They Don't Make 'Em Like That Anymore

"They don't make 'em like that anymore" is one of those phrases that one hears quite a bit in our topsy-turvey maelstrom of Postmodern America. Sometimes it refers to a sturdily crafted toaster or to a car with enough steel to emerge from the Battle of Britain unscathed, but oftentimes the phrase is whispered at buildings that catch one's eye for their beauty and fine craftsmanship that seem inimitable in our current societal situation. The phrase provokes a symphony of questions: when did our craftsmanship stop? why don't we care about classical notions of beauty anymore? is this even economical these days? Why, indeed, don't they make 'em like that anymore?

The full answer involves a long, tedious slog through the history of modern architecture whose chief and original goal was to destroy ornament and create "machines for living." For brevity's sake I will simply say that architects of the day such as Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Le Corbusier, and their fellow Modernist windbags sought (whether they knew it or not) to de-humanize architecture. The result litters America's cities to this day. The city hall of my hometown of Grand Rapids is a chief example of this "progress": a noble Gothic Revival edifice (pictured at left) was torn down to make room for two black glass boxes. Tragedies like that happened nationwide during the decades after the Second World War leaving us with dry, lifeless shells of structure that care nothing for their physical or human surroundings.

So, when we see buildings from an earlier time, buildings that involved the dedication and effort of the community and the skilled labor of artisans, we are rightly awed. Awed, and perhaps - like me - a bit disgusted at what we have sacrificed on the altar of progress. 

My goal, as a future architect, is to make 'em like they used to. People deserve better buildings; our survival as a culture demands them. 

An Errant Political Thought

Considering the recent juvenile production of Barack Obama and the Congressional Flying Circus that we as a country have been subjected to recently, I - unwisely - staggered once again into the realm of political thinking. It seems to me, in watching these plodding arguments about the debt (followed by the commentary ad nauseum from every conceivable media voice), that the chief trouble is re-election. How can both parties spin this near catastrophic disaster as a win for both of them? How can Obama make this a plus during the next campaign? How can Republicans make it look like the Democrats all wore hula skirts to the debt talks? Ok, I admit, that last one probably is not on the mind of many, but could nonetheless be achieved with a bit of Photoshop craftiness.

Point here is this: politicians are so damn concerned about getting re-elected that they forget their primary job, namely, governing. My solution to rid ourselves of this madness is to lengthen terms and set term limits to one. Everybody would get a decent shot at their office and wouldn't need to focus any of their midst-of-term energies on getting themselves reelected. Problem solved. Now somebody grab me the Constitution and a thick Sharpie.

Bibliotheque Nationale de France

Libraries, like churches, are unique among structures in that they contain our collective culture. Churches, of course, are houses for our sacred culture, passed on through the centuries. Libraries, on the other hand, are houses for our secular culture, the accumulated knowledge of a civilization on display for all to see. The chief difference, of course, is that the sacred culture relies on a living thing - the liturgy, to occur within the church. The library is a mute observer to individual edification. That said, I wish to draw your attention to the splendid main reading room of the Bibliotheque Nationale de France (National Library of France) located in Paris. The building was designed by two different architects, Henri Labrouste and Jean-Louis Pascal. I am, however, unsure as to which was responsible for this portion of the building. The architecture is still rooted in classical ideas about proportion and form, but the thin steel columns and arches demonstrate the innovation made possible by the Industrial Revolution.

Up North

I have spoken before about the wonderful Michigan tradition of heading "up north" in reference both to my family and to the general restorative feeling that walking in the woods has on a person. This past weekend some friends and I stayed at one of my friend's cottage on White Lake (a large lake near the western shore of Lake Michigan). This was the second time that I have stayed at a cottage that was not connected to my family in some way. However, with the experiences I have had all over "up north" it seems that the need to get back to nature can be accommodated in many diverse instances.

Up north is roughly defined in Michigan geography as the vast northern swath of the state above the cities of Grand Rapids, Lansing, and Flint (generally speaking). This region is the true heart of "Pure Michigan", the states ubiquitous tourism motto. Sure the cities of the southern half of the peninsula have some charms (I dare to include Detroit), but it is in the mild wilderness of the north that the true Michigan experience can be found.

Of course, the point of this post is that "up north" is not confined by geography, but merely accommodated by it. Going up north is so much more the journey to a state of mind. Up north is universally a place where gadgets are abandoned (no doubt helped in part by the lack of reliable cell phone service) and time slows down to a more human pace. Each family that makes journeys to their own special part of up north has certain traditions and activities that make the experience one of happy familial bonding. In my own family, we often simply spend time sitting on the boat in the middle of the lake, while at night the predetermined entertainment is often a good tournament of euchre (jokingly referred to as my family's primary religious affiliation). Interspersed are campfires, grandpa's stories, rides in the golf cart, and just being childlike in the woods.

There is something to be said of times like these; they help restore the soul. They help us live more deeply. When we strip away the day-to-day and throw out the ipods, ipads, and computers, and spend a few days in the company of friends, enveloped by nature, we emerge refreshed - and quite happier. Indeed, as I stated before, the location is not the key. The cottage we stayed at last weekend was small, humble, and uncluttered, yet it was the site of some of the best times I've had all summer. Heck, just sitting on the sun porch reading before dinner was ready was a nice moment.

So I guess this is part philosophy, part travel literature, but my point is that our lives are moving more quickly and we are losing real contact with both man and nature. Taking a trip up north, whether physically or just simplifying life for awhile, can have profound benefits and provide many happy memories for years to come.

Otto, a mortal, sinful man

You may not have heard, but on the Fourth of July, as we were celebrating our independence from monarchy, the last heir of one of the great monarchies of Europe passed away. Otto von Habsburg, the last Crown Prince of Austria-Hungary died July 4th at the ripe old age of 98. His life was marked with all of the turbulence of the Twentieth Century's major events, from the deposition of his family from the Austrian throne to the Second World War to the birth of the European Union. A tireless campaigner for recognition of the God-given dignity of each human being, Otto von Habsburg continued his family's legacy of using the monarchy as a way to work on behalf of his people. You can read a full obituary of this great man here. 

One of the most moving parts of the entire gamut of funeral events was the traditional knocking at the door of the Kapuzinerkirche in Vienna where the Imperial Crypt is located. The text of the dialog is reprinted below.

The herold taps three time on the gate with his rod. 

Capuchin friar: "Who begs entrance?"

Herold: "Otto of Austria, once Crown Prince of Autria-Hungary, Prince Royal of Hungary and Bohemia, of Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia, Lodomeria and Illyria; Grand Duke of Tuscany and Cracow, Duke of Lorraine, Salzburg, Styria, Carinthia, Carniola and Bucovina; Grand Prince of Transylvania, Margrave of Moravia; Duke of Upper and Lower Silesia, Modena, Piacenza and Guastalla, of Auschwitz, Zator, Teschen, Friuli, Ragusa and Zara; Princely Count of Habsburg and Tyrol, Kyburg, Görz and Gradisca; Prince of Trent and Brixen; Margrave of Upper and Lower Lusatia and in Istria; Count of Hohenems, Feldkirch, Bregenz and Sonnenberg, etc.; Lord of Triest, Cattaro and in the Windic march; Grand Voivode of the Voivodeship of Serbia; etc. etc."

Capuchin friar: "We know him not."

The herold knocks again.

Capuchin friar: "Who begs entrance?"

Herold: "Dr. Otto von Habsburg, President and Honorary President of the Paneuropean Union, Member and Father of the House of the European Parliament, honorary doctor of numerous universities and honorary citizen of many municiplaities in central Europe, member of venerable Academies and Institutes, bearer of high and highest state and Church decorations, orders and honours, which were granted to him in recognition of his decade-long struggle for the freedom of peoples, for what is right and just."

Capuchin friar: "We know him not."

The herold knocks for the third time.

Capuchin friar: "Who begs entrance?"

Herold: "Otto, a mortal, sinful man."

This small ceremony epitomizes the virtues of Christian monarchy. The monarch's soul, in the end, must be commended to God in the same way as that of the poorest peasants of the empire - my great-great grandfather's for instance. Otto von Habsburg, despite his positions of authority and honor, is at his core a mortal and sinful man, as are we all. Video of the ceremony, the last ever (since Otto was the last born into the monarchy) is shown below.

Acadia in the Fog

Well folks, we have returned to the delightful chore of updating this blog after a nearly two-week absence. As I mentioned in my previous post, I was on a road trip to the east of North America with my family and my good friend from Germany. It was a fantastic opportunity to see many interesting and exciting locations in both the United States and Canada. Instead of boring you with the minutiae of our day-to-day experiences, I thought I'd post a series of photo blogs showcasing some of my favorite locations/moments/things that happened on the trip.

First is a series of shots from Acadia National Park, which is located on one of the stony, peninsular fingers of eastern Maine. Given its proximity to the ocean, the park is often shrouded in a gentle fog, which dampens the sights and sounds of the wilderness. Thought of another way, the fog makes the landscapes more subtle, and in some cases, more eerie than they might otherwise be in full sunlight. Here follows a sampling of fog in Acadia.

Jordan Pond

Cliffs near our campsite

Tall ship in Bar Harbor

Fog on the hiking trail to Bubble Rock