Saturday, June 8, 2013

Inspiration - Hugh Ferriss



About a hundred years ago the Beaux Art movement was at its height. Practically all architects were either trained or influenced by the process and style of the French school. Typically, designs were presented in plan, elevation and section, drawn in ink with watercolor rendering of shade and shadow. These drawings were at best austerely impressive, but at worst dull and repetitive. 

About a hundred years ago the Beaux Art conventions were being revised and stretched, questioned and ignored. One of the architects trained in the Beaux Art tradition, but willing to try something entirely new was Hugh Ferriss. Born in St. Louis in 1889, Ferriss became an architect as the first era of skyscrapers was coming of age. Louis Sullivan’s Auditorium Building (considered the first tall building which developed its aesthetic from its height) was opened the year that Ferriss was born. 1913 saw the completion of the Woolworth Building, in New York City, by Cass Gilbert, the architect whose office Ferriss joined in 1912.
Ferriss’s genius lay in delineating architecture, and he became the first freelance architectural renderer in 1915. His early renderings present an extreme contrast to the conventional Beaux Art elevation, being perspective views rendered in strong but loose black and white, using pencil, pen and charcoal.


His Wanamaker's Bridge from 1917 (above) shows his ability to create a strong graphic composition while giving a sense of depth using the simplest methods.


Mist, Union Square, taken from The Architectural Review magazine of 1918 shows his penchant for drama, even at the price of limited detail. The Beaux Art authorities would have been appalled at the fuzziness, but it fit right into the artistic sensibilities of the time. 


His Interior, House of the Forest of Lebanon presages the approach he preferred during the rest of his career: dramatic, focused, powerful and emotional.


By his mid-thirties Ferriss was extremely busy with large projects; he was well regarded by architects, and internationally famous. His ability to mesh architecture and art gave him a unique place in the building industry.


His work space in midtown Manhattan (above) seems more an artist’s studio than an architect’s office. The size of the renderings are a curious hold-over from the Beaux Art tradition, but the strongly abstract quality of them is completely in line with the artistic bent of the time.

The above images show the stages of a typical rendering by Ferriss (from Drafting Room Practice by Eugene Clute, 1928). The first stage is a detailed layout of the Bush House in London (at the end of the street), and a rough layout of the streetscape and the foreground traffic. The second image shows a general defining of the forms by establishing values throughout. The third image shows the final rendering with the various tonal areas detailed. The rendering was produced with carbon pencil on a fairly smooth drawing board. As you can see he drew and erased as needed to get the needed effect. Beaux Art rendering was a matter of adding transparent watercolor layers over each other, which is a totally different process when compared to Ferriss’s technique.


This pencil sketch of Madison Square Garden was produced before the building’s demolition in 1925, but includes all of the major aspects of a typical Ferriss rendering over the next 25 years. Most notable are the use of value to establish foreground and background, and the transition of a “light on dark” building base, to a “dark on light” contrast at the towers top.


Although Ferriss’s renderings appear to be rough and impressionistic, you can see from the detailed layout above that he started from a realistic and precise beginning. The rendering is a view of the Philosophy Tower in his imaginary “Metropolis of Tomorrow” project produced in 1929.

Another image from the “Metropolis” project is the Business Center which suggests in its façade treatment Rockefeller Center, which was built over the next ten years.


Above is another series of drawings showing the stages of a Ferriss rendering which appeared in the Encyclopedia Britannica. In this example he limits the layout to the general forms, and works up the tonal composition before completing the image with more detail. This approach resembles the gouache opaque renderings that became popular in the 50’s, in that it was largely additive, and had to work out additional detail as the work progressed.


The series of images above are Ferriss’s iconic development of the physical possibilities of the 1922 zoning laws for New York City. The top image shows the building mass following the exact letter of the law with a vertical street wall rising to a point and then sloping off at a specific angle. The second stage shows notching of the building mass so as to admit natural light into the building. The third stage reduces the angles to terraced setbacks which conform to normal construction and usable interior spaces. The last image at the bottom eliminates the unusable volumes and simplifies the multiple setbacks into more conventionally buildable forms.


Another theoretical drawing is “The Four Stages” which imagines that the four “stages” presented in the previous “zoning law series” are seen in a single view. The early forms using the “letter of the Law” approach are seen in the distance, while the nearest building illustrates the final, realistic forms. Even in this “technical” composite Ferriss elicites a sense of drama and depth.

Concurrent with all these theoretical projects, Ferriss was producing paid renderings for prominent projects. One rendering that I have always loved is the Convocation Tower designed by Goodhue in 1924. The rendering focuses on both the base street scene and the top pinnacle, while letting the mid section dissolve into the background. This is both reflective of the design itself, and creates a sense of mystery; a recognition that we are dealing with a concrete object, and a thing that inspires awe. 


This image of the Chicago Tribune Tower, by Howells & Hood was produced as the building was being constructed, and was not the competition rendering of 1922. It uses a dark foreground mass to give depth, and suggests a bright street lighting that almost eliminates the perception of details at the base of the building.


The Los Angeles City Hall, by Parkinson, Austin & Martin is a beautiful sculptural landmark even 85 years after its completion. Ferriss’s rendering gives it a setting more in tune with his New York sensibilities: dark and dramatic. Still, it is one of Ferriss’s more interesting compositions.

The Chanin Building by Sloan&Robertson (1929) is a straightforward skyscraper modeled after the 1922 zoning laws. Ferriss’s rendering seems scattered, but does emphasize the complex of setbacks in an abstract way. In a way it is true to its date of execution, being an overdramatic example of the “roaring 20’s”, which came to a halt in that same year.


Ferriss did relatively few aerial perspectives. This one is for the “Metropolis of Tomorrow” project, and shows the relationship of the “centers” which he envisioned. Note his use (even at this scale) of the shadowed foreground to give depth.


The Chicago Board of Trade building by Holabird & Root (1930) is closer to a framed elevation than a perspective, due to the limited viewpoints in downtown Chicago. It works in spite of the strict symmetry.

William Van Alen’s Chrysler Building has been an iconic skyscraper for over 80 years. Ferriss’s rendering from 1930, stretches credulity to the limit by making the base white (in spite of the light direction), allowing the top to read (correctly) as a near silhouette against the rising sun.


The Bank of the Manhattan Company Building is one of many towers that have defined the style of downtown Manhattan for decades. This rendering uses all the old tricks to highlight the drama and scale of the building. It is worthwhile to compare the very similar view and building type rendered by John Wenrich at about the same time.


The Master Building (above) is one of the few Ferriss renderings that create his signature contrast switching without resort to artificial lighting or curious sky conditions. The peaceful night snowfall provides all the contrast needed for the dark base and the brighter top to gently make themselves known.

Ferriss’s technique and sensibilities seem to work best with monumental stone or concrete forms. So it is unsurprising that his rendering of the Hoover Dam is dramatic and abstract, in its depiction of the unusual geometry. If an alien race were to build in large, bold, opaque volumes, Ferriss would be able to capture the essence of those strange beings and their works.


In 1946 the neoclassical Metropolitan Museum of Art (originally built in 1880) was renovated. Although Ferriss revolted from such Beaux Art fashions, he captures the grand, heroic atmosphere of large scale construction perfectly in his sketch.


Ferriss worked best with large scale exterior projects. The Daily News Building Lobby is one of the few successful interiors he created. The success is largely due to the unusual and dramatic design that Raymond Hood brought to the space. The light coming from below the globe is tailor-made for his sense of visual emotion.


With the dominance of the Bauhaus’s modern style of architecture, Ferriss began to meet a built reality that was not congenial to his technique. The reflective surfaces of the Eastern Airlines Building (1939) simply do not have the necessary crispness when reproduced with the soft pencil and charcoal favored by Ferriss.


This rendering of the Lever House (1952), is about as close as Ferriss got to his iconic night drama renderings of the 20’s and 30’s. It does the job, but the dissolved forms and spindly structure do not seem substantial enough to support the emotions of his usual work. This illustrates a truth that I recognized years ago; that one rendering technique cannot encompass all types of architecture. Some buildings are best rendered in pencil or watercolor, while others demand the high contrast and deep values of a digital rendering.


Although a thoroughly modern design, the proposal for the Permanent World Capitol at Flushing Meadow Park NYC provided Ferriss with the masses of masonry that he preferred to record. Indeed, I consider this to be one of his most successful renderings.


Ferriss is certainly not forgotten. The highest prize in architectural rendering is the Hugh Ferriss Memorial Prize given out each year. This year, the American Society of Architectural Perspectivists used Ferriss’s rendering of the Pacific Telephone & Telegraph Co Building as a competition invitation. It is not his best work, but it certainly illustrates his giant influence on the graphic representation of architecture.


The published work used in this post:


Monday, May 13, 2013

Art Machines 2



I ran across this article in the Wall Street Journal a couple weeks ago, but didn’t have the time to post and comment. It essentially notes that Van Gogh (as well as Degas) used “perspective frames” more than was previously suspected.  “There are references to the frames in van Gogh’s letters, says Ms. Vellekoop, but until now researchers thought he ‘only had one.’ Now, she says, we know he had several in different sizes. New infrared examinations revealed that he actually traced the outlines of the threaded frame right onto the canvas, fixing a sense of order early on, and giving a hidden rigor to paintings that are admired for their wild expressiveness.”
It all makes one wonder if other artists took advantage of “perspective frames”, or similar tools. It also makes me wonder why such technical information is missing from all the art history books I had available to me most of my life (1960 to 2000)?

There are a couple websites that cover van Gogh’s techniques. First there is Van Gogh's Studio Practice.

An excerpt from a letter from van Gogh to his brother Theo:
My dear Theo,
In my last letter you’ll have found a little scratch of that perspective frame. I’ve just come back from the blacksmith, who has put iron spikes on the legs and iron corners on the frame.
It consists of two long legs:
The frame is fixed to them by means of strong wooden pegs either horizontally or vertically.
The result is that on the beach or in a meadow or a field you have a view as if through a window. The perpendicular and horizontal lines of the frame, together with the diagonals and the cross — or otherwise a grid of squares — provide a clear guide to some of the principal features, so that one can make a drawing with a firm hand, setting out the broad outlines and proportions.1 Assuming, that is, that one has a feeling for perspective and an understanding of why and how perspective appears to change the direction of lines and the size of masses and planes. Without that, the frame is little or no help, and makes your head spin when you look through it.
I expect you can imagine how delightful it is to train this view-finder on the sea, on the green fields — or in the winter on snow-covered land or in the autumn on the fantastic network of thin and thick trunks and branches, or on a stormy sky.  
With CONSIDERABLE practice and with lengthy practice, it enables one to draw at lightning speed and, once the lines are fixed, to paint at lightning speed.
It’s in fact especially good for painting, because a brush must be used for sky, ground, sea. Or, rather, to render them through drawing alone, it’s necessary to know and feel how to work with the brush. I also firmly believe my drawing would be strongly influenced if I were to paint for a while. I tried it back in January but that came to a halt — the reason for stopping, apart from a few other things,2 was that I was still too hesitant when drawing. Now six months have passed, devoted entirely to drawing. So now I’m beginning anew with fresh heart. The frame really has become an excellent piece of equipment — it’s a pity you still haven’t seen it. It has cost me a pretty penny, too, but I had it made so solidly that I shan’t wear it out in a hurry. On Monday I’ll start doing large charcoal drawings with it, as well as painting small studies — if those two things come off, I hope that better painted work will soon follow. 

Another website is, Van Gogh Museum Journal.
It has more information on van Gogh’s use of the perspective frame and its effect on his art …for instance, inclusion of “framing posts” in the drawing/painting itself.
Florist's garden on the Schenkweg 1882
Landscape with farm and two trees 1888

The use of the perspective frame also influenced his treatment of panaraminc views of countryside…
La Crau seen from Montmajour 1888
Landscape of Montmajour with train 1888
And just a bit of history for those interested…
Da Vinci used a “Transparent Plane” to accurately draw complex objects…
…and, Durer used a “net” to do the same thing: his etching of the technique above.

Both da Vinci or Durer were capable of drawing accurately with aids, but both were intelligent enough to know that the value of art is not in the avoidance of tools, but in the genius of the artist in creating a fresh and profound idea.


-Art Machines 1

Friday, May 10, 2013

Composition Part 10 - Star Burst



Glancing at my desk I saw this image.  Weird, I thought.




 Walking around the desk, the image rotated, but I still did not recognize anything.




Finally, with the newspaper oriented correctly I saw the familiar painting by Winslow Homer.  The Life Line is not a favorite of mine, but I have seen the painting dozens of times over the years.  Why couldn’t I recognize it?  Part of the problem was the rotation, but more important is the fact that Homer is working hard to disorient the viewer.  There is no horizon, no vanishing point, and the figures have been crumpled into a dark mass with only one face visible.  


Here, however, is a painting that I would easily recognize upside down, but on the other hand, it creates a strange abstract in black and white.


The Ecstasy of St. Paul by Nicholas Poussin does not camouflage the figures as Homer does, but the horizon and architectural elements are severely downplayed, while the heavenly “explosion” of arms, legs and angel wings is bewildering. 
The “floating” effect of both paintings and the absence of horizon and perspective make them both hard to place in the real world.  They are, in a way, the exact opposite of the usual architectural rendering, which is solidly moored to the ground, and is sensibly cognizant of perspective and gravity.  I suppose that is another way of saying that architectural renderings tend to be boring.


Other examples of the “Star Burst” composition include paintings that depict violent action. Caravaggio’s Crucifixion of Saint Peter is full of violence and action, in spite of the crisp and brilliant modeling.


The Fall of Ixion by Cornelis Corneliszoon van Haarlem is another explosive painting of violence and destruction.


Turner’s Flare in High Seas from 1840 takes a distant drama (a ship in distress), and makes it exciting by obscuring the normal reality in a composition of angles and swirls.


The subject of a Star Burst composition doesn’t have to be “sturm und drang”, but can simply be action and drama. Thalia, Muse of Comedy by Jean-Marc Nattier gives the viewer the feeling of an opening night curtain riser, complete with mystery, allure, and sensuality.


Manmade structures would seem to be unsuitable for the Star Burst composition, but, as Hoisting the Upper TGallant 1900 by J.M. Groves shows, viewpoint and perspective can go far in producing interesting patterns.


As noted above, perspective gives a natural Star Burst effect. Depending on the design and the viewpoint, a fairly straightforward architectural rendering can produce it. Briarcliff Development Grand Stair by Dick Sneary shows the subtle effect in an otherwise static view.


Aerial Perspectives will often produce a dynamic image that would be impossible at ground level. Gangwando Ski Resort by Art Zendarski exemplifies this possibility.


Interiors can be quite boring if viewed from a normal viewpoint. Looking up at in interesting ceiling, or down from a multistoried atrium can produce amazing results. Sony Center by Angelo De Castro takes such a viewpoint, but uses the addition complication of seeing the space in mirror panels which distort the reality. It is quite a tour-de-force, even if the information is obscured.


Use a Star Burst composition to express excitement and drama. Use it to focus on some feature in the rendering. Or, use it to break up a too static image. But don’t lose the reality which is the whole point of architectural illustration.





A caveat for all posts on composition.
You don’t want to produce total chaos.
You don’t want to create banal order.
You do want to entice, hint, and suggest.
You want to create mystery, even if the subject appears to be obvious.

 - Composition Part 17 - Value Studies