XI

Ti+e I]ARVARD CRrhrsosCAIvIBRIDGE. 1IASS.. \IA1'. 1961

r'

The Harvard CrimsonVisual Arts Center Supplemeni

May, L963

CONTENTS

Visual Arts and the University: The Case forCreativity

By loseph M. Russin

A Center in Search of a ProgramBy Michael S. Gruen

The Architectural HarvardBy Russell B. Roberts

Le Corbusier: A SketchThe Concept of the Architect

Frontiers of Film Making: Visual Studies at the VACBy Paal lY, lVillianrr ................

VAC-A Photo Essay by DonaldAlbert B, Crenshaw .............

Donald F. Holway and

The Architectural Origins of the Carpenter Center

10

72

L9

C 9 sz],The Visual A,rts Center Supplement to Tbe Haraard

CzuusoN is published by The Haruard CnIusoN, 14Plympton Street, Cambridge 38, Mass. Telephones: KI7-287L-2. Joseph M. Russin '64, Presid.ent; Ronald l.Cohen '64, Bu.siness Manager;Lawrence S7. Feinberg '64,

Executiue Editor.

Eorron FoR THrs Issur: Lawrence \7. Feinberg'64

BusrNrss EorloR FoR THrs Issup:Herbert H. Denton, Jr.,'65

PnoouctroN MaNacrn: Paticta \7. McCulloch '65

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Visual Arts and the I.Jniversity:

The Case fo, CreatiuityBy Joseph M. Russin

A RECENT visitor to Harvard ob-fI sslysd that the new CarpenterCenter for the Visual Arts "looked outof place." Uncomfortably squeezed be-tween the stately Fogg Museum andthe Faculty Club, the Le Corbusierbuilding does seem to be fighting forroom and a place in the University.

The two buildings that flank theVAC clash with its architecture, butmore important, they represent insti-tutions that have long been antitheticalto the purposes of the new structure.To the traditionalists of the Fine ArtsDepartment in the Fogg, the Carpentercenter is a dangerous innovation whichencroaches on the supremacy of thestudy of art history. For some scholarsin the Faculty, creative activity is in-compatible with the academic concernsof a liberal arts college.

The VAC was not located betweenthese two antagonistic elements byaccident. It was meant to be a chal-lenge to them, and an invitation tothe University to advance beyond 19thcentury concepts of what comprisesthe liberal arts. Unfortunately, thisinvitation has been only partially and insome ways reluctantly accepled; thechallenge remains.

Soon after his appointment to thepresidency, Mr. Pusey recognized thatHarvard painfully lacked creativeactivity. Three years later an Over-seers Cornmittee chaired by John Nich-olas Brown '22, arliculated this viewand strongly urged the University toprovide both intellectual and finanqialencouragement for the creative arts.Partially as a result of this report, andof Mr. Pusey's insistence, the LoebDrama Center and the Carpenter Cen-ter were commissioned. But while

(Continued on Page 1.5)Student u,or2s on project in Arc Sci 31, Deilgn Fund.amentals.

A Center in Search of a, Program

By Michaol S, Qruen

m HE Carpenter Center for the Vis-I ual Arts offers very little noveltyil its program*only two unprece-dented new courses. Yet, in its con-cept, it is revolutionary and may wellbe revolutionary in its effect. Accord-ing to its coordinator of studies, Ed-uard F. Sekler, the center is intendedto overcome "visual illiteracy" at llatvard, to make "visual experience,visual exploration, and visual creationshare in education a relevant placervith verbal experience, investigation,and creation."

Because of its central position in theUniversity and because of its physicalimpressiveness, the Center promises tolocus considerable attention on theimportance of visual communications.But finding out how this attention willbe used-how the Visual Arts Center*'i11 operate-is about as difficult as

finding out last spring, when the Centerrvas still a hole in the ground, what itrvould look like. At that time, repre-sentatives from most College publica-tions ran through the usual gamut otAdministration and School of Designsources and, receiving no concreteinformation, gave up.

The editor of one journal, however,decided as a last hope to ask the fore-man of the work crew how the build-ing would look. The foreman justshrugged and answered, "Damned if Iknow. First time I ever built a build-ing with no plans."

Today, if one asks those involvedwith the Center what the approach ofthe Center is and what kind of courseswill be taught there, one comes awaywith a composite response which,when shorn of the verbal ornamenta-tion, virtually duplicates the foreman'sreply. The fact is that no one knowswhere the Visual Arts Center is headed.There are still no clear plans and itseems unlikely that there will be anyfor a long time.

The concentrated thought over thelast nine years on the subject of thevisual arts at Harvard has prompteda sometimes rather bitter controversyin the University. One cannot simplypoint out two sides to this disPute

since opinions cover a broad spectrum.At the extremes, thotrgh, one. findsthose who believe that Harvard is a

purely academic institution wherestudies of visual matters should extendonly to art history and the scientificinvestigation of the cognitive process,opposed by those who believe that theUniversity gains a great deal by hav-ing a number of people around whoare interested almost exclusively inartistic creation.

President Pusey opened the issueshortly after his arrival at the Univer-sity by appointing a committee headedby John Nicholas Brown '22, a formerOverseer, to study the current situationin the visual arts and recommendchanges. The committee's report, re-turned in 1956, expressed the convic-tion that although the study of visualcommunications was of the utmost im-portance, Harvard was severely de-ficient in the area.

fT went on to make some specificr proposals that must have broughtabout a severe case of shudders in anynumber of Faculty members. Its prim-ary administrative recommendationwasthat the Fine Arts Department (to becalled History of Art), the Departrnentof Design, and the Harvard theatre,should be subordinated to a Divisionof the Visual Arts. As Sidney Freed-berg, current chairman of the Fine ArtsDepartment, has expressed it, the Fac-ulty "brayed this suggestion." Thecommittee also recommended that stu-dents in the History of Art be requiredto take at least one course in the historyof design and participate in "labs"appended to History of Art courses inwhich, i la Wellesley, students wouldexperiment in various media to learnthe problems faced by artists they werestudying. Perhaps the most revolution-ary suggestion however mildly andequivocally expressed was that theUniversity might play some role inturning out an occasional professionalartist.

It is the committee's basic assump-tion, though, that bears greatest rele-vance to the Visual Arts Center as itnow stands. The goal of study in the

visual arts is appreciation, "the ulti-mate percoption of quality," the Browncommittee wrote. "To this end thereare many avenues of approach. Forsome, history of art is the way. Othersfind their solutions in the theory ofart, in the analysis of color and theformulae of design. Still others needthe practice of art, the actual manualprocess of painting and drawing, ofrnaking sculpture and of constructingmodel buildings and fashioning decorsfor the theatre.

"It is the conclusion of the committee,after hearing many points of view andgiving many hours to discussion, thatall three methods of approach arevalid, and that for most people noone method is enough."

The curriculum for next year willinclude courses that exemplify eachof these methods and combine themto various extents. In addition, it willinclude at least one course in a fourthcategory, to be called visual com-munications, which will concentrateprimarily on the visual aspects oflearning.

Only three of these methods will befollowed in the VAC itself-visualcommunications, design theory, andcreative activity. These three ap-proaches will go by the general name,visual studies, and will merge to someunascertainable extent. Dean ArthurD. Trottenberg, chairman of the Execu-tive Committee of the larger Com-mittee on the Practice of Visual Arts,(C.P.V.A.), goes so far as to say thatthe three cannot be separated.

The history of art (exclusive ofarchitecture) continues to be taughtby the Fine Arts Department which,as Freedberg emphasizes, is entirelydistinct from the Visual Arts Centerand has no direct liason with it. Thisinsistence on the separation of theFine Arts Department from the Centercan be explained by what Freedbergconsiders to be a consensus of opinionin the Fine Arts Department that"courses in practice or involving theo-retical considerations of design are notacttally necessary to the full under-standing of the history of art or indeed

PAGE 4 THE HARV.ARD CR'MSON MAY. 1963

the nature of artistic design. They maybe a help but they are not a necessity.Our attitude is that of European uni-versities, that the history of art is anintellectual discipline." The Fine ArtsDepartment, therefore, will not in anyway encourage its concentrators totake courses offerod in the VAC, butwill consider them "an option that isalways open for the student."

If Prof. Freedberg's statements ex-press the opinion of a majority of theFine Arts Departrnent, they by nomeans represent the opinion of all theDepartment's members. Three mem-bers, in fact, belong to the C.P.V.A.(Professors Coolidge, Ackerman andSlive) and one (Prof. Slive) is a mem-ber of its Executive Committee.

The Faculty will meet to approvenew courses on May 27, blut there islittle doubt that courses in drawing,graphics, f,lming, still photography, andindividual supervised studies will gothrough. In the individual studiess6g1gs-"\/ls Stud's" equivalent to tu-torial-the student might conceivablywork in anything frorn pure theory tocreative activity as much divorced fromtheory as possible without completelyeliminating the mind.

The core course will be the alreadyexisting Arch. Sci. 124, a half courseon design in the visual arts which in-cludes study of design theory, somestudy of the cognitive process as itapplies to vision, and development ofstudents' aesthetic sensitivity. Taughtby Sekler, and guest lecturers, it maybe supplemented next year by a com-plementary half course, Arch. Sci. 125.

The other existing theoretical course,Prof. I. A. Richards' Vis. Com. 105,taught for the first time this semester,places somewhat greater emphasis onvariations in perception than on aes-thetics. As Richards describes it, thecourse considers "illusion, individualdifferences in visual imagery, appre:hension and interpretation; relativelegibility and intelligibility of visualpresentations; cultural differences inconventions of representation and dec-oration, and in the articulation ofspace; str'uctural analysis of signfields;codification; the dimensions of mean-ing; visual analogues to logic, grammarand rhetoric; visual metonymy andmetaphor; symbolization and iconog-raphy; valuation; tradition; distinctivecharacters of mass media (magazine,radio, film, TV); the roles of visual

presentation in the design of instruc.tion."

In addition to the proposed work-shop courses already mentioned, theArch. Sci. Department's flve courses instudio practice (Arch. Sci. 20, 2L,30,31, and 40) will be taught from nowon in the Visual Arts Center. Thesecourses teach such things as texture,color, form, and manual dexterity,through practice and experiment.

According to Dean Trottenberg, theprogram as outlined above is only abeginning. "We aren't springing intoexistence full-blown," says Trottenberg."We expect to grow into many areas."Just where this growth will occur isanyone's guess. It may come about inthe form of links with other depart-ments.

Dean Franklin L. Ford considers it"possible" that visual studies coursesmay eventually ceunt for concentrationin Fine Arts, thus encouraging FineArts concentraton to take cours^s atthe VAC. Dean Trottenberg expressesenthusiasm about the possibility ofusing the facilities of the VAC forscenery and lighting design for theLoeb Theater.

have an obvious interest in the newventure." Mention has been madeeven of the possibility of working withtelevision channel 2, Boston's educa-tional TV station.

The growth of the VAC will un-doubtedly involve new courses and newactivities. There is no way of know-ing what future courses may form orwhether any particular approach tovisual studies may come to receivegreater emphasis. The future activi-ties that are spoken of include fairlydefinite plans foi an extensive pro-gram of exhibitions in the third floorexhibit room and strong hopes for aseries of visiting artists who might usethe flfth-floor studio. The visitingartists would normally remain at theCenter for six months to a year, andwould quite likely be permitted to ar-range courses and activities largely attheir own discretion. As envisioned byFord, the program for visiting artistsmight include artists from a widevariety of areas from painting to frlm-ing and television.

The Committee on the Practice ofthe Visual Arts has agreed that extra-curricular work should generally be

Sculptor MirAo Basad.ella, Director_ of the Design worhsbop, teaches detign courtesal lhe Center and. has a ttudio on the f.fth-leuel.

And Sekler states that, in view ofthe VAC's interest in furthering thevisual arts as a fireans of communica-tion, "the departments of anthropology,government, psychology, social rela-tions, the graduate school of educa-tion, and the centers for urban andcognitive studies may be expected to

discouraged at the Center, yet it ispossible that some supervised individ-uals and groups may work at the VAC.Several people, particularly Dean Trot-tenberg, Sekler, and Robert G. Gard-ner, Coordinator of the Light andCommunications Center, are anxiousto start a collection of historically im-

MAY, t963 THE HARV.ARD CRIMSOI' PAGE 5

portant photographs and exhibit themregularly.

Growth could conceivably evetr comein the form of the establishment of aconcentration in visual arts. Accord-ing to Dean Ford, this suggestion "hascome up but is not being pushed strong-ly." He notes, however, that it "willno doubt come up more often in thefuture."

Perhaps an ever bigger questionthan the direction in which the VACwill grow is the question of how muchthe artist, as opposed to the Persontaking creative courses for the sake ofimproving his understanding of visualexperiences, will be encouraged. Ifere,statements by people involved with theCenter have not been altogether con-sistent.

Peter D. Schultz, executive secretaryof the Center, emphasizes the intellect-ual content of the courses, which he

feels are primarily concerned with the"analysis of elements of visual orartistic experience." The program, he

says, should "teach students to learnto see rather than to become greatartists."

Sekler, on the other hand, suggests

that one aspect of the program will be"creative activity" for its own sake.In his statement on the Program ofVisual Studies, he writes: "Naturallythe same search for quality applies invisual studies that prevails in scholarlyand scientific fields throughout theUniversif. On their highest levelsthese studies may reach the domain ofart, but it seems a wise humility not toset out on a program that is restrictedto the highest possible achievementonly. Instead creative activity will beencouraged in the maniPulation offorms to an end without asPiring tothe production of works of art-though hopefully not excluding thatpossibility."

Dean Ford seems to have ratherstrong hopes that particularly talentedstudent artists will work direct$ withthe artists in residence. He also statesthat the studio courses will uot beprimarily service courses for academicfrelds, though this may be of "inciden-tal value." They will be courses forpeople "interested inthe creative arts."An indication of this policy is the factthat the man nominated for appoint-ment to teach drawing and graphics isnot just a teacher but an active artist.lt seems likely that the degree of em-phasis on creativity may depend not

so much on policy (apparently ratherflexible) as on the number of especial-ly creative students who work at theCenter dnd on how much time theycan spend at their art.

Clarity of purpose is obviously notone of the centers fuallmarks. Somedegree of uncertainty in a new pro-gram of such broad scope as the VisualArts Center is, of course, inevitable.But that this uncertainty might growinto complete aimlessness represents adanger which, hopefully, the C.P.V.A.will carefully guard against.

The building itself was designed toaccomodate the uncertain intentions as

to how it would be used. In fact, saYs

Sekler, "the program for the Visual

Arts Center rests partly on the inspira-tion aroused by the building. Le Cor-busier's commission was to create aninspirational building." The Universitymade very few precise requirements.Among them were that studio space beflexible so that it could be used forother purposes or partioned off intosmaUer areas, that there be a minimumof offices in order, as Sekler says, toavoid the atmosphere of a 'obureau-cratic hydrocephalus," and that therebe a multipurpose large lecture halladjoining the light and communicationsarea.

Other facilities that have been in-cluded in the Center include, in addi-tion to three large studios for architect-ural courses, a room on the secondfloor containing kilns, molds,,etc., forexperimental use, and half of the fourthfloor whose use has not been desig-nated.

In designing tle building, a majoreffort was made both to bring studentsfrom various courses within the build-ing into contact with each other, and todraw people from other parts of theUniversity into contact with the actir.i-ty of the VAC.

To those ends, Corbusier made thebuilding singularly inviting from tleoutside by establishing a close inter-relationship between inside and out:the ramp, for example, arrives at thetop of a platform which seems to beinside but is actually unenclosed; theoutdoor patio on the ground level gives

the impression of being enclosed; andthe bay windows give those inside aclose connection with the outside. Healso created alarge lobby and patio onthe ground level with benches u-herepeople can .1eet.

Whatever its architectural adr.aD-tages, the building unquestionably alsohas several drawbacks. The fact thatthe University was unwilling to spend$ 10,000 or so for heating coilsunderneath the ramp, makes the rampuseless for some four months of wintereach year. The colors on many of thebrise-soleil, however attractive, mod$'the light in several areas of the studiosmaking working in color extremel-vdifficult. And, for those who find thebuilding intriguing in such respects as

its constanfly changing appearance as

one walks past it, there are probablyas many who feel that its style fitspoorly with the buildings around iLthat the third floor studio looks fromOxford St. like a hunchback on stils.or that the large lecture room resemblesa multi-colored gas chamber.

If the aesthetic complaints are signsof poor taste, perhaps the activities ofthe Center will educate their adherentsout of their current views. As to thecomplaints regarding usefulness, Seklerticalities are the price you pay forsays quite simply that "certain imprac-having the work of a genius."

Gropius ExhibitionAn exhibition honoring architect

Waltert Gropius on his 80th birthdaywill be on display at the Loeb DramaCenter until June 15. The exhibitionwas organized by the Bauhaus Archive,Darmstadt, and was brought to theUnited States by the West GermanConsul in Boston.

Eduard. SeAler

The Architectural HarvardBy Russell B. Roberts

lrl NE of Harvard's finest collections,U ;1, most often seen but most fre-quently overlooked, is the body of arti-facts in which the University lives -its museum of architecture. Le Cor-busier should be pleased that his new-est construction is also the latest entryrn a fairly distinguished 1ot of buildings.

Extant Harvard structures cover atime of 243 years and include at leastone piece from virtually every impor-tant period of American architecture.In this respect the University is veryfortunate: there are remarkably fewcommunities in the United States witharchitectural quality and diversitymatching Harvard's.

The best and most nearly completeset in the Harvard architecture collec-tion is the earliest, that of the colonialperiod. The University owns eight 18thcentury structures, half of them builtespecially for academic duties and halfof them acquired after long service asprivate Cambridge residences.

Of these earliest buildings, the realmasterpieces are Massachusetts Hall,Holden Chapel, and Apthorp House.Massachusetts Hall, one of Harvard'struly prize possessions, is the oldestCollege building, constructed in 1720.Few University buildings of equal merithave been erected since. The classicsimplicity of its Georgian lines, the ex-cellence of its brickwork, and its im-maculate proportions are impossible tobetter. Holden Chapel, designed by anunknown Englishman, is a very beauti-ful little building, which manages tolook modest and aristocratic at thesame time. Its synetrical simplicity ismuch like that of Massachusetts Hall,the only flourish being its ornatelycarved pediments which bear the armsof Samuel Holden, a London merchantand donor of the chapel. The interior ofthe building has undergone severalthorough remodelings and lacks the ele-gance of the original plan but theGeorgian proportions of the Chapel arestill noticeable and still attractive.

The first bit of marked domestic af-

fluence to appear in cotronial Cambridgewas Apthorp House, a grand scaledwelling of 1760. It was built as ahome fof East Apthorp, an Anglicanmissionary, and its haughty grandeurinfuriated the Congregationalists whothen populated most of Cambridge andall of Harvard. They had worried forsome time about the prospects of anAnglican bishopric being establishedin their midst and concluded that Ap-thorp's mansion was to be the "Bishop'sPalace" and Apthorp the first,bishop.

The house was easily imposingenough to induce such speculation. Itstood at the top of a crest overlookingthe Charles River with a large expanseof ground stretching before it andsomehow had a way of appearing inor-dinatoly pompous whenever a Congre-gationalist should happen by. The neatrows of Ionic pilasters and windows,the classical doorway and the statelyscale of the house, contributed to itsattractiveness. Now the Master's Resi-dence at Adams House, the buildinghas lost its view of the river and most ofits ground but its handsome interiorand facade remain intact.

The design of Apthorp House wasprobably the work of Charles WardApthorp, the minister's brother and arelatively competent gentleman builder.Like most educated men of his time,Apthorp considered a knowledge o{the orders of architecture an essentialpart of learning and had mastered thesubject well. He was part of the tra-dition of gentleman architects, whoprovided Harvard with the schemes forall its earliest buildings.

Elmwood, a majestic wooden housewhich is now the official horne of theDean of the Faculty, is an achievementof another good but unknown 18thcentury amateur and it is almost as finea place as Apthorp House. HarvardHall was built in 1766 after planssketched by Sir Francis Bernard, thecolonial governor of Massachusetts whofancied himself a most proper builder.He was rather successful with his Har-

MAY, 1953 THE HARVARD CRTMSO'{ PAGE 7

vard construction which, until it wasbadly altered in the 19th century, hadbeen a pleasantly attractive edifice; itcould be attractive again, and ought tobe restored.

Wadsworth House and Hicks lIouse,the other two colonial domestic struc-tures belonging to the University, aretypical works of gentlemen designersand are very representative of the 18thcentury. Only one Harvard buildingof this period, Hollis Hall, has beenattributed to a professional builder andeven that is uncertain. Hollis was de-signed with polish and excellently con-structed but still might be the handi-work of a well-versed amateur.

Charles Bulfinch, eventually to be-come one of America's most honoredarchitects, was a gentleman builder be-fore he was a professional. He camefrom a respectable Boston family whichhad cultivated in him an interest in allthe proper disciplines and especially inarchitecture. He attended to this in-terest'as an undergraduate at Harvard,Class of 1781, and on a trip to Europeafter leaving college. His eminence as

an architect came surprisingly early inhis career, due mostly to the greatnessof his design for the MassachusettsState House, one of his f,rst commis-sions.

Bulfinch's work for Harvard includedthe original plan for arrangement ofbuildings in the Yard, Stoughton Hallwhich he designed as a mate for Hollis,and University Hall, one of Bulfinch'sbest and one of Harvard's best. This isa building which commands the Yardwith authority and flair, is dignified andalso very handsome.

When University Hall was firsterected, a large and ungainly porticowas constructed across the front, ap-parently Harvard's addition to Bul-finch's original plan, but this was laterremoved and the exterior elevationsseem to be now as the architect in-tended. Gone also is "University Min-or," a row of out houses which stoodbehind the main structure for manyyears.

The inside of the Chelmsford gran-ite building has been drastically rebuilton several occasions and only a smallpart of the original finish remains. Thedining rooms and two kitchens includedat the start are gone, leaving only thecircular ports through which food wasonce passed frorn room to room. Theone place in the building which still re-tains a solid Bulfinch flavor is the oldsecond floor chapel, probably Har-

vard's most impressive room, now thesetting for meetings of the Faculty andthe Board of Overseers.

It is possible that the Universityowns a third and "lost" Bulfinch, oneof the large number of buildings whichwere designed by the architect butnever credited to him. Fay House atRadcliffe, built during the time when

this period who designed for Harvarda building which can justly be consid-ered among the most important in theUnited States.

Henry Hobson Richardson's SeverHall, flnished in 1880, was a great in-fluence on the changing styles of thetime and eventually became a majorstep toward the 20th century aad mod-

Bulfinch was particular$ interested inhouses, possesses the characteristics ofBulfinch's style but unfortunately haslost the credentials of its origin.

After Bulfinch, Harvard erected noimport'ant buildings until the late 19thcentury, a time of professional archi-tects and gaudy edffices. Among themost prominent extravaganzas of thistime were Matthews, Weld, and Graysin the Yard and Claverly and Randolphon the Gold Coast. The excesses ofthese combinations of Gothic and Ja-cobean design, if unpleasant to see, arereminiscent of the age.

Only Memorial Hall surpasses thestandard garishness of Victorian taste.Guides on one of the sight-seeing toursnow conducted through Cambridgeclaim that Harvard wanted so much toerect a great and lasting tribute to itsCivil War dead that University officialsasked every leading architect in Amer-ica to contribute one detail to such amonument, put them all together anderected Memorial Hall.

But there was one great architect of

ern architectute. This was the buildingin which Richardson reached the ulti-mate maturity of his art, in general de-sign, in construction, and in the mi-nute details of ornamentation. Preserv-ing the massive boldness which wascharacteristic of Richardson and hisRomanesque school, Sever achieved anew simplicity which was to be widelycopied. The deep Syrian archway of thefront side gave the building a remark-able sense of security; the brick carv-ing in the cornices, the chimneys, andthe friezes, is some of the best everdone in this contry; and the inclina-tion of the building to harmonize withthe older works in the Yard withoutsacrificing a distinct style of its own,is something few architects of the late19th century ever understood.

Richardson also designod AustinHal1, a building more characteristic ofhis work but neither as important noras good as Sever.

In the 19th century, Harvard build-ers had followed contemporary trendson some occasions and completely re-

Holden Cbapel

PAGE 8 THE HARV.4RD CRIMSON MAY, 1963

shaped them on others. In the firstmajor period of constnrction in the20th century, both of these practiceswere abandoned in favor of an outrightreturn to classical forms. This appar-ently was done chiefly to suit the wishesof President A. Lawrence Lowell, aman of reactionary tastes, who selecteda Georgian style for the buildings ofhis House System in the 1930's. Inmaking such a choice, Lowell was fol-lowing the theories of gentleman archi-tect, Thomas Jefferson, who had advo-cated the use of classic styles for theofficial buildings of the new Americanrepublic, to give the government a lookof stability and purpose, a transfer ofaged nobility to the institutions of ayoung nation. Lowell wanted that sameestablished look for his new Housesand it was natural that he and theUniversity's architects selected a sturdyNew England design.

The pseudo-Georgian look, how-ever, was not restricted to the Houses.Virtually everything built in the Lowellyears, including the fndoor AthleticBuilding, surely the world's largestGeorgian cube, was designed in thisstyle. Coolidge, Shepley, Bulfinch, andAbbott, then the regular University ar*chitects, pandered to their ancestorsmore than to art; but if not creative, atleast their buildings are comfortableand outwardly attractive.

The 20th century is leaving the Uni-versity another legacy which is neithercomfortable nor attractive. LeverettTowers, the still growing Holyoke Cen-ter, and the projected married studentshousing complex are part of this legacy;they may be personally hideous but inthe future they will be an importantpart of Harvard's architectural muse-um. They represent the New Vic-toriana, a school based on bald gim-mickry, loud primary colors, starknessand bigness, which is responsible for agood measure of contemporary Ameri-can building.

Fortunately, Harvard also has somehighly original pieces of sensible mod-ern design. Walter Gropius' HarknessCommons (1950) is regarded as oneof his best works. In it his designgained a more fluid appearance thanever before and it became a great in-fluence on the building of its decade.The new Geology Laboratory, designedby Gropius' firm, the Architects Col-laborative, is another splendid, orig-inal building and Hugh Stubbins'LoebDrama Center is a third.

The Visual Arts Center, a good work

by a great artist, brings to Harvard andto the United States the results of someof the best experimentation in the his-tory of architecture. A living dramati-zation of the creative arts, for all itsfunctional flaws, it is a good and suit-able home for the study of vision andcreation. There are quirks of designwhich are nervous and unappealing, ofcourse, and there are people who don'tlike it - for example, the classics pro-fessor who compared it to two grandpianos copulating. But there is nobolder building at Haward,; no othercan grab a man's attention and hold itfor so long a time as the Arts Centerdoes. It serves its special purpose asfew other buildings can: it excites anew interest in the creative arts.

Sometimes the University buildershave been more concerned with theaccumulation of indoor space than with

the creation of beauty and too of-ten economics or tastelessness haveblotched the landscape with ugly piles;but the University has been generallyfortunate in its assemblage of ediflces.A path extended in an easterly directionfrom Johnston Gate, passes Massachu-setts Hall, University HaIl, Sever Hall,and the Visual Arts Center, Harvard'sbest buildings representing the mostinteresting periods in American archi-tecture. Such a path wanders throughthe middle of a huge and amusing col-lection of buildings.

Besides architectural quality and di-versity, those buildings have places inhistory and personalities of their own.The people who lived in them and thecharacter the buildings managed to de-velop for themselves add a great dealto Harvard architecture. The com-munity of buildings at Harvard havealways meant more to the communityof men than mere roofs and walls.

Le Corbusier

Paintings Gt VAC

An extensive collection of Le Cor-busier's paintings, drawings, and printswill be exhibited in the Carpenter Cen-ter for the Visual Arts from June 1 toAugust 15. The exhibition, showingLe Corbusier as a painter and graphicartist, will include ten paintings, 12watercolors and drawings, 55 prints,one tapestry, and a selection of books.

Authorized by Le Corbusier and as-sembled exclusively from U. S. collec-tions, the exhibition is presented in con-junction with a selection of photogra-phic panels designed by the architectand executed at the Colegio Oflcial deArquitectos, Barcelona, Spain.

The scope of the exhibition is de-fined by an early "Still Life," signed"Jeanneret" and dated 1920, eight yearsbefore the pseudonym of Le Corbusierappeared. Reflecting the Cubists' care-fully controlled forms, precise edgesand muted palette, this and other earlyworks contrast markedly with the lin-ear) brilliantly oolored "Taureaux,,paintings of the 1950's. The most re-cent work displayed is an Aubussontapestry "La licome passe sur la mer,,completed in 1962.Seoer Hall

Concepts of the ArchitectD, ETWEEN 1902 and 1917 Le Corbusigr was, in his

I) nolir" country closely involved in the birth and organi-zation ol a special educational section lor architectural evo-lution. Thanks to an exceptional teacher, young and. fullol initiatives (L'Eplattenier), an educational center limitedto 20 students, men and women, existed diring 15 yearsexciting the interest and hostility of people. In one singleplace were taught drawing or color, volurne, modeling,etc. . . , construction (furniture, etc.), jewellery, embroid-ery, etc, etc. . . Le Corbusier began with a burin in hishand and the goldsmith's hammer and chisel, realizing,though very young, excellent works. He made his firsthouse when he was seventeen and a haff without ever hav-ing studied architectttre. This house subjected to the in-fluence ol that time and o,f his teacher L'Eplattenier, gave

an opening to architectural decorations: "sgrafiiti," muralpainting, furniture, wrought iron, embossing, etc. . . . Dur-ing the following years this school undertook buildingworks (decorative, of course, since it was the lashion atthat time): metal, stone, mosaic, stained-glass window (con-cert-room, church, lragment of a public edifice, etc. . .).One day everything collapsed before the rivalry and thehatred which had roused the old school against this NewSection. The evolution oJ men, the manifestation ol indi-vidualities, the divergences, finally overcame the enthusiasm.

And the whole concern collapsed!From this first experience Le Corbusier has kept the in-

stinct of the fatidical, indispensible, practical, and beneficientrelations beween the hand and the head. The rupture o'lthis collaboration of the hand and the head brought by themechqnism and the bureacracy has lomented little by littlea monstrous society which would be on the decline it noreaction interfered.

Harvard University's initiative has therefore lound in LeCorbusier a ground which is naturally favorable to theimplantation ol the ideas which constitute the present pro-gram o! this University.

Le Corbusier:A Sketch

rfiHE Visual Arts Center, flnanced by a $1.5 million gift-f to the Program for Harvard College by Alfred St. Vrain

Carpenter '05 and the late Mrs. Carpenter, of Medford,Ore., is the f,rst Le Corbusier building in North America.

It follows a series of buildings to house educational andreligious activities which the French architect, now 76, hasdesigned elsewhere in the world during the last few years.

These include dormitories for Brazilian and Swiss studentsin University City outside Paris, a new museum of modernFrench art in Tokyo, the pilgrimage church of Notre Damede Ronchamp, and a convent for the Dominican Order atLa Tourette, near Lyon.

During the last ten years Le Corbusier has also desipedChandigarh, the new capital city of India's Punjab province,and large superblock apartmeilt houses in Marseilles andNantes; these three projects embody the radical concepts ofcity planning which Le Corbusier first developed in the1920s.

in brief, Le Corbusier advocated "cities of tomorrow''composed of immense, latgely self-contained apartmentblocks, widely spaced in open parks. Bands of superhigh-ways would weave about these superblocks, while a net\\orkof smaller roads and pedestrian walks would connect ildi-vidual units.

This outline took form in Chandigarh in the early 1950s,which the Indian government commissioned Le Corbusierto design as a state capital replacing Lahore which Indialost to Pakistan in the division of the Punjab in 1947. Thenew city already has 150,000 residents, and will expand laterto a half million.

Its central units are residential sectors of approximately'240 acres, designed to house 15,000 people. Each is aninward-looking, self-contained neighborhood, with its oxnbusiness center. The city can be expanded almost indefin-itely by adding new sectors; yet, growth will not lead todepersonalization, Le Corbusier believes, for each sectorforms a coherent community.

The same concept of a self-contained community is dis-played in Unite d'Habitation, the Marseilles apartmentblock completed in 1952. At the opening ceremony inOctober of that year Le Corbusier described the superblockas "the first manifestation of an environment suited to mod-ern life."

Marseilles's Unite d'Habitation is a massive structure ofreinforced concrete, 450 feet long, 70 feet deep, and 180feet high, containing 337 apartments for a population of1,600. Designed as a piece of gigantic sculpture, it standsapart in at lly2-acre park. Its seventh and eighth floorsform an interior street flanked by small shops. On the roofis a garden with a playground for children and a wanderingtrack for running.

Despite Le Corbusier's grand conception, the Unite d'Ha-bitation has been only a partial success. The apartments,arranged as duplexes, have l5-foot-high living rooms open-ing on four-foot-deep balconies. But, the bedrooms arevery narrow-only 13-feet for the master bedroom and ascant six-feet for children's rooms and both kitchens and

(Continued on Page 24)Paris, ]une 8, 1960 LB ConsusrBn

Frontiers of FiLm Making

-Visual Studies at the VAC

ROtsERT GARDNER: Program Coordinator

D OBERT G. GARDNER'48, coor-.fL dinator of the Visual Studies pro-gram in photography, is one of the na-tion's most important makers of an-thropological flkns. With the backingof the Peabody Museum's Film StudYCenter, Gardner assisted John Marshallwho directed "The Hunters," a now-classic study of bushmen in SouthwestAfrica.

The film, which shows bushmenhunting a girafie, was praised bY thelate Harvard anthropologist ClydeKluckhohn, as "the most remarkableanthropological filrn I have ever seen.

It takes the viewer as close as he canever hope to get to the life of the StoneAge."

In 1961 Gardner led an exPeditionto New Guinea to study and photo-graph the Willigiman-Wallalua na-tives. It was after this expedition thatMichael Rockefeller '60 lost his lifewhile collecting art for the Museum ofPrimitive Art.

The expedition produced materialfor two books, one by Peter Matthies-sen end anofher

- soofl to be oub-

lished - by Gardner. But the majorproduct of the expedition is a two-hour documentary of tribal warfareand revenge entitled Dead Birds. Gard-ner is now completing the editing andsound track.

Gardner entered anthropological filmmaking n 1949. After reading RuthBenedict's Patterns ol Culture, he made"aL honest little documentary" onBenedicts's Kwakiutl Indians.

Trying to earn a living as a filmmaker, Gardner produced one highlysuccessful short on the artist MarkTobey, but he was unsatisf.ed with hiswork. Returning to Harvard, he re-ceived a master's degtee in anthropol-ogy in 1953. Two years later he joinedBrew and Marshall in founding thePeabody Film Study Center: Soon af-terwards he assisted with "The Hunt-ers" and initiated a graduate seminaron anthropological film making.

Throughout his work Gardner hasgiven attention to artistic flair as wellas to technical competence. He is ap-plying this approach to the VisualStudies Drosram.

By Paul W. Williams:

TN the basement of the CarpenterI C"nt.. for the Visual Arti, theUniversity will soon launch a uniqueprogram on the frontiers of cinema-tography. Robert G. Gardner '48,the anthropologist-fllm maker who iscoordinator of the project, believes itwill fill the void in experimentation leftby a commercial industry that fearsthe untried. For, while it develops thevisual "literacy" of its students, theLight and Communications programhopes to advance the film making art.

For example, Visual Studies 146,a half-course to be offered next spring,will undertake pioneering work in ani-mated fllms of a distinctly non-WaltDisney type. In the course, Donald,Huey, and the others will be replacedby stick figures and geometric forms,historical busts and mushroom cloudsilhouettes. The basic tool for makingthe films will be the animation ma-chine which relates standard two-di-mensional figures to each otherthrough motion.

Disney themes will be replaced byeducation in Visual Studies 146 withsimple cartoons teaching geometry orsuccessions of still photographs anddocuments teaching history. Gardnerbelieves that the possibilities of thissort of educational fllm making, whichso far has been tried only occasion-ally as in Bell Telephone's "Our Mr.Sun," are extremely important.

'fhe animation work of Vis Stud146 will be the more advanced com-plement of a fall course, Vis Stud 145,that will teach the fundamental tech-niques of movie making. However,while teaching the basic roles of light,motion, time, space, and form, thecourse will also give a history of themovies which, says Gardner, will "putthe study in its proper humanitariancontext." In addition, Gardner hopesto bring outstanding professional filmmakers as guest lecturers in tle course.

The emphasis on the "humanitariancontext" of the movies reflects Gard-

MAY, I953 THE HARV,ARD CRIMSO'II PAGE I I

ner's own approach to cinema andeducation. Leader of an expedition tothe New Guinea hinterlands last year,Gardner has been interested in moviesas a means of recording and interpret-ing life, especially in primitive cul-tures. A quasi-anthropotrogical docu-mentary approach to reality will bebasic to his undergraduate courses.

Drama and screen play, strictlyspeaking, will not be studied in Vis-ual Studies 145. Rather, students willproduce short subjects of about fiveminutes in length. Assignments earlyin the term will be on very generalthemes. Equipped with camera and re-corder, students will be asked to por-tray, for instance, "whiteness," "wet-' ness," or "circularity," Gardner hopesstudents will use their equipment cre-atively while learning the basic tech-niques of the craft. Although longerfilms are largely out of the question,the mastery students will gain of thesequence should equip them to pro-duce longer works orttside the course.

Although plans are not definite, stu-dents in Visual Studies 145 will prob-ably be provided with eight millimetercameras and necessary lenses. Moreadvanced courses will work with 16and 35 millimeter film. All processingover 30 frames (which is about twoseconds viewing time) will be donecommercially. However, the cost ofthe course probably will not exceedthat of most laboratory courses.

Classes will be four hours long andwill meet early il the week. This ar-rangement will provide time for ex-tended instruction and full discussion,while giving students the rest of theweek to plan and execute their ownfilm projects. In class, students willscreen and evaluate their own fllmsalong with those from the Center'sfilm library. There will be no final ex-iuninalion.

In addition to the cinema courses,the program in visual studies plans tooffer two half courses in still photog-raphy, Visual Studies 140 and 141.T'aught by professional photographer,Len Gittleman, these courses, like thecinema courses, will stress the funda-mentals of photography and "openingstudents eyes to the use of the me-dium."

The mechanics of the still photog-raphy courses parallel those of thecinema courses. Vis Stud 140, the fallcourse, will supply four by flve cam-eras and black and white fil:n whileVis Stud 141 will also utilize minia-ture (35mm) cameras and color fiIm.Students will be permitted to use theirorvn equipment if suitable. A fresh-man scminar irr still photography isalso planned.

All the photographic courses will betaught in the Carpenter Center's su-perb basement complex of editingrooms, dark rooms, viewing rooms,animation studios, and sound syn-chronization closets. The Center alsohas a film library and small moviestudio.

Of course, the prospect of experi-mental photography courses - with-out flnals and given in the Le Cor-busier building - will probably bringa deluge of applicants to Visual Stud-ies. Yet, Gardner insists that theprogram will be no gut. It "rvill per-mit no dodging," he declares, "norwill it depart from the high perform-ance standards of the University."Still, the number of applicants willprobably exceed that which can beaccommodated by the Center's limitedspace and materials.

In over-subscribed courses priorityfor enrollment will probably be givento sophomores and juniors; seniorswill not be able to develop any of theskills learned in the basic course andfreshmen can wait. Those who haveshown some previous interest in thefield without gaining expertise will alsoget priority. Overnight afficionados rviilbe suspect.

It seems certain that extra-curricu-lar photographic activities will nottake place in the Carpenter Center.There are not enough facilities to ac-commodate anything besides coursework. Gardner says, however, that hewould like to develop a photographicpxogram in the Houses .- which aI-ready have good darkrooms - rvithguidance and instruction from the Vis-ual Studies stafl. But there is no sourceyet to supply students with movie-making equipment, and little workseems to have been done so far on de-veloping the extra-curricular progrrm.

(Continued on Page 14)

Synchronizing toand. track and. film.

SticA f.gure anirnation.

PAGE 12 THE HARVARD CR'MSON MAY. 1963

UA

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I,!

{jx

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Pl:otographs by Donal F. Holway and Albert B. Crenshaw

MAY. 1963 THE HARV.ARD CRIMSON PAGE 13

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Although the Visual Arts Centerhas made possible Harvard's firstlarge-scale program in photography,Gardner and J. O. Brew, Director ofthe Peabody Museum, have been con-ducting a smaller such program on thegraduate level for the last few years.Next spring it will be given asAnthropology 2I4, "Representation-al Methods in Anthropology." A1-though the Visual Studies courses willdepart from the strictly anthropologi-cal concerns of Anthro 214, the grad-uate seminar has already served as aprototype for them.

Composed mainly of design and an-thropology students, the seminar at-tempts, in the words of the catalogue,"to apprise students of the value anduse of pictures and sound in anthro-pological research and teaching and toprovide them with a substantial tech-nical grounding in the use of camerasand recorders." In practical terms, thismeans making film shorts, one ofwhich "Orange and Blue" is beingshown across the country with IngmarBergman's "Through a Glass Darkly."Visual Studies 145 will use many of thesame techniques of filming and record-ing.

The approach of Gardner and Brewin their graduate seminar has been toimprove film making while teachingtheir students. This will carry over tothe Visual Studies program.

"We want to find out more aboutthe medium while teaching it," Gard-ner emphasizes. "All our films will bemade for this purpose-we 'want toopen a new rvindow on reality."

Neuman f{amedArt fnstructor

Robert S. Neuman, a painter anddraughtsman now teaching at BrownUniversity, has been named Instructorin Drawing for the Carpenter Center.He will give an undergraduate coursein descriptive drawing and will helpcoordinate extra-curricular activities inthe Houses with work in the Center.

Neuman's paintings are in the col-lections of the Boston Museum of FineArts, the Carnegie Institute, and theSan Francisco Museum of Art. He hasstudied in California, and at Stuttgartand Barcelona.

MAY, 1963 THE HARV.ARD CRIMSON PAGE 15

The Case for Creativity(Continued lrom Page 2)

Harvard was willing to spend themoney to construct these buildings, ithas so far been singularly stubbornabout deciding realistically what is tobe done with them.

As with the Loeb, the future of theVAC is much in doubt. It is not in-conceivable that the Center could be-come a glamorous and powerful monu-ment to an idea frozen to death by a

chilly Harvard atmosphere. The build-ing did not appear overnight, but dur-ing the long period of its constructionand planning few conclusions werereached on a program for the Center.Only a handful of courses in the visualarts will be ofiered next Fa1l, and eventhese seem to be largely experimentalventures, without a coherent programto guide them or indicate furtherclasses.

Harvard apparently is still uneasyabout admitting creative artists to itscommunityl the dramatic statement ofpurpose in the Le Corbusier buildingalmost seems to frighten it. The VACand the men who may instill it withlife are treated as dangerous intrudersin the sacred halls of the Academy.The lack of definite plans for futurecourses, and even the present classes,are indicative of this uncertainty. Be-fore any meaningful use can be madeof the center, the University must care-fully evaluate its own aims, and cleadydetermine where the creative artiststands in relation to those aims.

George Wald, professor of Biology,wrote in the report on the Visual Artsat Harvard (the Brown Report of1956), that "what divides man fromthe beast is knowing and creating."He pointed out that "it is man in hisaspect of knowing that we find en-shrined in the university."

Medieval traditions upon which uni-versities are built stressed "talkingabout knowing" as the business of a

college. The university is delighted toennoble the men in the past who haveadded to knowledge (both throughscholarship and creativity), but it has

long been suspicious of the contempor-ary innovator. Experimental sciencefought a long, difficult struggle for ac-

ceptance and did not win it until inter-

national pressures emphasized the need

for its achievements.

Today it would be ridiculous to pro-pose that only the history of sciencebelong in the university. Science isIearned not only through reading ofpast experiments, but by conductinglaboratory work as well. It is usuallythe case that a man activelY at workin scientific research is a better teacherand makes a greater contribution tothe community than a person who ismerely steeped in the knowledge ofprevious scientists. A chemistry coursewithout labs would be miserably in-adequate. In the same way, a historianwho is practicing his profession is aptto be more stimulating than a man whoonly reads the texts of others.

The laboratory is the workshop ofthe scientist, and meters, test*tubes andother apparatus are his tools. He can-not do research without them. Thehistorian's workshop is the library; hecan neither teach nor do research with-out one. Similarly, the artist works ina studio. He may study color, design,and the works of other artists, but todo his swn vv61k-and to encouragecreativity in his students-he needs a

studio. If it is accepted that artisticcreativity is a proper use for man'sintellectual powers, then the artist-and his studio-belong in the univer-sity. But is it accepted?

While Wald pointed out importantsimilarities between artistic and scien-tiflc investigation he also noted a majordifference: "Science is organized know-ledge. Art, whatever its intrinsic ends,express the beliefs, aspirations, andemotions of the whole culture. Theone is a severely limited, the other anunlimited, enterprise. From this pointof view, the artist in the university takeson something of the position of thephilosopher. His is the voice throughwhich all of us must speak."

The artist then, with his forms andcolor, not only reflects his culture, butspeaks to it. His message is as im-portant as that of the philosopher whouses words. The creation of visual artis as legitimate a use of the mind as

the study of history, English, eco-nomics, or physics. In its fundamentals

it is no more "professional" than thosesubjects, and no more vocational thana science course with labs.

Although the interest of the uni-versity in creative arts may be evidentto some, the desire of the creative artistto be in a university has raised prob-lems. Many art instructors claim theyteach only to support their families,that their art is adversely affected byloss of creative time. And for the artstudent, the conflict of time betweenhis art work and academic pursuits issometimes irritating.

But these two problems are oftenmore rhetorical than substantive. As forthe second, A. Whitney Griswold, whoas president of Yale was a strongchampion of creative arts in the univer-sity, wrote that the 'ocreative artist is ahuman being, and what improves himas a human being will improve him as

an artist." While technical art schoolsmay be more efiective than universityart departments in imparting technique,a liberal education can give the po-tential artist a breadth of experience todraw on for his work.

The teachers, also, can benefit fromthe milieu of the university. In collegessuch as Yale, where'art is taught, thefaculty members of the art departmententer into the intellectual life of thecommunity: they can provide importanthumanistic influence and learn fromcontact with faculty of other disciplines. Scholars in the social scienceslind it useful to mix with men fromother fields; the artist and his studentsare no different in this respect.

Griswold found another reason forartists' interest in the liberal arts col-Iege: "the enlightenment of his audi-ence." He wrote that "great art de-pends on great patronage of artit depends on high standards measuredagainst universals, upon good taste andinformed criticism." The liberal artscollege, which attempts to set standardsof excellence in scholarship, shouldalso wish to instruct its students inrvhat Harvard's Eduard Seklar calls"visual literacy."

If the university is fully to benefitby the presence of creative arts, how-ever, and if the artist is to be comfort-able in the university, the universitymust not treat the arts as a peripheralconcern. An artist-in-residence nowand then, and a few course offerings,do not constitute a meaningful or evenuseful creative arts program. Yet that

(Continued on Next Page)

PAGE T6THE HARVARD CR'MSOAI

MAY, 1963

CASE FOR CREATIVITY(Continued lrom preceding page)

is all Harvard has at present. Un_doubtedly some of the relutance tomove more quickly has come from afear of. setting up an alien colony ofprofessional art students within theUniversity.

Another reason given for the tardi_ness .is a feeling that establishing acreative arts program is a new indexperimental venture, with little prece-dent. This second excuse is lame.Harvard is one of the few universitiesin the country which does not o{Tercreative arts instruction; the Browncommittee seven years ago investigatedart departments in 43 major col'iegesand found a vast amount oi experieiceto draw on.

The YaIe precedent

. lerhaps the most useful precedentis Yale. With an approach io under_graduate education verv similar toHarvard's, yale has found its Schootof Art and Architecture to be not onlycompatible with the rest of the uni_versity, but a strong asset as well.

-Undergraduates may elect to take a

B.A.. in sculpture ind painting, buifew do: most undergraduates tafe cre_ative arts courses for credit in generaleducation. Thus, while the yale"Schoolplays an active part in undergraduateeducation, it is primarily for gr-aduates.A creative arts department at Harvardcould have a similar function.

The few undergraduate concentra_tors in art at yale do not find them_selves lost in an alien sea. They con_tend that the stimulus of academicwork helps their art; it broadens theirprospective far more than formal train_ing in a professional art school wouldallow.

"l'he School of Art at yale has nothindered or interfered with extra_cur_ricular programs in the Colleges, whichoperate like Harvard,s Houses. Butthe School does set a standard of whath q:q{ student art, and. its faculty isavailable for both technical and ciiti_cal advice.

Further, Yale's extensive work ingraphics has been especially useful toa more traditional college activity_publications. Many undergraduates in_

volved with student publications enrollin graphics, and the iesults are evi&ntin the high visuat (if not liteia*iquality of yale magazines. Skills aidattrtudes ]earned in these courses oftenare exteremely useful to students plan_nrng careers in publishing eithei aswriters or editors.

- There is nothing heretical about al_Iowing an undergraduate to take draw_rng, fbr instance, instead of Fine Arts13, for general education. In Renais_sance times drawing was consideredan-essential skill -of all educated men,and everr today, as Gibson A. Danes,Dean of the yale School of Art, pointsout, ."drawing or painting is

-a tool

tnat becomes an extension to living.,,The distribution requirement at Har_

vard is supposed to awaken students ioimportant activities of the mina oui-side their own fleld. Certainly u*u."_ness.of.the creative process ii just asworthwhile as knowledge of RomanticFoetry or the Art of the Book inMedieval Europe.

Art historians (who themselves hadto struggle to gain admittance to theuniversity) often claim that the non_artist can learn all he needs to know

By emphasizing the intellectual skjllsof gajfgSuing, analysis, -"rnory,

-*averbalizing, it often obscures ttre cre_ative precess. The most perceptive arthistorians, like the most articulate non_technical writers on science, have athorough understanding of the thinkinsof the men whose work they desc;be]Some persons may gain tiis por"f,"through^art history courses; many

"unbenefit from personal creative eiperi-ence.

For these reasons, the student whodoes not intend to be an artist or ahistorian of art, but wants only to stim-ulate his own creativity, miy find acreative arts course more valuible thanan historical one.

If Yale's experience demonstratesthat arts can be at home ir1 ths rrni_versity, it also points to another im_podant conclusion. To teach creativeart well and constructively, the univer-sity's commitment to it must be sub-stantial. Dean Danes said ,,vou

arekidding yourself,, if a university do",not provide for both graduat-e andundergraduate instruction. For with_out the standards and inspiration pro-vided by graduate studenti already ad-vanced in their work, the undergrad_uates have little perspective for judgingtheir own performance.

, Danes explained that graduate stu_dents "do a lot of the leaching,, atYale, both through direct criticiJm ofundergraduate work and by example.Further, the existence of graduate stu_dents committed to art professionallymakes teaching at the School moreattractive to practicing artists.

Undergraduates at yale do not con_sider the creative arts courses to beguts.. ,The grading curve is strict, andconsiderable work is required. Nor isthe student allowed to dabble aroundwith any whim that happens to enterhis head. The courses caretutty providea coherent series of problemj to besolved; students are expected to developingenuity, "but only wittrin the limita'-tions imposed.', According to Dane,"art courses are frivolous only if offeredin a frivolous manner.,, Good coursesare disciplined; the important elementis the instructor.

.One frequent complaint about cre-atlve arts departments is that a greatartist is not made

- he is b-orn.While no art department would claimthe ability to produce great artists, a

for the purpose of general educationabout art and creativity through thehistory of art. To many scholais, thehistory of art seems more respectablethan studio work.

But art history, like other history, isan assimilation and interpretation ofthe past. It is scholarly and verbal.

George Wald.

MAY, r953 THE HARVARD CRTMSON PAoE 17

staff of sensitive instructors can en-

courage and develop those with extra-

ordinary talent. And the non-artists

can be stimulated as well, if not tothe same degree, to realize more futr1y

their own imaginative capacities. 'Io

rule out the possibility of training po-

tential professional artists would limitan art program to a self-imposed level

of mediocrity.

At present, by not providing a fac'ulty of men competent in many fieldsof art and by offering only a fewscattered sub;lects, Harvard limits theeffectiveness o{ its program. DeanFord is aware of this deflciency, butpowerful groups in the Faculty do notshare his vision of a first-rate visualarts department at Harvard. Withinthe visual arts faculty itself there is alsodissension about the future of theVAC. Mirko Basaldella, Lecturer inDesign who teaches the advanced de-

sign courses, is opposed to teachingpainting and sculpture at the Center."Students cannot ereate arl," he statesflatly, and therefore should not playwith conventional art forms. He pre-fers to teach just design, using manytwo and three dimensional approaches."I don't rvant to do the conventionalthing-what we are doing is moreinteresting."

Certainly the work Mirko's studentsproduce is not art, and one wonders ifhis "experimental" approach will everprepare them for anything more thandesign. There is a self-fulfilling pro-phecy in Mirko's assumption that stu-dents cannot be artists, particularlywhen students are denied the normaltools of the studio. Unfortunately theother courses contemplated for theCenter also have little artistic potential.

Until Harvard flnds a place for thecreative arts in its curriculum, and pro-vides a high quality faculty and con-centration opportunities for both un-dergraduates and graduates, even Mir-ko's experimental design classes willsuffer from isolation. The Universityshould accept the eloquent challengeLe Corbusier has offered, and developa faculty and a concentration in the cre-ative arts. The program should certainlyinclude the courses Mirko has devel-oped, but it would be short-sighted andunreasonable to exclude traditional artsand artists.

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MAY, 1953 THE HARVARD CR'MSO''I PAGE 19

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The Architectural Origins

Of the Carpenter Cerater

1 E CORBUSIER has vigorouslY ex-I ' pressed his theory of design inthe Carpenter Center for the VisualArts. However hostile or friendly itsreception here may be, it is one of themost important buildings ever con-structed at Harvard.

The harsh, raw severity of Le Cor'busier jars a world conditioned tosofter, more comfortable art forms,but it also establishes a conspicuouspoint of evolution in modern architec-ture. Into the Visual Arts Center LeCorbusier has brought all the majortenets of this evolution.

Since World War II, the integralparts of Le Corbusier design have con-sisted of pillar foundations, glass

walls, sun breaks, roof terraces, andschemes free from orthodox, exteriorinfluences. The Visual Arts Centerunites all of these basic factors.

The Carpenter Center, Le Cor-busier's first building in North Amer-ica, derives its character from some ofthe most imporiant of Le Corbusier'sdesigns. The glass walls cI the upperlevels of the Center evidently appearoriginally in the Refuge City of theSalvation Army, built in Paris in1920. The glass blocks which line onewall of the front elevation were usedsimilarly in the Swiss Pavilion ofParis's University City in 1930. Andthe austere interior, though noticeablein virtually every Le Corbusier work,especially resembles that of the VillaSarabhai which was erected in 1955.

The studios of the center are shield-ed from direct sunlight by concretebreakers. The exact positioning ofthese visors is not duplicated in anyprevious Le Corbusier work but is

vaguely similar to those used in thegovernment buildings of Chandigarh,India, and in designs for a ProPosedconstruction in Algiers which was

never realized.

The pedestrian ramp which Passesthr-ough the center of the building ap-

pears in the designs which Le Cor-busier submitted for the Palace of theSoviets in 1931, and was previouslYincluded in the Savoye Villa of Poissy,France. The interplay of levels whichhas come to characterize manY of LeCorbusier's recent buildings is largelymissing from the Visual Arts Center.The sculptured gracefulness of theChapel of Ronchamp and the PhillipsPavilion of the Brussels World's Fairfinds itself in an abbreviated form inthe circular wings of the center and ina distant sort of way in the sweepingslant of its ramp.

Le Corbusier is, in outlook, a logi-gi2n

- his thinking appears in pat-terns of severe, and consequently cold,equations. And his theories of designfollow these patterns of thought. Heplaces emphasis on industrial function-alism in his art and he pleads witharchitecture to keep pace with achanging industrial society. He de-scribes the need for a technologYwhich will serve vast populations andcommunities of people with due equal-ity. The solution he finds for that needis in the rawness and the flexibilityof concrete and the other austere ma-terials which he seems to believe con-stitute an absolute return to nature.

-R. B. R,

PHOTO CREDITS

Cover - Albert B. Crenshaw

Page 2 - Paul W. Williams

P age 4 - Harvard YearbookPublications

Page 8 - Harvard University Archives

Pageg-JohnNickols

Pages lO and ll - Paul W. Williams

PAGE 24 THE HARV.4RD CRIMSOT{ MAY, I963

LE CORBUSIERtContinued lroru Page 9)

bathrooms are windowless. The ar-rangment has brought criticism on thegrounds that it is crampod and lacksprivacy.

The fulflllment of Le Corbusier'splans at Chandigarh, Marseilles, andNantes, followed two decades in whichinvestors and public authorities spurnedhis plans although his ideas had a wideimpact on architects and professional'planners. His vast plans for the re-construction of Paris as a city of widelyspaced, 60-story skyscraPers neverneared adoption. And a similar fatemet schemes for Stockholm, AntwerP,and Algiers.

Yet, the impact of these imaginingswas widespread. In Rio de Janeiro, a

group of architects, including OscarNiemeyer, designed the Brazilian min-istry of Education and Health (1939-1943), incorporating Le Corbusier'sideas - stilts, sun-breakers, roof-gar-den, cubist design of windows and bal-conies. Niemeyer's plans for Brasiliaalso show the impact of Le Corbusier.

In the late 1940's Le Corbusier as

a member of an international group ofarchitects, developed the master planfor the United Nations Secretariat andAssembly. Yet, until the completion ofUnite d'Habitation and the stream ofcommissions which followed it, Le Cor-busier was primarily important as anarchitectural theorist rather than a pro-ducing architect.

Some of his later work, including theCarpenter Center, seems to be at some

odds with his early theorizing. In hisvery influential Towards a New Archi'tecture of 1923, Le Corbusier wrotel"We must create the mass-productionspirit. The spirit of constructing mass-production houses. The spirit of livingin mass-production houses. The spiritof conceiving mass-production houses."Earlier, he had said: "The house is amachine to live in."

The Carpenter Center' at Harvard,as well as the principle governmentbuildings in Chandigarh and the chapelof Ronchamp, show an attention tosculpturesque form, which clashes withstrictly utilitarian considerations. Thisview of buildings as sculpture, though,is a development of another consistentstrain in Le Corbusier's thought: archi-tecture as the "masterly, correct andmagnificent play" of primary forms '-spheres, cylinders, cones, cubes, and

pyramids. This attention to form is evi-dent eyen in his very first work, a housedesigned for his art teacher at age L7.

Then Le Corbusier, using his givenname, Charles-Edouard Jeanneret, wasstill studying in his home town in theFrench-speaking area of Switzerland.Soon he went to Paris as aa apprenticearchitect. After several years travel, hesettled permanently in Paris in 1917.Five years later he set up his headquar-ters on the Left Bank in a former Jesuitmonastery at 35 Rue de Sevres whichhe still occupies.

During those five years he had done

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Cubist paintings (under the nameJeanneret which he still uses for hispainting and sculpture), and developedhis fundamental ideas. He had writtenTowards a New Architecture with itsconclusion that "the old architecturalcode, with its mass of rules and regu-lations evolved during 4,000 years, isno longer of any interest . all isvalues have been revised."

"Architecture or Revolution," he de-clared in the book2s closing paragraph."Revoiution can be avoided." But b_v

then Le Corbusier was well along onhis own revolution.

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