an initial response to a Request for Qualifications, in which we described who we are, our relevant experience, and our proposed staffing and project approach. The interviews followed, which meant the selection committee for each client group ranked our team among the highest-scoring candidates for the job and worthy of further consideration.

Interviews are important for both us and our prospective clients. Meeting face-to-face gives everybody an opportunity to know each other better and judge whether the fit will be good for everyone proposed to be involved with the project. Communication style, experience, sense of flexibility, and chemistry all matter. I’m a firm believer in the value of an interview to clients when selecting their architects (and vice versa). More often than not, a project’s ultimate success comes down to relationships, which may be as complex and fraught as a marriage.  

Plenty of advice is available online or in books about how to deliver an effective presentation as part of an interview, so I won’t offer any of my own. What I will do is talk about our recent experiences from my perspective.

For me, the opportunity to put our best foot forward while competing for the most attractive projects is both exciting and satisfying. Exciting because the pursuit of the choicest jobs is exhilarating. Our office is energized by competition. Satisfying because each is a chance to hone our message and interview skills. This is particularly true as our younger staff assume leadership roles on our proposed project teams. Witnessing their professional growth and performance during the interviews is gratifying and bodes well for the future of RSA.

Part of the message we convey is what makes Robertson/Sherwood/Architects the right choice. The team we bring to the table is critical. This is why we welcome the opportunity to interview. We believe who we are is our strength. Pretty pictures of our past projects are helpful but what is absolutely necessary is gaining the confidence of the selection committee members by letting them know we have their interests in mind. This requires demonstrating an understanding of who they are and the unique concerns their projects raise, so it’s important the team members we present at interviews are well-versed on those points.  

We do sometimes need to partner with more substantial firms who bring the requisite portfolio of relevant projects and resources to our proposed teams for a project we’re interested in. This was the case in three of the five jobs we recently interviewed for. We’ve been very fortunate to team up with some outstanding offices over the years, among them Mahlum Architects, DLR Group, SRG Partnership, RDG Planning & Design, Rosser International, and Shepley Bulfinch. In every instance where we’ve done so, we first made sure the personalities of our firms were compatible and the approaches we bring to projects were complementary.

I have consistently found it reassuring in those instances we do partner with large practices of regional or national reach to find we’re not behind the curve when it comes to interviewing and presentation methods. They don’t use advanced presentation technologies that are light years beyond what we’re familiar with. The tools they employ are tried-and-true: PowerPoint, boards mounted on easels, etc. How we produce a presentation for a particular interview boils down to what we believe may be most appropriate to the specifics of the project we’re pursuing and what we know about the selection committee.

While I still sometimes have butterflies in my stomach before an interview, this is now more the exception than the rule. Age and experience, and with it a modicum of wisdom, undoubtedly contribute to the greater ease I feel today during presentations or interviews. It helps to confidently know what I know, and also what I don’t know. I’ve also learned to be present, physically in control, and relaxed as possible. I now actually enjoy participating in interviews.

FYI, our scorecard for the five projects we recently interviewed for is as follows: 

• Wins: Two 
• Losses: One 
• Pending notification: Two

“You win some, you lose some, but real winners know losses make them stronger,” or so goes the tired old cliché. It’s true though—we do learn from each interview experience whether we win the job or not. Vying respectfully with our rivals in the pursuit of commissions is fun because it’s challenging, elicits our best efforts, and prompts us to recognize both our strengths and weaknesses.

Airplanes and Architecture

TWA Terminal, Eero Saarinen, architect - Photo byRoland Arhelger [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)]

Several sources inspired this blog post: First, I recently read an article in the Architectural Review entitled Life on the ocean wave: Why architects are drawn to boats by English architect Edwin Heathcote. Heathcote’s piece recounts how the early Modernists looked to ocean liners as default monuments of modernity—the designs of which were driven (supposedly) by function and not tradition—to escape the tethers and confines of history and place. The AR article in turn prompted me to pull out and reread my dusty copy of Towards a New Architecture. The book—a collection of essays first published in the magazine L’Esprit Nouveau—was Le Corbusier’s strident call for a fundamental change in the way architects designed buildings. Corb looked not only to ocean liners but also to cars and planes as works that embodied the spirit of the Machine Age. He saw in their forms an expression of needs properly determined and solved.

I coincidentally made a trip this past weekend north to McMinnville to visit the Evergreen Air & Space Museum and take in some airplane porn. I’ve been an aviation buff since I was a little kid, having attended many airshows over the years and seeking out aerospace museums wherever I travel.(1) The Evergreen museum (home to Howard Hughes mammoth H-4 Hercules flying boat, more famously known as the “Spruce Goose”) has fallen on hard times recently(2), but its collection generally remains excellent.

My guess is, like Le Corbusier then and me today, many architects are drawn to functionally and aesthetically beautiful aircraft, if not also beautiful automobiles, boats, or trains. This attraction is in part instinctual but also intellectually grounded. We appreciate well-designed objects of all types because we immediately sense and also recognize upon examination the skill, insight, and patience demanded by the processes necessary for their successful realization.

Aeronautical engineers generally cannot separate appearance from utility. They find beauty in the elegant resolution of problems, wherein the maximum effect is achieved with a minimum of means. We’re fittingly awed by the genius and talent displayed by the designers of great aircraft.

In the essay Eyes That Do Not See included in Towards a New Architecture, Corb argued why it is only after the “question” of need is properly posed that the suitable solution is determined:

The War was an insatiable “client,” never satisfied, always demanding better. The orders were to succeed at all costs and death followed a mistake remorselessly. We may then affirm that the airplane mobilized invention, intelligence, and daring: imagination and cold reason. It is the same spirit that built the Parthenon.

Let us look at things from the point of view of architecture, but in the state of mind of the inventor of airplanes.

The lesson of the airplane is not primarily in the forms it has created, and above all we must learn to see in an airplane not a bird or a dragonfly, but a machine for flying; the lesson of the airplane lies in the logic which governed the enunciation of the problem and which led to its successful realization. When a problem is properly stated, in our epoch, it inevitably finds its solution.

Le Corbusier reasoned the work of engineers (whether associated with the design of airplanes, ocean liners, automobiles, or other products of the Machine Age) was a more suitable design paradigm for architects to follow, as opposed to approaches primarily founded upon stylistic considerations; however, it is for more than “cold reason” alone that we find the Parthenon or certain airplanes beautiful. Aesthetics are a factor, bringing into play sentiments of subjective judgment and taste. Le Corbusier may have openly regarded such sentiments in 1927 as outdated and irrational but he would later become famous for designing some of the most enigmatic and emotive works of architecture to be found anywhere.  

So beyond utility and performance, what makes a particular airplane beautiful? Aesthetics is most definitely a factor. Regardless of how well it may fulfill its functional brief, our judgment of a plane’s beauty relies heavily upon the non-utilitarian pleasure it provides, in some instances more so than its history of objective performance (or lack thereof) would warrant. Robert Goyer, Editor-in-Chief for Flying Magazine, may have said it best: “Beauty in an airplane comes from a symmetry of components, a coherent identity, and a compelling presence.”

Many aviation enthusiasts have created lists of the planes they consider most beautiful (examples: https://newatlas.com/most-beautiful-airplanes/54548/ and https://www.aviationcv.com/aviation-blog/2017/top-beautiful-airplanes-all-times). Coming up with my own list was tough. While several of my favorites regularly appear on others’ “most beautiful” rolls, some of my selections betray a preference for idiosyncratic and less-than-classically gorgeous models. All of my selections are ones I have seen in person, either as static displays or in flight. Unfortunately, I cannot claim to have actually flown in any of them.

In no particular order, here is this architect’s list of the ten most beautiful airplanes to have ever flown:

Supermarine Spitfire - Photo by Bryan Fury75 at French Wikipedia. [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)]

Supermarine Spitfire

The Spitfire is famous not only for its role in helping win the Battle of Britain during World War II but also for its good looks, featuring its distinctive elliptically shaped wings. The smooth lines and elegant curves of the wings are central to our perception of the Spitfire’s beauty. It’s telling that its clipped-wing variants are hardly considered beautiful at all, but rather mutilated and ill-proportioned.

Douglas DC-3 - Photo by Towpilot [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)]

Douglas DC-3

Beyond its principal role in revolutionizing the air transport business during the late 1930s and later serving with distinction as a military transport, the Douglas DC-3 is admired for how pleasant its proportions are, a perfectly formed expression of an all-metal, modern airliner. I particularly like the appearance of examples of the DC-3 without paint, in gleaming, polished aluminum.

North American P-51 Mustang - Photo by Arpingstone [Public domain] 

North American P-51 Mustang

To me, the P-51 Mustang is the definitive U.S. Army Air Force fighter aircraft of the Second World War. It’s hard to define, but there’s something characteristically American about its appearance. For its time, it just looked advanced: the rounded, clear bubble canopy; the sharp geometry of its wings and tail; its forceful stance. Its superior performance certainly added to the Mustang’s deserved reputation.

Lockheed Super Constellation - Photo by Mike Lehmann [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)]

Lockheed Super Constellation

Commercial air travel in the years following World War II was glamorous. The beauty of the Lockheed Constellation aptly suited those halcyon years. Instantly recognizable, the “Connie” was famous for its sensuously curved and streamlined fuselage and triple-tailed design. During its time before the advent of the jet age, it was the embodiment of fast, futuristic, and exciting travel. My parents flew aboard a Constellation to and from their 1957 honeymoon in Hawaii.

Piaggio Aero Avanti - Photo by Tibboh at French Wikipedia [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)]

Piaggio Aero Avanti

The Piaggio P.180 Avanti is to Italian aviation what the sexiest Alfa Romeo, Ferrari, Lamborghini, and Maserati models are to Italian sports cars. Even today, more than three decades after its genesis, the Avanti’s unusual twin-pusher engine and canard configuration appears futuristic. Like its beautiful motorcar cousins, the turboprop-powered Avanti’s performance is phenomenal, rivaling that of many small business jets.

de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver (my photo)

de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver

This is one selection some of you might find odd, given its prosaic bearing, but I find the DHC-2 Beaver beautiful for reasons beyond appearance alone. The sight of Beavers taking off and landing in Burrard Inlet was commonplace during my years growing up in Vancouver, B.C. The sound of their Pratt & Whitney Wasp Jr. radial engines was unmistakable.

Interestingly, I don’t find the later turboprop-powered versions of the Beaver attractive at all, especially the Mk 3 model with its angular vertical stabilizer and tailplane. The original Beavers, with their stubby nose and curved control surfaces, are simply perfect. It was, and is, the quintessential bush plane, designed for flight in rugged and remote areas of the world.

Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird (my photo)

Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird

I think the SR-71 Blackbird looks like the otherworldly airplane Darth Vader would fly if he did not live a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Like Vader, it’s sinisterly clad in black. Its imposing size, combination of angular and smoothly curved geometries, and air of mystery make it menacingly beautiful. The Blackbird’s spectacular ability to cruise at more than Mach 3 and service height of 85,000 feet are unmatched to this day, an astonishing 55 years since its first flight.

Beechcraft Model 17 Staggerwing - Photo by Ahunt [Public domain]

Beechcraft Model 17 Staggerwing

There’s just something about many of the planes designed during the years of the Great Depression that is undeniably classy and sophisticated. The aerodynamic design of some of the most interesting influenced the Streamline Moderne variation of the Art Deco style. In turn, airplane designers incorporated aspects of the Streamline Moderne aesthetic to enhance the impression of efficiency, dynamism, and speed. Many consider the rakish Beechcraft Model 17--a textbook example of vintage Art Deco aircraft design--to be the epitome of aviation beauty,

de Havilland Comet - Photo by Tony Hisgett from Birmingham, UK [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)]

de Havilland Comet

The Comet was the world’s first commercial jetliner. Despite its troubled history (which included several tragic accidents), the Comet is beloved for its sleek appearance, attributable in no small part to the incorporation of its four turbojet engines within the wing roots (as opposed to being mounted in pods).

Ironically, the Royal Air Force ordered a specialized maritime patrol variant of the Comet (the Hawker Siddeley Nimrod) that was notable for its ungainly protuberances and the consequent clumsiness of its proportions, as ugly as the Comet was beautiful.

Concorde - Photo by Eduard Marmet [CC BY-SA 3.0 GFDL 1.2]

Aerospatiale/BAC Concorde

With its ogival delta-wing, streamlined fuselage, and needle-nosed profile, the supersonic Concorde is instantly recognizable. Yes, it was wildly expensive to design and build, costly to operate (and thus accessible to only the wealthiest travelers), and noisy (limiting where it could actually operate), but it is undeniably beautiful. I saw one fly overhead one day and was awestruck by its alien appearance.

Concorde does raise the question of whether a plane’s beauty should be considered irrespective of its shortcomings. Framing it in architectural terms, is a building truly beautiful if it fails to perform as expected? Looks aside, should we honor designs that are dysfunctional, unsupportive, or unsympathetic to their inhabitants and surroundings? The answer to these questions is clearly “no.”

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What do you think? Do you agree with my selections? Do you have your own favorite airplanes and if so, why are they your favorites? One of the great things about being architects is that we enjoy a heightened appreciation for beautiful things, whether they’re buildings or other marvels of design and engineering, such as aircraft.

(1)   In addition to the Evergreen Museum, I’ve visited the following (I know I’m forgetting others)

• Canadian Museum of Flight, Langley, BC 
• Alaska Aviation Heritage Museum, Anchorage, AK
• Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex, Merritt Island, FL
• Pacific Aviation Museum, Pearl Harbor, HI
• Intrepid Sea-Air-Space Museum, New York, NY 
• Oregon Air and Space Museum, Eugene 
• Tillamook Air Museum, Tillamook 
• Museum of Flight, Seattle, WA 
• National Air and Space Museum, Washington, D.C.

(2)   The museum has struggled financially, and lamentably did sell off key pieces of its collection to help pay bills, including the Vought F4U Corsair, P-51 Mustang, B-17G Flying Fortress, B-25 Mitchell, Messerschimitt Bf 109G, and Supermarine Spitfire Mk XVI. https://www.oregonlive.com/business/2018/09/air_museum_landlord_crashes_to.html

Jeweled Clasps in a Wonderful String of Pearls

Driving north over the Yaquina Bay Bridge (all photos by me unless otherwise noted)

My wife Lynne and I traveled to the Oregon coast last weekend to escape the sinus-swelling and eye-itching allergy hell that is the Willamette Valley during late spring. We headed directly west from Eugene to Florence, where our first order of business was lunch at Mo’s Seafood and Chowder. From Florence, we followed U.S. Highway 101 northward through Yachats, Waldport, and Seal Rock on our way to Newport, before arcing inland for our return leg to Eugene. The weather was picture-perfect, with breathtaking vistas to match. 

We’re fortunate to have the Oregon coast so close by to enjoy, and yet it feels so much like a world away. The motoring along this stretch of Highway 101 is easy and relaxed, perfect for taking in the scenery. The route is punctuated by charming coastal communities and—in sometimes spectacular fashion—by a series of historic bridges, the majority of which we can credit to the brilliance of one man, Conde B. McCullough. 

Conde McCullough (1887-1946) arrived in Oregon in 1916 to teach engineering at Oregon Agricultural College (now Oregon State University). He was among a new breed of college-educated engineers and a pioneer of the movement to create a well-planned American highway system. He would go on to serve as State Bridge Engineer for the Oregon State Highway Department. In this capacity, McCullough and his staff designed hundreds of bridges throughout the state, but perhaps none more famous than a series of Highway 101 spans constructed during the years of the Great Depression by the Oregon Coast Highway Commission and the federal Public Works Administration. 

In 1932, Highway 101 had yet to be entirely connected. Five channels in the southern half of the state—Coos Bay, the Umpqua River, the Siuslaw River, Alsea Bay, and Yaquina Bay—could only be crossed using ferry services. By 1936, new bridges crossed all five waterways, and it was finally possible to drive the entire 360+ miles of the Oregon coast, from border to border. The five multi-span bridges range in length from 1,643 to 5,339 feet. Each utilizes arch forms of reinforced concrete or combinations of steel and concrete, demonstrating engineering principles drawn by McCullough from European precedents that he pioneered in America. In recognition of their historical significance, the National Park Service added the four surviving bridges to the National Register of Historic Places on August 5, 2005 (the Oregon Department of Transportation replaced the Alsea Bay Bridge in 1991). 

The building of the Oregon Coast bridges in the 1930s did more than open the door to modern transportation. The program left a unique artistic legacy on the Oregon coast. McCullough was as much an architect as he was an engineer. Given the times, he favored the then-popular streamlined Art Deco style, but his designs also bore traces of Gothic, Egyptian, and Tudor motifs. The sometimes-hybridized aesthetic is nonetheless always cohesive, but also varied in response to the unique engineering and functional demands of each crossing. 

McCullough’s bridges complement their estuarine landscapes. It’s apt to describe them as graceful, flowing structures that heighten our appreciation of their settings. His genius was the ability to successfully combine function, form, and grace in the art of bridge design. Their characteristic arches would become a McCullough signature. Today, they’re so central to the identities of the towns with which they’re most closely associated that they often serve as community avatars. Considered together, the bridges are a set piece, closely related by commonalities of location, provenance, vintage, and style; McCullough himself described them as “jeweled clasps in a wonderful string of pearls.” 

During the course of our Highway 101 sojourn, Lynne and I visited McCullough’s Siuslaw River Bridge and the Yaquina Bay Bridge, and also the current Alsea Bay Bridge, which replaced a McCullough original. 

Siuslaw River Bridge

Siuslaw River Bridge 

Because our initial stop was Florence, we first encountered the Siuslaw River Bridge. If not the most imposing, it may be the most interesting of McCullough’s coastal bridges. Its center span is a 140-foot wide double-leaf bascule (drawbridge) providing 110 feet of horizontal clearance for boat traffic. Two 154-foot reinforced concrete arches flank the bascule section, and four Art Deco-style obelisks house mechanical equipment and the living quarters for the bridge operator. The bridge’s total length is 1,643 feet. Its cost upon completion in 1936 was $532,000, equivalent to $10 million in today’s dollars. 

ODOT recently completed a 3½ year project to refurbish the Siuslaw River Bridge. The work included cathodic protection of the bridge’s steel components, replacement of the replacement of the guardrails, and the addition of seismic restraints to improve its resilience. 

Model of the original Alsea Bay Bridge designed by Conde B. McCullough. A piece of the original concrete guardrail is behind the model.

Alsea Bay Bridge

The next bridge on our trip was the Alsea Bay Bridge in Waldport, but as mentioned above the current structure is a replacement for Conde McCullough’s original 1936 design. The original bridge was 3,011 long and featured a central trio of tied-arch concrete spans flanked by series of below-deck thrust arches. Presumably because of its particularly hostile environment, McCullough’s Alsea Bay Bridge suffered greater corrosion to its concrete-reinforcing steel than his other coastal bridges. ODOT decided in the mid-eighties to replace it with a new span comprised of a latex concrete deck considerably thicker than normal to thwart corrosion. The new bridge features bold Y-shaped piers and a towering steel center arch, preserving the memory of the multiple arches of McCullough’s design. 

Historic Alsea Bay Bridge Interpretive Center

As part of the new bridge project, ODOT constructed an interpretive center, located at its south end. Lynne and I enjoyed the center’s informative exhibits, which vividly preserve the history of the original bridge by Conde McCullough. 

Yaquina Bay Bridge

Yaquina Bay Bridge 

The Yaquina Bay Bridge spans Yaquina Bay south of Newport. It superseded the last of the ferry crossings along Highway 101. The bridge’s total length is 3,223 feet. The center through-arch is the longest-spanning component at 600 feet in length; it rises to an impressive 246 feet above sea level at its crown and is marked by tall, obelisk-like concrete finials. McCullough utilized steel for the main arch and the flanking 350-foot deck arches; the remainder of the bridge involves concrete deck arches or deck-girders. According to Wikipedia, timber pilings driven to a depth of 70 feet support the bridge’s piers. 

Apparently, McCullough intended pedestals to accommodate sculptures of seals, but these were never executed. Pedestrian plazas affording views of the bridge were incorporated; I took the photo above from one of the terraced plazas at the north end. 

The cost to construct the Yaquina Bay Bridge was $1,301,106; in today’s dollars that sum would be $24 million (which sounds like an incredible bargain to me; understandably, labor costs were low during the Great Depression). 

As with the Siuslaw River Bridge and the original Alsea Bay Bridge, McCullough applied an Art Deco theme to the Yaquina Bay Bridge. Regardless, each of these (and also the Umpqua River Bridge in Reedsport and the Conde B. McCullough Memorial Bridge in North Bend, both of which I’ve driven across numerous other times) are distinctive in their own right. Inarguably, McCullough demonstrated a mastery of the Art Deco style, infusing each of his bridges with an abundance of character in the service of engineering. 

Conde B. McCullough (photo credit: Oregon Department of Transportation [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)]) 

I’m not certain, but I sense Oregon may be uniquely privileged to enjoy such a concentration of remarkable bridges, all dating to a specific period. That they were the products of an ambitious public works initiative to put thousands to work when they needed it most is certainly noteworthy. Their unmistakable artistry—so characteristic of that time in history—is a tribute to Conde McCullough’s vision and talent. Go see these amazing structures on Oregon's coast if you haven’t already done so. They stand as a testament to when major public works projects strove to be more than merely functional. We owe a debt of gratitude to Conde McCullough—an engineer with the heart of an artist—for the considerable legacy he bequeathed to everyone who has ever visited or will visit the amazing Oregon Coast. 

The Elements of Style

Many consider The Elements of Style—originally composed by William Strunk Jr. in 1918 and subsequently enlarged and modernized by his student E.B. White in 1959—to be a definitive text on English grammar and composition. It prescriptively conveys elementary principles of composition within a remarkably trim volume.(1) Strunk’s aim was to cultivate good writing by addressing the virtues of cleanliness, accuracy, and brevity in the use of English. Since its publication, the much-loved “little book” has fulfilled that goal and reminded countless writers—including me—of the importance of every written word and how to make each understandable by means of lucid, concise prose. 

The essential principles enumerated by The Elements of Style—such as working from a suitable design and using definite, specific, and concrete words—have proven applicable to more than writing alone. My professor at the University of Oregon, William {“Bill”) Kleinsasser, recognized how felicitous its approach to style, matters of form, and principles of composition are to the creation of architecture. Though they required translation from their literary framework, Bill liberally featured excerpts from The Elements of Style in his self-published textbook Synthesis to emphasize how appropriate organizational structure for built-places is derived—like good writing—from fundamental areas of concern. 

For example, achieving parts and wholes that are clear, or creating both diversity and unity so that people might say all components in a place have their own identity. Or providing a variety of parts that are nonetheless mutually dependent and form a recognizably single whole. As with well-written letters or essays, the most important parts of built places are tied fundamentally to their organizational structure. 

Strunk and White likewise inspired Bill and his thinking about the making of evocative, memorable, eloquent, and alive places. Just as writers employ words to poetic effect, architects strive to achieve more than merely utilitarian solutions to design problems. William Strunk would have undoubtedly agreed with Bill’s assertion that vitality, complexity, vivid parts and wholes, and multiplicity of experiences—whether associated with architecture or writing—are best achieved via expressive, yet economic means. 

The following are selections from The Elements of Style that Bill cited with regularity while outlining his theory base for architecture: 

“The first principle of composition . . . is to foresee or determine the shape of what is to come, and pursue that shape . . . (All) forms of composition have skeletons to which the (composer) will bring the flesh and blood. The more clearly he perceives the shape, the better are his chances of success.” 

"Before beginning to compose something, gauge the nature and extent of the enterprise and work from a suitable design. Design informs even the simplest structure, whether of brick and steel or of prose. You raise a pup tent from one sort of vision, a cathedral from another . . . Columbus didn’t just sail, he sailed west, and the new world took shape from this simple and, we now think, sensible design.” 

“Use definite, specific, concrete language.” 

“Prefer the specific to the general, the definite to the vague, the concrete to the abstract.” 

“If those who have studied the art of writing are in accord on any one point, it is on this: the surest way to arouse and hold the attention of the reader is by being specific, definite, and concrete. The greatest writers—Dante, Homer, Shakespeare—are effective largely because they deal in and report the details that matter. Their words call up pictures 

“It is not that every detail is given—that would be impossible, as well as to no purpose—but that all the significant details are given, and with such accuracy and vigor that the reader, in imagination, can project himself into the scene. 

“In his Philosophy of Style, Herbert Spencer gives two sentences to illustrate how the vague and general can be turned into the vivid and particular: 

• In proportion as the manners, customs, and amusements of a nation are cruel and barbarous, the regulations of their penal code will be severe. 
• In proportion as men delight in battles, bullfights, and combats of gladiators, will they punish by hanging, burning, and the rack.” 

“To show what happens when strong writing is deprived of its vigor, George Orwell once took a passage from the Bible and drained it of its blood. (First), below, is Orwell’s translation; (following), the verse from Ecclesiastes: 

• Objective consideration of contemporary phenomena compels the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must inevitably be taken into account. 
• I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nether yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.” 

“Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell. 

“A common way to fall into wordiness is to present a single complex idea, step by step, in a series of sentences that might to advantage be combined into one. For example: 

• Macbeth was very ambitious. This led him to wish to become king of Scotland. The witches told him that this wish of his would come true. The king of Scotland at this time was Duncan. Encouraged by his wife, Macbeth murdered Duncan. He was thus enabled to succeed Duncan as king. (51 words) 
• Encouraged by his wife, Macbeth achieved his ambition and realized the prediction of the witches by murdering Duncan and becoming king of Scotland in his place. (26 words)” 

“Young writers often suppose that style is a garnish for the meat of prose, a sauce by which a dull dish is made palatable. Style has no such separate entity; it is nondetachable, unfilterable. The beginner should approach style warily, realizing that it is himself he is approaching, no other; and he should begin by turning resolutely away from all devices that are popularly believed to indicate style—all mannerisms, tricks, adornments.” 

“The approach to style is by way of plainness, simplicity, orderliness, sincerity.” 

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It’s easy to see why Bill looked to the work of Strunk and White. He knew how influential The Elements of Style was and found within the book affirmation of truths he considered universally applicable. It was Bill’s genius to introduce his architecture students to lessons from disparate and seemingly unrelated points of view. 

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I looked for my copy of The Elements of Style after deciding it should be the topic for this blog post, but could not find it. It’s got to be here somewhere. If it doesn't turn up, I’ll probably acquire one of the newer editions, perhaps the much-expanded Elements of Style 2017 or The Elements of Style [Illustrated]. Or maybe I’ll simply opt for the fourth edition of the original classic.

       (1)     The original edition of The Elements of Style comprised only forty-three pages. The later, expanded versions by White totaled slightly more than one hundred pages.