860-880 Lake Shore Drive Apartments (1951)

Photos by Nick Rossi

860-880 Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois. Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, architect. Private, residential apartments. Project started in 1948 and completed in 1951. At the onset Mies was 61 and had been living in Chicago for just around 10 years. Individual unit redecoration aside, the buildings remain remarkably intact and stand as testaments to the man's art and genius.

Recommended reading:
1950 Sales Brochure (PDF)
1987 article about living inside the building
The Mies van der Rohe Society page about the buildings
Official Website

San Francisco (1957)

Market Street, October 1957, photographer unknown

This 1957 photo is just one of many wonderful found images that will be on display today through Tuesday, January 6, 2015 at Glass Key Photo, 442 Haight Street, San Francisco. The owners are avid collectors of vintage slides and this exhibit just represents the tip of their proverbial iceberg. They were kind enough to engage me to partner in this year's selection of the images under my Vintage San Francisco guise. There is also a book available of all of the images (and more) available here via Blurb.

What sets this exhibit apart? Well San Francisco Found is about exactly that, found images shot by amateurs with varying degrees of interest and skill. At times one feels like they are a voyeur, sneaking glimpses of other people's lives. At other times, it is as if you have stumbled upon a long lost Lee Friedlander or Weegee photo. 

If you are in San Francisco this evening. Please join us for the opening. 

New York City (2014)

 All images, copyright 2014 by Nick Rossi

Fonts of Rome (2014)

All images, copyright 2014 by Nick Rossi

There is simply so much to love about the city of Rome. And while many are intoxicated by the smells, the sounds, or the taste of the food, what struck me most on my recent visit was the abundance of wonderful design in everyday things - beauty in a great sense of the word. Certainly, other cities have a more unified design (Berlin?) and still others may appeal to me more from a modernist aesthetic (New York?), but the even more eternal than before city of Rome continues to blatantly disregard style guidelines with such careless aplomb that should be appreciated and applauded.

Traveler's note: I HIGHLY recommend the travel guide Rome: Moods and Places published by Herb Lester Associates. Not only was it a daily part of my finding beauty in everyday objects thanks to designer Nate Luetkenhans, but it was authored by author, blogger, and friend JP Gaul who has a very unique insight to the city of Rome. 

Nicholas Ray (1932)

A full two decades before film director Nicholas Ray was in his celluloid ascent - reaching a peak with 1955's Rebel Without a Cause - and long before Jean-Luc Godard declared that Ray indeed was cinema, the latter-day legend was just embarking on an artistic journey that eventually would lead him to the modern medium of film. This journey had some unlikely twists and turns, not the least of which was a year spent as an apprentice to famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright.

James Dean and Nicholas Ray, Los Angeles, California, 1955

Ray, later known as Nick to most of his West Coast friends and acquaintances, was born on August 7, 1911 in Galesville, Wisconsin with the given name of Raymond Nicholas Kienzle. 3 months earlier in Spring Green, 100 miles southwest of Ray's birthplace, the maestro Frank Lloyd Wright began work on his own personal residence and workplace. This came to be known as Taliesin, a Welsh word which in rough translation means shining brow and refers to Wright placing the structure on the top or brow of a hill. Wright was in transition, having recently returned from nearly a year in Europe which had marked the end of what was later called his Prairie Period.

Frank Lloyd Wright, 1930, around the time he first met Ray, photo by Price Studios

As a youth, Ray was an uneven student seemingly distracted by the big city delights of Chicago, where he spent much of his formative years. He returned to Wisconsin for his senior year in high school and showed a strong affinity for and ability in public speaking, English, and drama. Two years in a state college was followed by a tumultuous semester at the University of Chicago in the fall of 1931, after which he left for New York City to study theater. However the connections made in Chicago precipitated Ray joining the inaugural fellowship of Frank Lloyd Wright at Taliesin in 1932, some time after the two crossed paths again during an event at Columbia University.

Design Sketch, Capital Journal Building, Salem, Oregon by Frank Lloyd Wright, 1931-1932

Contrary to many claims and by his own account, Ray spent a year under Wright's tutelage. The concept of the Fellowship was that Wright felt only by living and working with apprentices around the clock could the understand his concepts and ideas. As a social experiment, it was quite interesting. Members of the Fellowship not only actively executed ideas on Taliesin itself (the buildings there in a state of constant change), but worked as draughtsmen, farmhands, and domestics on the property. Living was for the most part communal. One suspects that the strict rigors of life at Taliesin did not sit well with the restless Ray, but many have commented that a political rift between Wright, a strong believer in the power of democracy, and his more radical-leaning protege was the cause of the latter's return to New York, which would eventually lead him to Hollywood and the world of film-making.

Nicholas Ray, Hollywood, c.1945

However, the year spent with Frank Lloyd Wright would prove to have a tremendous impact on the artistic eye of Nicholas Ray. 34 years after his death, Ray's widow Susan stressed the importance of the period in an interview, citing the nature of the Fellowship as shaping Ray's ideal work methods, as well as the very idea that architecture (and film in Ray's) provided a framework for the arts. Ray himself professed that his love of what he called the vertical line was due to his time with Wright and attributed his fondness for Cinescope to an extension of that love.

Storyboard, Rebel Without a Cause, Nicholas Ray, 1955

An interesting footnote: the 2003 DVD release of Ray's masterful In a Lonely Place, made for Humphrey Bogart's Santana Productions, features a short film extra in which director Curtis Hanson sings Ray's praises and calls out some of the architectural elements in the film - citing the Frank Lloyd Wright period. Hanson, of course, directed 1997's L.A. Confidential a neo-noir film based on James Ellroy's novel. One of the buildings prominently featured in the film is the Lovell House designed around 1927 by Richard Neutra. Neutra had only recently moved the United States and one of his first employers before moving to California was Frank Lloyd Wright. The Lovell House is just 2 miles down the hill from the Griffith Park Observatory which is perhaps the most well-know location used in Ray's Rebel Without a Cause.

The MIT Chapel (1955)

The MIT Chapel, design by Eero Saarinen 1953-1956, photo by editor 2013

When one speaks of mid-century modern, I suppose one could not get any more mid than the year 1950. And it was in that year that the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), engaged Finnish-Amerian architect and industrial designer Eero Saarinen to design a chapel and auditorium on the grounds its campus located in Cambridge just across the Charles River from Boston. The Boston area is rarely thought of as a haven for modernism in the design sense: it is a North American city with deep and significant historical roots stretching back long before the American Revolution and much of the urban renewal that brought about New Boston occurred long-after the modernist ideal had been supplanted by later notions. But MIT was progressive in this sense, the legacy of which can still be seen  on its campus today.

Eero Saarinen, 1950

Saarinen at mid-century had a string of notable achievements and was a known quantity within the design community. His collaboration with Charles Eames resulted in recognition by the MOMA in New York City as well as their participation in the Case Study House program in California (Number 9 to be exact). Eero had spent a good portion of the 1940s working in his father's architecture firm but after the death of the elder Saarinen in July of 1950, the younger launched a shop of his own. At just 85 years old in that same year, MIT was something of a young university - particular compared to its many esteemed and much longer in the tooth neighbors. In some ways, it lacked the traditions that a school such as Harvard had by that time, which may account for it's more forward-thinking artistic engagements.

Interior, The MIT Chapel, photo by editor 2013

The Saarinen MIT commission spanned a period of approximately 6 years. After his selection by the university, Eero shifted his focus on a similar commission for Brandeis University in neighboring Waltham. The Saarinen chapel at Brandeis was eventually scrapped by the planning board as they could not come to an agreement on some of the basic details with the architect. Their loss was certainly MIT's gain, as Eero infused his next project with many of the more interesting and innovation design ideas that he had proposed for the larger structure at Brandeis. He also drew upon his travels in the mid-1930s through the ancient world, particularly Greece and specifically Sparta, which directly influenced his skylight design. Construction began in 1953 and was for the most part completed by 1955, although the roof sculpture was not added until the following year.

Podium sculpture, Harry Bertoia, The MIT Chapel, photo by editor 2013

The resulting building remains as stunning today as I expect it was on it's dedication day. Saarinen created a haven: a place of remarkable peace and tranquility. The brick, wood, and marble evokes the  pre-Christian world refashioned into something modern yet timeless. His use of light - both natural and artificial - is masterful.  The final touches are both contributions from other artists. Harry Bertoia, who like Eames had first met Eero at Cranbrook University, provided the metal sculpture which descends from the ceiling to the base of the podium/altar. Other writers have focused on the speculative literal meaning of the piece, but it is simply a beautiful accent that deflects the incoming light in a hundred different direction. Interpret it as you wish. Theodore Roszak designed the abstract bell tower or spire which was added to the building in 1956.

The MIT Chapel is a singular structure: devoid of any denomination, yet vibrantly spiritual and a shrine to solace. I would expect - if not hope - that its chairs have been full these past couple of weeks. 

New York City (2013)

The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum by Frank Lloyd Wright (1959)

821 Sixth Avenue

Fifth Avenue Building Street Clock

Rudy's Barbershop, 29th Street at Broadway

The Empire State Building

White Forms by Franz Kline, 1955, MOMA

Oyster Bar, Seventh Avenue and 54th Street

Alvin Lustig for JBL (1950)

Alvin Lustig, 1949

In a previous weblog entry, I quoted Charles Eames in saying "Eventually, everything connects." The concept is a favorite of mine and if you are a regular reader here, you will have seen that I often have been able to weave my various interests into the some sort of over-arching narrative. Today's entry is no exception, but designer Alvin Lustig makes such pursuits easy. Over the course of his brief 40 years on this planet, he was involved with books, magazines, interiors, architecture, furniture, industrial design, and company branding/identity. Born in Denver, Colorado he spent much of his early career in Los Angeles (with the exception of a brief spell as a student of Frank Lloyd Wright at Taliesin) before moving to New York City at age 29 to work as the Director of Visual Research for Look magazine, then in its ascension. A year later he began teaching. By the end of 1946 he returned to Los Angeles and opened up his own studio where he tried to eek out a living until he was forced to move back to New York in 1951. As a result of diabetes, Lustig lost his sight in 1954 and he died a year later due to complications around that disease.

Jim Lansing Signature Speakers brochure by Alvin Lustig, 1950 (front)

One of Lustig's clients during his second tenure in Los Angeles was the fledgling James B. Lansing Sound. The story of legendary amplified sound pioneer James Bullough Lansing (born James Martini, making him a suspected Italian-American. Cough.) is rather complicated, but in short he began to manufacture loudspeaker in LA in 1927 as the Lansing Manufacturing Company. After his business partner was killed in a plan crash, Lansing's company floundered was was purchased by Altec in 1941. Lansing was contracted with the company through 1946, but parted ways before that contract expired. James B. Lansing Sound, Inc. was founded in 1946, although Lansing again struggled to keep the company afloat and took his own life on his ranch in San Marcos, California just north of San Diego in the Autumn of 1949. Control of the company reverted to Vice President Bill Thomas who was able to parlay the company's sound innovations into a successful business. The company changed it's brand name to JBL in 1955 to settle its ongoing disputes with Altec Lansing. Fast forward fifty-seven years later and the name JBL is known the world-over.

Jim Lansing Model 375 label detail, early-1950s

As part of this chaotic transition, Thomas and James Lansing Sound, Inc. engaged Lustig to assist them with re-branding their company. Unfortunately, there is very little documented information about when Lustig was contracted for the work, but one may assume that it may very well have happened after Lansing's death. Similarly, little is known about the depth of his engagement and how much it increased in scope after his association. What is known, is that by mid-1950 Lustig had overhauled the company's brand identity. That year's brochure was a beautiful example of postwar California modernist graphic design and is a unique item in Lustig's portfolio. It also introduced a logo hallmark (the "Jim Lansing" sans serif font contrasted with the "L" script) that would grace most of Lansing's speakers through the 1955. 

Jim Lansing D-175 speaker driver decal detail, early-1950s

Jim Lansing by Ampex logo variation, early-1950s

In additional to the graphic design work, Lustig's scope of services included design consulting with their speaker enclosures, namely the C34 through C39 series. Again, details are illusive in terms of his exact contributions and the Internet is teeming with vintage-JBL enthusiasts who are more than happy to share their knowledge and educated guesses. But after taking one look at the speaker enclosures from this time period, it is easy to speculate about Lustig's input.

JBL C39 Harlan speaker enclosure, 1956

Lustig's association with the soon-to-be-JBL was obviously brief. The company introduced very little to  it's branding until the mid-1950s transition and Lustig's move to New York, followed by his death meant that there was little future for the partnership. What he did do is very successfully transition the branding of the company to something very cutting-edge and modern: a graphic representation of the products the company was becoming known for. By mid-decade, JBL was being mentioned in Life magazine and the rest, as it's been said, is history.

Jim Lansing Signature Speakers brochure by Alvin Lustig, 1950 (rear)

Fender Telecaster (1951)

2011 Fender 1951 reissue "Nocaster", made in Corona, California 

To say much has been written about the Fender Telecaster, would indeed be an understatement. Officially introduced in 1951 by Leo Fender's then small Los Angeles County-based musical instrument operation, it arguably the most-popular electric guitar ever, transcending genres and generations. There are plenty of excellent online resources from a musician's and guitar geek's perspective, including a message forum dedicated entirely to the guitar. But what interests me most from the perspective of this weblog is the Fender Telecaster as an icon of modern California design.

2011 LACMA Exhibit Book, available here

A few weeks ago, I caught the tail-end of the LACMA's California Design, 1930-1965 "Living in a Modern Way". It was an excellent exhibit that did a great job of not only presenting the classics, but also making a good case for the zeitgeist modern California design. For example, just a few feet from an amazing recreation of the living room of Charles and Ray Eames was a pair of surfboards designed by Hobart "Hobie" Alter and Greg Noll. This sparked an interesting conversation between my brother and I about the validity of presenting two disparate design pieces that socially, if not culturally, may or may not have little to do with one another. It also successfully got my brain thinking more about how cultural trends did influence various industries. And this, in turn, got me to thinking a bit more about Leo Fender's Telecaster.

Eames living room re-creation (left), Hobie and Noll surfboards (right), LACMA, 2012

While conspicuously absent in the LACMA exhibit, the first commercially successful solid-body electric Spanish or standard (as opposed to Hawaiian or lap steel) guitar meets much of the criteria of California modernism. It can trace it's design heritage back to 1948 with the first prototype being produced in 1949. Leo Fender had a small operation at the time based in Santa Ana, California (40 miles West of the Eames home in the Pacific Palisades and the Coast). The big band era was in its last few bars and small combos were becoming the new economic reality in modern jazz, rhythm and blues, and western swing music. As the standard guitar gained became more prevalent as a front-line instrument (not just a part of the rhythm section), so the need arose for a cost-effective amplified instrument. Leo was keenly aware of this. 

 Leo Fender, early-1950s

Fender's axiom was that this new guitar had to be cost-effective to both make and sell. It also had to be simple and easy to service. Furthermore it needed to address the musical concerns of being easy to play as a lead instrument and able to be amplified at loud volumes without causing the loud, offensive sound known as "feedback" - that howling sound everyone panics about that you've heard come from the PA system at street fairs. You know the sound.

1951 advertising insert

What follows next is a textbook example of "form follows function", the modern design principle introduced by Louis Sullivan at the end of the 19th Century. The guitar Fender created addressed all of those needs remarkably well and was soon available commercially for $189 (approximately $1,500 in today's dollars). This was an affordable, versatile tool that reflected the times and has since proven to be timeless. From a strict design perspective the Telecaster sits comfortably alongside the wooden Eames Lounge Chair (1946) and molded plastic Side Chair (1948), as well as the surfboard designs mentioned earlier. One could almost believe that they all came from the same design firm. Well, almost. Fender was being self-consciously modern to some extent. He did desire to break from the traditional guitar shape, again very much following the functional needs of the burgeoning lead guitarist. Early advertising was very much aware of this and, in fact, used the term "modern" freely.

Heywood-Wakefield M308 Side Table(s), c.1950

Lines and shapes aside, the color and finish was meant to emulate contemporary "blonde" furniture, still a relatively new trend in the early-1950s. More than any other single firm, this was popularized by Massachusetts-based Heywood-Wakefield starting with their mid-1930s "Modern Series", itself influenced heavily by European (primarily French) Deco designs and styles. The look was particularly popular in affluent Southern California and did reflect some degree of the aspiration of the time. Long-before collectors started talking about butterscotch finishes, Fender Telecasters were blondes. 

1952 magazine advertisement

After a rocky start which saw 2 name changes, some minor legal squabbles, and a bit of tweaking; the Fender Telecaster as we pretty much know it today was available for purchase in local music stores in 1951. Fender was smart in that he got it the hands of everyone from Jimmy Bryant to Les Paul to Barney Kessel. Not only did it become tremendously popular with the working-class western swing and country bands playing throughout the State, but with the rise of rock & roll, it became standard Hollywood studio issue. By the end of the decade it was everywhere, from TV (NBC's legendary Peter Gunn theme featuring Bob Bain) to radio (James Burton on nearly every Ricky Nelson hit from 1958 onwards to name just one player) and beyond.

Barney Kessel, Fender Telecaster, c.1958

Was Leo Fender a modernist? Of course, although I doubt very highly he thought of himself as such or even would care about being mentioned in the same breath as Charles Eames. As proud of his achievements as he was over the years, I am sure he thought of himself as a pragmatist first and foremost. But for our discussion's sake, he was a modern man, to be sure.

Postscript - Although Fender sold the company a long time ago, you can still buy a brand new made in California Fender Telecaster today which has truly changed very little in the past 61 years.