Sculpture and Architecture

Shortest Distance – sculpture by Cris Bruch (my photo)

 

Disclaimer: This has been a busy weekend for me, and I haven’t had the time to write a particularly thoughtful blog post, let alone a piece with any pretense of academic rigor on a topic that clearly demands it. So, consider the following as merely an off-the-cuff musing on a topic fraught with much more substance than I’m prepared to engage: the proper relationship between sculpture and the architecture it is meant to enhance. 

It is Cris Bruch’s sculpture Shortest Distance, which sits in front of the Wayne Lyman Morse United States Courthouse here in Eugene, that got me thinking. Bruch described his work as follows: 

“An interest in turbulence and flow prompted the initial concept for this sculpture. Friction and stress cause eddies, vortexes, counter-movements, and reversals of direction—an apt metaphor for how human institutions, such as the courts, develop in a democracy. Though progress may appear to have occurred in a straight line, this sculpture reminds us that the path is not always so direct.” 

Fair enough. Considered though against the backdrop of the Morphosis-designed courthouse—like the sculpture, itself shaped from brushed stainless steel—Shortest Distance resembles nothing if not a giant coiled shaving, an industrial byproduct of the courthouse’s manufacture. At least that’s where my mind goes first whenever I view it. In this respect, I don’t find it to be a particularly successful piece of art. I don’t immediately recognize Bruch’s metaphoric intent. And viewed through a lens focused upon form and composition, the sculpture’s relationship to light and the space around it, its materiality, and its scale and geometry are much too akin to the architecture of the courthouse. Most fundamentally, the artwork and the building do not enhance my appreciation for either. No meaning is evoked by their juxtaposition. Shortest Distance is an ineffective foil for the courthouse, and vice-versa. 

I do believe the design of the courthouse is much more successful in conveying meaning through its manifestly sculptural form than Shortest Distance is. I wasn’t immediately a fan of the building upon its completion in 2006. Since then, I’ve come to appreciate what Thom Mayne was able to achieve while employing Morphosis’ signature vocabulary of dynamic, edgy forms. The building does reflect his and his client’s (former U.S. District Judge Michael Hogan) contemporary understanding of law as fluid, interpretive, open-ended and responsive, while maintaining visceral and emotional connections to the symbols that clearly differentiate an institution of justice from any other. 

Would an entirely different sculpture be successful in ways I believe Shortest Distance is not? Perhaps, but what characteristics would it possess? 

A few pairings of modern sculpture and architecture immediately come to mind. The first is the setting of Georg Kolbe’s Alba (“Dawn”) in the small pond framed by the Barcelona Pavilion, designed by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Lili Reich. Another is Flamingo, created by Alexander Calder and located in the plaza in front of the Kluczynski Federal Building, coincidentally also designed by Mies. And finally, there is Henry Moore’s monumental bronze Knife Edge Mirror Two that stands like a sentinel next to the entrance of the I. M. Pei’s East Building of the National Gallery. In all three instances, the sculptures serve as counterpoints to the buildings they accompany. Through form, scale, color, and materials, these sculptures contrast with and enliven the space around and between them and the architecture. In the case of Calder's Flamingo and Moore's Knife Edge Mirror Two, historical accounts testify to the dialogue between the sculptors and the architects in the creation of intentionally unified compositions. 

Barcelona Pavilion; sculpture entitled "Alba" is at back (photo by Alexandru Ene [CC BY-SA 3.0 es (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/es/deed.en)]) 

The power of Kolbe’s Alba derives from its figurative expression. The statue contrasts curves of the female form with the rectilinear purity of the pavilion. The water in the pond and the building’s marble and glass ethereally reflect, refract, and repeat views of the sculpture. The effect is synergistic and timeless. 

Like Alba, the success of both Flamingo and Knife Edge Mirror Two is derived from the high degree of contrast with the structures they enfront. Though large and abstract in expression—the two sculptures' organic shapes appear animate and help us gauge the scale of the buildings. 

"Flamingo" by Alexander Calder, in front of the Federal Building in Chicago.

"Knife Edge Mirror Two" bronze by Henry Moore, at the entrance to the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art [https://www.nga.gov/collection/art-object-page.56664.html]

I firmly believe artwork meant to enrich a sense of place must be thought of as early as possible during a building’s design process. Merely assembling a collection of disparate, unrelated pieces of art and then attempting to identify the most suitable locations within which to display them assures a mediocre outcome. I contend Shortest Distance is a textbook example of “plop art,” a piece that is poorly integrated with the architecture it is intended to enhance. 

Many throughout history have regarded architecture to be the “mother of all arts” because master builders significantly employed the contributions of painters, sculptors, and decorative artists in their projects. These contributions enhanced architecture through the use of imagery, color, pattern, texture, and symbolism. Contemporary buildings can provide a supportive and sympathetic framework for the incorporation of visual art such as sculpture, even while adhering to tenets that may eschew direct ornamentation.