Arts and Letters

I met Lajko, as we all called Marcel Breuer, in 1942 when I entered Harvard as a graduate student. I brought with me, like many students of that time, a rather narrow definition of modern architecture. More than anyone else, Lajko helped to clear up many of our misconceptions. For example, he quoted Sullivan, "Form follows function." Then he added with emphasis, "But not always." He also said, "While modern communications tend to break down isolation, regional differences will remain. Climate, material resources, social structure, cultural traditions, are some of the differences." In that sense, he liberated us from the straightjacket of the so-called International Style and gave us the freedom to explore—but always with self-discipline. Students were naturally attracted to him. I remember vividly the many parties we attended at his house in Lincoln. It has not much more than 1,000 square feet, but he juxtaposed the levels in such a skillful way that it gives a sense of space in motion—one space is connected to the next and to the next, and finally to the infinite space outside. All of this was accomplished with a rare economy of materials and means which no architect has achieved since Wright. I cannot pass this house without mentioning Lajko's Victory Garden. He designed it with a pole in the center and a string attached to it. Instead of the customary rectangular field, his was a circular one. He planted the tall corn on the north side of the circle and then stepped down according to the heights of the plant. While his corn and tomatoes tasted no different from vegetables in other Victory Gardens, his related so well to the small house and land that I considered it to be an aesthetic triumph.

In 1946 Lajko left for New York and I accepted a teaching position at Harvard. Somehow the school did not feel the same after he left. At that time, modern architecture, as we knew it, was under attack, not from the Academy, but from within by the Bay Region School. A symposium was held at MOMA in 1948 with the title, "What is Happening to Modern Architecture?" In retrospect, Lajko's was the one clear voice in a befuddled field of experts. First, he was against the term "International Style" as it meant "mechanical and impersonal rigorism." He said with typical Breuer humor, "For instance, Sullivan did not eat his functionalism as hot as he cooked it, and Le Corbusier did not build his machine for living." That ended the Bay Region challenge.

In 1951 I received the Wheelwright Fellowship and finally had the opportunity to make architectural history come alive for myself. Examples of modern architecture were not on my list. The exceptions, however, were the Villa Savoie by Le Corbusier and the Harnishmacher House by Breuer. They were built within one or two years of each other, and I believe Lajko was not yet thirty years old. It was about the same time that I became aware of Breuer's contribution to the design of modern furniture. Chronologically, it was interesting to note that he designed the first tubular chair in 1925. Mies followed with his Weissenhof chair in 1927 and Le Corbusier exhibited his group of tubular furniture at the Salon d'Automne in 1929.

In the 1950s some of us were beginning to recognize the inherent limitation of the steel frame, and beginning to explore the plastic possibilities of reinforced concrete. Breuer was the first American architect to experiment with its use in creating new forms and spaces. UNESCO's folded plane truss and the St. John's Abbey's Bell Banner and tree column showed that it is possible to design "sculpture with a function" with reinforced concrete. This experimentation culminated in IBM-France at La Gaude. Here he pioneered prefabricated concrete wall panels that possessed both structural and mechanical capabilities. He believed that a building with fewer independent details would fit more easily in the city design than a building of infinite individuality. I suspect in his later years he continued to search for an architectural language in concrete just as Mies had sought one in glass and steel.

In the decade of the '60s my wife and I had the great pleasure of sailing the Aegean Sea with Lajko and Connie. I remember well our many delightful conversations. One of his favorite quotes was from Lao-Tzu, the philosopher: "Though clay may be molded into a vase, the essence of the vase is in the emptiness within." To him that sums up the essence of architecture. For him, architecture involves all our senses—it is not only a visual aesthetic, it is a total physical experience. I remember him saying that the true significance of architecture is beyond form, beyond function—it must enter into the realm of the spirit. I would like to end by quoting his eloquent definition of the art of architecture.

Colors which you can hear with ears; Sound to see with eyes;
The void you touch with your elbows;
The taste of space on your tongue;
And fragrance of dimensions; The juice of stone*

*Reprinted from Marcel Breuer 1921-1961, published by Frederick A. Praeger, New York.