Porsche 911

  Another car featured in the MoMA Automania show.

The Porsche 911 (pronounced "nine eleven") was designed by Butzi Porsche, grandson of Ferdinand Porsche, who created the Volkswagen Beetle. Production of the Porsche 911 began in 1964 and continued through 1989. It was initially called the "Porsche 901" after its internal project number, but rival car-maker Peugeot claimed to have exclusive rights in France to car names formed by three numbers with a zero in the middle. That seems like a very specific right, but there you go.  

The April 1965 issue of Car and Driver raved:

No Contest. This is the Porsche to end all Porsches - or, rather, to start a whole new generation of Porsches. Porsche's new 911 model is unquestionably the finest Porsche ever built. More than that, it's one of the best Gran Turismo cars in the world, certainly among the top three or four.

Porsche enthusiasts used to insist that the 365 model was as nearly-perfect an automobile as had ever been designed, an immutable classic that couldn't be improved on. Oh, no? Put a familiar 356 up alongside a 911. Only yesterday, the 356 seemed ahead of its time. Today you realize its time has passed; the 356 leaves you utterly unimpressed and you can't keep your eyes off the 911. The 911 is a superior car in every respect ... the stuff legends are made of.

Citroën DS 23

Until recently, the Sculpture Garden at the Museum of Modern Art was occupied by several classic cars as part of the exhibit, Automania. Those are gone now, though the exhibit continues through January 2021 with some more cars inside, which I plan to get to soon. Here's the first of this series. . .

The French Citroën DS was one of the most ambitious car productions of all time. It created a sensation when it debuted at the 1955 Paris Auto Show. Stylish and expensive, the Citroën was a aspirational symbol of France's resurgence after the devastation of World War II. Its body was designed by Italian sculptor and industrial designer Flaminio Bertoni. In addition to its futuristic design, it featured much advanced technology and innovations such as hydraulic suspension. "DS" was a play on the pronunciation of the French word déesse, meaning "goddess." Of the Citroën, French literary theorist Roland Barthes said, "It is obvious that the new Citroën has fallen from the sky inasmuch as it appears at first sight as a superlative object . . .  We must not forget that an object is the best messenger of a world above that of nature." Over 1.5 million were sold over its 20-year production run between 1955 and 1975.

Johnson's Glass House

I don't remember why, but in 2007 I was passing through southern Connecticut with my then-girlfriend/now wife Lisa, and I had heard that architect Philip Johnson's famous Glass House had just been opened for public tours. I wasn't particularly an architecture aficionado, but I thought it might be a fun side trip, only to find that there tickets were sold out for the next six months! Fast forward to this summer, and Lisa's birthday surprise for me is a visit to the Glass House. Much more availability during a global pandemic, I guess.

Built in 1949, the Glass House is just what it sounds like - a house with four glass walls. The entire 1,800 sq ft. (167 m2) interior is visible to the world, except for a brick cylinder that conceals the bathroom. "The idea of a glass house," Johnson said, "where somebody just might be looking - naturally you don't want them to be looking. But what about it? That little edge of danger . . . " I always imagined it to be a transparent house that any passerby could look into. In actuality, it's situated in the middle of 50 acres of rural land. 

The Glass House was not well-received by other prominent architects; Frank Lloyd Wright said that he didn't know whether "to take my hat off or leave it on," and Johnson's idol and inspiration, Mies van der Rohe, ended his first visit to the house in a drunken rage. Nonetheless, the house solidified Johnson's reputation and popularized the notion of modern architecture in the U.S. Johnson used it as a weekend home and hosted events there, including performances by Merce Cunningham and the Velvet Underground. Later it became his permanent residence with his partner, David Whitney, until his death in 2005.

I had heard a bit about Philip Johnson's fascist leanings in the 1930s, and was aware that lately there is a lot of effort devoted to stripping his name off buildings and otherwise cancelling him. Later in life, he dismissed it as a youthful "phase," and it's often downplayed or bracketed as a side note. But reading up on him after this visit, I found that he was really, really into Nazism! He worked as journalist a far-right newspaper, Social Justice, where he wrote admiring reviews of Mein Kampf, visited Hitler Youth camps, attended the Nuremberg Rallies where he thrilled to "all those blond boys in black leather," and then visited the front as Germany invaded Poland. After the U.S. entered the war, of course, he stopped with all that talk, and after the war pointedly avoided mentioning his seven-year "phase."

Years later, he claimed the inspiration for the Glass House to be "a burnt wooden village I saw once where nothing was left but foundations and chimneys of brick." Several historians have pointed out that this ruined house would have been one of the Polish homes destroyed by the German Nazi invasion, to which Johnson was an eyewitness. If that's true, well, holy shit! That beautiful structure suddenly takes on a very dark cast. Johnson's political leanings were not a secret, but somehow he managed to avoid contemporaneous consequences for them, and according to biographer Ian Volner, he used this very fireplace to destroy his incriminating letters and articles.

Johnson used the acreage for full-scale architectural experiments. In addition to the Glass House itself, there are 14 other structures on the site. This one is The Study, Johnson's library and work space.

This 30' (9.1 m) tall tower is a monument to Johnson's best friend, Lincoln Kirstein, a poet and co-founder of the New York City Ballet.

The Glass House site

Buckingham Road

Colonial Revival house on Buckingham Road, in the Prospect Park South section of Brooklyn.

Prospect Park South is a neighborhood created by developer Dean Alvord in the early 20th century out of parcels of land in Flatbush purchased from the estate of Luther Voorhies and the Dutch Reformed Church. In planning the community, Alvord had the foresight to bury utility lines underground and paved the streets at a time when many were still dirt roads or lined with Belgian bricks. Unlike today's planned communities, each house had a distinctive, individual design in a variety of architectural styles. The streets were given British-derived names to sound classy. It is one of the eleven neighborhoods that now comprise the area known as Victorian Flatbush.

This house was built in 1901. It was designed by Carroll H. Pratt in the Colonial Revival Style. Its original owner was Russell Benedict, who was a NY State Supreme Court judge and lived here until 1923. A NY Times real estate article says that it has 16 rooms, with five fireplaces, seven bedrooms, four and a half baths, and a two-car garage. Pros cited are "a parlor floor befitting an embassy," and Cons are "The enormous kitchen and bathrooms could use an update."

Some process pix. Initial drawing was done while attending a neighborhood block party. The capital on the right column is actually missing; I gave it a sketchbook-repair.

Reference:

Brownstoner: Building of the day - 104 Buckingham Road

Forgotten NY: Buckingham Road, Prospect Park South