We indeed build for our employers, but we draw our inspirations in last analysis from the consensus of opinion of the great public who sits in cold, impartial judgment upon our product. We must give the public what it wants. Of course there is room for a great variety in methods and means and some phases of the results, but we have only to compare the architecture of different cities in different parts of the country, for instance, to appreciate that architecture is not a transplanted, exotic production but must be indigenous. The function of the architect to the public is, therefore, to a very definite degree to study his public, to see what the trend of public thought is, keeping not so far ahead of public thought that he will be a mere crank, nor so far behind that he will be a fossil. Let his make his work as it truly should be, typical of his times, his country and his local audience. This point ought to be very strongly insisted upon. A recognition of this local influence was largely responsible for the individuality of the Italian work during the early renaissance. It is the recognition of this which contributes unquestionably to the success of such structures as the Woolworth Building in New York, or the Temple of the Scottish Rites in Washington. And with our service
to those who pay our bills we must include service to the public which tolerates, judges and approves or casts us out. We have done all too little of this in the last few years. We have been too prone to tell people what they should accept as good, and then find fault if they do not take our say so; but the war has shaken some of that out of us, and I believe the near future will show a closer approach to the ideal conditions of the great building periods of the past when architecture was truly a reflection of the sentiment, the growth, the history, the aspirations, the successes and the failures of the civic and national life.
And, finally, we must be proud of our threesided profession, so proud that we set it above everything else on earth and give our life and our strength days, nights and Sundays, if necessary, to make it the very biggest thing on earth. Our calling is one which awakens the imagination and arouses enthusiasm if we will but open our minds to its possibilities and its whole meaning. We need imagination in our business, we. need enthusiasm in our art, and, above all, we need firm convictions and high ideals which will lead us to be worthy of the great opportunities which we believe are coming.
An American Architect in France A Communication from Lieutenant Alfred P. Shaw, H. Q. Air Service
Illustrated by Sketches by the Author
T
HIS leaves me in Tours, my station’’ for almost a year, although I have been absent
from it as much as I have been present. When I left the front I had the very natural feeling that I d never miss it, but I was wrong. Here in our S. O. S. Headquarters the streets of the town are heavily sprinkled with khaki (the U. S. A. kind), the amount of khaki being directly proportionate to the hour of the evening, as the French population has a way of staying indoors after dinner. (Is this a war-time habit or not?)
The Americans are in general more efficient “promenaders” and sightseers by day as well as by night, and take advantage of the opportunities to study, among other things, the beauties of French architecture. On Sundays up and down the spiral stone staircase, which leads to the top of the cathedral towers here, there is a constant procession of doughboys, with and without W. A. A. C.’s, or “mademoiselles”; the chateaux of the Loire were never so much visited by Americans, and many an
overseas cap has slipped off backward while its owner admired a gargoyle or a cornice. There is now at Loches an old guide and caretaker who has interested himself in researches, and excavations at the old donjon,” in recognition for which service he has received the ribbon of the “Academie Franqaise.” You may have seen him yourself; he has been there a long time, and is most interesting and dramatic. In the dark dungeons of the old “Chateau fort” he turns down his lamp to a mere flicker, and after slamming a tremendous wooden door, solemnly explains: “Chene mes amis, cine centimeters d’epaisseur!” or, clutching at an iron grating, shakes it and cries, “Fer solide. Impossible de sortirl C’etait terrible, mes amis, terrible!” He so impressed us with the genius of Louis XI. for cruelty that our chauffeur, who used to haul up shells to the artillery on the French front, was heard to remark that he hoped the old guy wouldn’t lose his way out.” He didn t, fortunately.
to those who pay our bills we must include service to the public which tolerates, judges and approves or casts us out. We have done all too little of this in the last few years. We have been too prone to tell people what they should accept as good, and then find fault if they do not take our say so; but the war has shaken some of that out of us, and I believe the near future will show a closer approach to the ideal conditions of the great building periods of the past when architecture was truly a reflection of the sentiment, the growth, the history, the aspirations, the successes and the failures of the civic and national life.
And, finally, we must be proud of our threesided profession, so proud that we set it above everything else on earth and give our life and our strength days, nights and Sundays, if necessary, to make it the very biggest thing on earth. Our calling is one which awakens the imagination and arouses enthusiasm if we will but open our minds to its possibilities and its whole meaning. We need imagination in our business, we. need enthusiasm in our art, and, above all, we need firm convictions and high ideals which will lead us to be worthy of the great opportunities which we believe are coming.
An American Architect in France A Communication from Lieutenant Alfred P. Shaw, H. Q. Air Service
Illustrated by Sketches by the Author
T
HIS leaves me in Tours, my station’’ for almost a year, although I have been absent
from it as much as I have been present. When I left the front I had the very natural feeling that I d never miss it, but I was wrong. Here in our S. O. S. Headquarters the streets of the town are heavily sprinkled with khaki (the U. S. A. kind), the amount of khaki being directly proportionate to the hour of the evening, as the French population has a way of staying indoors after dinner. (Is this a war-time habit or not?)
The Americans are in general more efficient “promenaders” and sightseers by day as well as by night, and take advantage of the opportunities to study, among other things, the beauties of French architecture. On Sundays up and down the spiral stone staircase, which leads to the top of the cathedral towers here, there is a constant procession of doughboys, with and without W. A. A. C.’s, or “mademoiselles”; the chateaux of the Loire were never so much visited by Americans, and many an
overseas cap has slipped off backward while its owner admired a gargoyle or a cornice. There is now at Loches an old guide and caretaker who has interested himself in researches, and excavations at the old donjon,” in recognition for which service he has received the ribbon of the “Academie Franqaise.” You may have seen him yourself; he has been there a long time, and is most interesting and dramatic. In the dark dungeons of the old “Chateau fort” he turns down his lamp to a mere flicker, and after slamming a tremendous wooden door, solemnly explains: “Chene mes amis, cine centimeters d’epaisseur!” or, clutching at an iron grating, shakes it and cries, “Fer solide. Impossible de sortirl C’etait terrible, mes amis, terrible!” He so impressed us with the genius of Louis XI. for cruelty that our chauffeur, who used to haul up shells to the artillery on the French front, was heard to remark that he hoped the old guy wouldn’t lose his way out.” He didn t, fortunately.