Can something be both overexposed and unseen? After years of black and white images of Louis Sullivan’s buildings being demolished or in the midst of eradication, we tend to think of him and his works as lost relics of the Gilded Age. But Louis Sullivan: An American Architect, shows the ones that yet exist and, in their artistry, still "live." The master architect’s remaining structures are all here, from new angles and positions, inside as well as outside, and in living color. Magic remains in these happy few, and writer Patrick F. Cannon and photographer James Caulfield are here to show it.
Sullivan’s is a classic American success story, followed by an equally classic, inglorious fall. The man was a creative fireball, constructing glorious edifices while contributing to a new American architecture that kicked traditionalism to the curb. Simultaneously, Sullivan typified the struggles and self-induced failures of a difficult genius who wouldn’t bow to clients’ more pedestrian requests. In time the fireball fizzled, and the man who built structures of rich beauty and mentored the likes of Frank Lloyd Wright was reduced to smaller and smaller commissions which he nonetheless bedazzled with his brilliance. He died, broke and alone. in 1924. When urban renewal took hold in mid-20th century Chicago, many of Sullivan’s works were obliterated—shattered, scattered, and left to burn.
Sullivan had a posthumous guardian angel in photographer and preservationist, Richard Nickel. Nickel devoted much of his short life to photographing and collecting ornamentation from Sullivan’s demolished buildings before losing his life in one. Nickel is likely the biggest name in Sulllivaniana, and most people are familiar with the architect through his somewhat grim and apocalyptic snapshots of Sullivan’s buildings before they disappeared forever. Nickel’s efforts and martyrdom led to more interest in preserving Chicago’s architectural heritage—for a few decades anyway—and God bless him for doing the work. However, his vision tends to dominate how we see the architect’s oeruvre today. Not a “bad” thing, though I suspect many can only imagine Sullivan’s buildings being deconstructed—slowly vivisected in monochrome, ornamentation surgically removed in bits and pieces, staring through steel ribcages formed by girders and beams—because of these.
Shockingly, a handful of Sullivan structures remain. Those that survived and were cared for illustrate Sullivan’s skill and inspiration better than any chilly photograph or fragment could. Trouble is, with the exception of the 21 surviving Sullivan structures within Chicago’s borders, they’re both few and very, very far between, requiring hours of driving to view. But even when one makes the pilgrimage, architectural appreciate is a limited experience. Not all buildings are open to the public, and unless you call ahead and say pretty please (mentioning you’re a writer on a road trip helps) you’re often restricted to outside views.
Thankfully, for those who can’t make the trek or sweet talk their way into Sullivan’s buildings, Cannon and Caulfield have created this bright and handsome book. Louis Sullivan shows off the best sides of Sullivan’s remaining work—in all their restored glory—through splendid photography and excellent write-ups. Cannon and Caulfield avoid the baseball card approach of humdrum straight-on or opposite corner views of the buildings followed by batches of stats. Cannon’s descriptions and history are brief but rich; Caulfield’s photographs up close, personal, and generally stunning. Cannon’s abbreviated Sullivan biography in the introduction is a terrific primer for beginners. Also, again, while Nickel’s black and white photos are perfect works of art, Caulfield lets us see the artistry of Sullivan’s work, with all the rich, vibrant color our ancestors would have experienced.
Alas, while a sizable book, Louis Sullivan: An American Architect is a smaller package than Nickel and SIskind’s monumental The Complete Architecture of Adler & Sullivan. However, it makes the most of its 288 pages, especially when it comes to all-too-rare interior views of the buildings. Some are simple yet stately—Adler and Sullivan’s few remaining residences. Other are sumptuous. Masterpieces like Chicago’s Auditorium, New York’s Bayard–Condict Building, and Buffalo’s Guaranty Building & Interpretive Center are given a few extra pages to show off their lobbies, skylights, fixtures, staircases, and more, all showing off Sullivan's ingenuity and craft. Caulfield is especially good at showing how absolutely madcap Sullivan and his draftsmen could be with ornamentation, creating organic and orgiastic polyphonies of color and design. Some photos are so detailed, you may find yourself attempting to zoom in with your thumb and forefinger.
What’s more, while private homes are hard enough to legally enter, Sullivan’s three tombs are nigh-impossible to see from the inside. These may be the only glimpses you’ll glean of the inner sanctums of the Wainwright Tomb in St. Louis and the Getty and Ryerson tombs in Chicago’s Graceland Cemetery. As yet, the current residents aren’t offering tours.
Louis Sullivan: An American Architect is a lovely collection of photographs and a grand addition to any library, whether you’re an ardent architecture buff or simply love coffee table books that present feasts for the eyes. Either/or, it’s a fresh reminder of why Sullivan was important, as well as the work that survived him and a decades of ignoramuses with wrecking balls.
Louis Sullivan: An American Architect is available at bookstores and through the University of Minnesota Press website.
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