Modernism’s Rarities Revisited

“To the victor go the spoils,” goes the cliche. In architecture, as in other arts, it is the great minds we remember. The lesser gods who toiled in their shadows usually fade away into oblivion.

“Modernism Rediscovered” (Taschen, 575 pages, $39.99) is therefore a rare treat: a book of architectural photographs that focuses almost exclusively on the forgotten works of lesser-known architects. Drawn from the archives of Julius Shulman, the photos span five decades, from the 1930s through the 1970s, and depict nearly 300 projects. The majority of these are first-rate architecture; none were designed by the leading stars of American Modernism.

Shulman is an apt choice for revising that legacy. Over a 64-year career, the photographer, now 90 years old, has carefully documented the Modernist experience in America. And although the book includes works from cities like Phoenix and Iowa City, Iowa, its emotional center is L.A.--the city where Shulman worked and where Modernism’s unwavering faith in the future collided against American suburban values with the most force. The book’s message is simple: That collision produced more than a few celebrated landmarks; it left its mark on all aspects of American life.

It is a message that is easy to miss. The introductory essay by Pierluigi Serraino, for instance, blames our collective cultural memory lapses on the media. Architects need magazines for exposure. Magazines promote some work while ignoring others. Pictures can be manipulated to make a design look more revolutionary than it actually is.

It’s all true. But Serraino’s presumption is that architecture’s influence stems from the images it produces, not from its existence in the world. This book proves the contrary: that through their ideas, architects can question--and often alter--the landscape of everyday life.

So skip the essay. The pictures--and accompanying text--tell us everything we need to know. “Modernism Rediscovered” is arranged in roughly chronological order, each project accompanied by a short explanatory text. Most of the structures were built before the age of landmark preservation. Many were demolished. Among those are Paul Laszlo’s 1955 Residence in Beverly Hills--one of two houses the architect built for himself--whose glass block and masonry interiors give the structure a tastefully dated allure. His furniture, whose curvaceous forms have a subtle sensuality, are sought after by L.A. and New York’s suddenly design-obsessed cultural elite. The house, on the other hand, has since been savagely renovated.

Other losses seem tragically inevitable. Several photos depict Grizwold Raetze’s 1948 Perriere Residence, on Malibu Beach--an exquisite example of the clean efficiency of minimal Modernist living. But its humble scale and delicate wood frame--features that were central to the house’s beauty--could never have survived the Malibu real estate market. It is gone without a trace.

Victor Gruen Associates’ 1956 Tishman Building, built along the Miracle Mile, is shown as a shimmering example of Corporate Modernism. Sadly, its most elegant feature--the vertical aluminum louvers that gave its exterior its character--were replaced long ago by more conventional beige cladding.

But this is a book about endurance, not failure. One of the stars here is the 1950 Mutual Housing project in the Crestwood Hills section of Brentwood, a postwar co-op complex designed by A. Quincy Jones, Whitney Smith and Edgardo Contini. The homes, composed of low, horizontal planes gently set into the mountainside, sum up the quintessential postwar American contemporary lifestyle--a land of gin and tonics and Lily Pulitzer sundresses. Many have been preserved by original owners, all of whom had invested deeply in the architects’ vision. (A series of neighborhood bylaws also protect the designs to a degree.)

Other survivors include Gregory Ain’s 1939 Daniel House in Silver Lake. As shown here, the house is almost invisible from the street, while its low hipped roof conforms to draconian building codes meant to stem the construction of modern houses. Inside, however, the roof’s pitched form has an abstract, sculptural feel that has little to do with conventional building techniques.

Thornton M. Abell’s 1966 Lebrun Residence in Zuma Beach is yet another. One of the most elegant images in the book shows the house’s main facade, its two sections flanking a carport. The design’s clean lines, with the living areas hidden behind a long and sleek concrete wall, make it a perfect emblem of the Modernist quest for aesthetic purity. There is also the 1966 A. Quincy Jones Residence--a remarkable barn-like structure whose openness prefigures the loft-like settings of today. Both houses have been saved from the wrecking ball.

More recent examples of lesser-known, but equally important, works include Kahn, Kappe, Lotery’s 1976 Soltan Residence in Santa Monica, whose redwood structure and huge sheets of glass give it the aura and lightness of a treehouse.

The book, in fact, presents a paradox. Despite its claim that so much of our Modernist legacy has been forgotten, it makes a stronger case for the degree to which Modernism has permanently altered the social fabric of our cities. The structures in this book are much more than superficial expressions of a homeowner’s tastes; they sum up the intimate dreams of a generation. For many, those dreams--failed or not--still have meaningful cultural currency. As such, Shulman’s book is an optimistic lens into our own future.