William Lescaze: Modernism at what price today?

With all my Lescaze research over the last couple of months, I've only just registered that William Lescaze's house at 32 E74th St, aka the Kramer House, is currently for sale for $14 million (the NY Observer asked "Is it worth it?"). Similar to his own midtown townhouse, the Kramer House was built by Lescaze in 1934-35, for friends, Raymond and Mildred Kramer, and is approximately 6,800 square feet. This was the townhouse restored a few years ago by Laura Day. Some images and a plan of the townhouse below, but see also images of the original interiors here and here.

William Lescaze, Kramer House, plan

William Lescaze: Early Interiors

Continuing my research on the career of William Lescaze, I thought it worth returning to Lescaze’s New York projects of the late 1920s, which comprise almost entirely interiors. Lanmon notes that in 1928, Lescaze wrote to Le Corbusier complaining that all he ever got commissioned to design was interiors – restaurants, private apartments, retail interiors and exhibition rooms – and Corbu replied sympathetically: “That's the way it always is. I didn't do anything myself for years, besides writing articles and giving lectures. Keep it up.” (in Lanmon 1987: 37) But despite Lescaze’s frustration at not being commissioned to design complete modernist buildings, his early interiors contributed to the growing sense of modernity in 1920s America. Although I haven’t done exhaustive research here, I thought it was worth sharing these images and what little information I have found, as these projects are not widely known nor are the images readily available. All of these projects were completed before Lescaze’s partnership with George Howe and the well-known Philadelphia Savings Fund Society building (1929-32).


Above: Capital Bus Terminal, 239 West 50th St and 240-242 West 51st St, New York, 1927. I can find very little information on this building, although it does seem to reflect Lescaze’s knowledge of European modernism and seems fittingly designed for a relatively modern form of mass transportation.



Above: Display room for department store Frederick Loeser and Company, Fulton Street, Brooklyn, 1928. Includes Lescaze-designed furniture.



Above: Display room, penthouse studio apartment, Macy’s Department Store exhibition, “International Art in Industry”, 1928. This exhibition also included exhibition rooms by designers such as Josef Hoffmann, Gio Ponti and Kem Weber.



Above: Showroom, Andrew Geller Shoe Factory, Brooklyn, 1928.
Lescaze’s design here is austere and efficient, a retail space stripped back to essential display and furnishings. The color scheme was neutral and Lescaze here displayed his interest in recessed lighting. The Andrew Geller Shoe company was formed by Andrew Geller in 1910 and manufactured upscale shoes. Geller’s nephew, Bertram Geller began designing shoes for the company around the time of the Lescaze commission. Bertram Geller continued the family patronage of modern architecture by commissioning Marcel Breuer to design the influential Geller House, in 1945, and then another house, Geller House II (interior), between 1959 and 1969 (both in Lawrence, Long Island). Marcel Breuer and Associates later redesigned the Andrew Geller company offices and showroom in Manhattan in 1975 (see the Smithsonian Institute’s Breuer archive).



Above: Leopold Stokowski studio apartment, East 71st Street, 1929.

English-born conductor Leopold Stokowski moved to New York in 1905 to work as an organist and choir director. After further study in Paris, he returned to the US to work as a conductor in Cincinnati and became known as a passionate advocate for modern music by living composers. In 1912, Stokowski became conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra and his reputation for modern music expanded to include his flamboyant showmanship, which included conducting without a baton and altering the seating of the orchestra. As a committed modernist, he also maintained a life-long interest in modern concert hall acoustics and the latest technological advances in sound reproduction. In Philadelphia, Stokowski continued to premier and champion modern music, including that of modern composers such as Arnold Schoenberg, Dmitri Shostakovich and Igor Stravinsky.

Lescaze’s New York pied-à-terre for the composer was a studio apartment designed for mobile lifestyle and for a cosmopolitan modern individual – the open space, built-in furniture and flat surfaces stripped of ornament and all historical references cohere into a complete environment, a unity of form, color and space similar to what European modernists were doing in the 1920s. The emphasis on coziness, warmth, decorative and luxurious surfaces that was so popular with the New York bourgeoisie, is completely absent. Lescaze’s painterly abstraction and embrace of a new, universal aesthetic not only self-consciously reject tradition, but also pare back sensory distractions so the inhabitant might focus on higher thoughts. Stokowski’s studio apartment is an economic living space organized in rational manner, its built-in cabinetry, geometric carpet and austere furniture, all designed by Lescaze, suggest a holistic machine built for modern convenience. In this commission, Lescaze clearly understood the modernist ideal of the gesamtkunstwerk and in Stokowski, he presumably found a client with complementary modernist ideals.



Finally, Stokowski was responsible for getting Lescaze the commission to design a new building for the Oak Lane Country Day School in 1929 (sketch above and photos below). Stokowski was a parent at the school and provided funding for a new nursery wing designed by Lescaze. Oak Lane was a progressive school founded in 1916, and in 1924, the school counted philosopher and educational reformer John Dewey among its advisory board members. In the late 1920s, the school’s headmaster William Curry’s educational philosophy was based on modern progressive education principles: “firstly, an enhanced concern for individual children and their way of learning, secondly, the need for pupil participation in school governance, thirdly, a resistance to uninformed parents forcing their views of education upon teachers.” (Dudek 2000: 22) In 1931, Curry moved to Dartington Hall school in England, where he commissioned more Lescaze-designed educational buildings. In these last two examples, the Stokowski apartment and the Oak Lane school, Lescaze’s modernist design not only serves to self-consciously reject traditional design, values and hierarchies, but explicitly emphasizes individuality as the basis for a new modern society.




References

Dudek, Mark, Architecture of Schools: New Learning Environments, Oxford: Architectural Press, 2000.

Lanmon, Lorraine Welling, William Lescaze, Architect, Philadelphia: The Art Alliance Press, 1987.

Leopold Stokowski: Making Music Matter, an University of Pennsylvania Library Special Collection exhibition.

Whatever Happened to William Lescaze?

Of all the entries on this blog over the past three years, the one that has sparked the most interest in terms of emails and queries is this one on architect William Lescaze’s 1934 New York townhouse. Curiously, I have received a few emails over the past couple of years that have addressed me as some kind of expert on Lescaze’s work. While I am, in fact, far from an expert, a basic Google search suggests otherwise. Which not only proves that you shouldn’t believe all that Google says, but more importantly, that there is very little information about Lescaze available online. In fact, even written information on Lescaze’s work is mostly out of print and/or difficult to access (and available only in college libraries). So, in the public interest (and in an effort to maintain the illusion of my expert status), I thought I would add to my previous post and begin to compile more information about Lescaze. I have been especially inspired by the recent comment by Laura Day, a designer who bought Lescaze’s New York townhouse, the Kramer House (1935) in 2006 and revived it back to its original state. Beyond this brief introduction is an incomplete and ongoing bibliography, so please contact me with any additional material you may have or know of and I will add it to the listings below.

The first and perhaps most interesting question to address is: whatever happened to William Lescaze? Or more precisely, how is it that, in the 1930s, he was widely considered, along with Frank Lloyd Wright and Richard Neutra, as a leader of modernist architecture in the United States (see Lanmon 1987: 10), but today his work has been almost forgotten. After World War Two, it seems, his career and contribution to American modernism was overshadowed by Bauhaus émigrés and their students, and since his death in 1969 has drifted into such obscurity that today, the only monograph devoted to Lescaze’s work, Lorraine Welling Lanmon’s William Lescaze, Architect (Philadelphia: The Art Alliance Press, 1987), is out of print. Compared to the voluminous material on Wright and Neutra available both online and in print, the dearth of available Lescaze material confirms the idea that his career has indeed sunk into obscurity. Mention of Lescaze in general histories of American architecture now is restricted to Lescaze and Howe’s PSFS building in Philadelphia, often claimed to be the first International Style skyscraper in the US. Beyond that, there is precious little material around.

Reviewing his prewar career, it seems remarkable that Lescaze’s career has been so neglected. After all, Lescaze was the sole American at the 1928 CIAM conference in Switzerland, was one of only a handful of American architects included in MoMA’s influential International Style exhibition of 1932, and not only designed modernist buildings and industrial objects, but also wrote articles promoting modern architecture during a time when there was little support for modernism in the US.

William H. Jordy, in a 1984 article “William Lescaze Reconsidered”, (reprinted in ‘Symbolic Essence’ and Other Writings on Modern Architecture and American Culture) considered the highpoint of Lescaze’s career to be the PSFS building (1929-32), and includes the decade 1929-39 as his most interesting period, while Lescaze’s post-war work was described by Jordy as “dull”. Even in his prewar work, however, Jordy argued that Lescaze had “the pragmatic attitude of one who had absorbed the look of modernism more than its message” (Jordy 2005: 175) and adopted the visual effects of one “who receives a cosmopolitan style secondhand” (Jordy 2005: 179).

However, such a reading seems outrageous when one considers Lescaze’s biography, documented in Lanmon’s monograph: while studying with progressive architect Karl Moser at Zurich’s Eidgenössische Technische Hoschscule between 1915 and 1919, Lescaze knew of Dada firsthand, as well as Futurism, De Stijl, Constructivism and Le Corbusier’s work through publications. After graduation, Lescaze went to Paris to work (albeit briefly) for Henri Sauvage, a pioneer of prefabrication and devotee of modern ideas on collective housing. Even after emigrating to the US in 1920, Lescaze frequently travelled to Europe in the 1920s, particularly to Berlin, Paris (to visit the 1925 International Exposition and in 1927 specifically to visit Le Corbusier). It is safe to say that Lescaze had significant firsthand experience with the latest currents of European modernism. How is it then that he has come to be seen as a kind of pseudo-modernist?

My initial idea was that once the “real” modernists arrived from the US (particularly Gropius, Mies, and Breuer), earlier exponents of modernism were relegated into the background. Design historian Dennis Doordan replied to my query “Whatever Happened to William Lescaze” via email this week and confirmed this idea, suggesting that Lescaze lacked the academic credibility of the later émigrés. But he also added that Lescaze’s work was not supported by the influential MoMA (beyond the 1932 exhibition), and his small office could not compete for large commissions in the new postwar corporate climate. Although he continued working until the late 1960s, Lescaze’s postwar work remains completely obscure, and even Lanmon’s book has relatively little to say about his postwar career.

What seems to me at this stage to be significant about Lescaze’s career, beyond his PSFS tower and New York townhouses, are:

- his early modernist interiors of the 1920s (I'm still tracking down more images of these).

- other private houses of the 1930s, particularly the Field House (short article in DOCOMOMO, Summer 2006), the Loomis House (see images below), and the Roy Spreter Studio.

- a nursery building for the Oak Lane Country Day School, 1929, which, along with Neutra’s Corona Avenue School in California, was an early progressive educational building (see Weisser article below).

- his Dartington Hall buildings in the UK, 1932-35, also part of Lescaze’s contribution to modernist educational facilities.

- the Williamsburg Houses. Though these get mixed reviews, they do represent Lescaze’s dream of designing modern mass housing. Pommer (below) describes them as “the eclectic and confused reception of European modernist housing”.

- the postwar work, which may be worth another look.

- his writings, which I haven’t a lot of as yet.

- his teaching, which seems to include a brief stint at Pratt Institute, teaching industrial design, and also some kind of connection to Black Mountain.

Again, any help or ideas or comments you have out there, please let me know. I will update these lists as more information comes to hand.


William Lescaze's house for Alfred Loomis in Tuxedo Park, New York, 1937





Online information

Lescaze’s own New York townhouse at 211 East 48th Street (1933-34): New York Landmarks Preservation Commission Report (1976).

Lescaze’s Williamsburg Houses (1935-38): New York Landmarks Preservation Commission Report (2003).


Dawn of a New Age: the Immigrant Contribution to the Arts in America, a 2008-09 Syracuse University Library exhibition, featured a Lescaze section and a dozen images.

Lescaze page at MoMA (includes his Salt and Pepper shakers, model of the MoMA tower proposal, and a coat hook!).

An article on Lescaze in French, “William Lescaze, architecte, peintre et designer”, includes a brief interview with his niece.

Archive

The William Lescaze Papers at University of Syracuse. Biographical materials, lectures, photographs, drawings, correspondence and writings by and about Lescaze, as well as material related to Lescaze's one-time partner, George Howe.

Monograph

Lanmon, Lorraine Welling, William Lescaze, Architect, Philadelphia: The Art Alliance Press, 1987 (first publication by Rizzoli, 1982). The most authoritative account of Lescaze’s career to date. This was based on her 1979 doctoral dissertation at University of Delaware.

Writings by Lescaze

Lescaze, William, On Being an Architect, New York: Putnam's Sons, 1942. A rare publication, a copy of which I am yet to track down.

Lescaze also wrote many journal articles, particularly in the 1930s – you may be able to source these through university libraries and some are available as PDFs via the JSTOR database. Here are two major articles I’ve found so far:

Lescaze, William, “The Meaning of Modern Architecture”, The North American Review, Vol. 244, No. 1 (Autumn, 1937): 110-120. This is available via JSTOR but also unformatted here. This is a textbook manifesto of modernist architecture.

Lescaze, William, “A Modern Housing for a Museum”, Parnassus, Vol. 9, No. 6 (Nov. 1937): 12-14. An article that I think is based on Howe and Lescaze’s earlier proposal submitted for the proposed Museum of Modern Art (New York, a commission that went to Goodwin and Stone). An ambitious (visionary?) project comprising nine blocks of cubic exhibition spaces stacked at angles.

Journal

A special issue of the University of Syracuse journal Courier 19 (Spring 1984), edited by Dennis Doordan, featured a number of articles on Lescaze.

Book chapters and references

Wojtowicz, Robert, ed., Sidewalk Critic: Lewis Mumford’s Writings on New York, New York: Princeton University Press, 1998. Short section on Lescaze’s 1934 New York townhouse, written by Mumford not long after the building’s completion.

Jordy, William H., “William Lescaze Reconsidered”, in Jordy, William H., ‘Symbolic Essence’ and Other Writings on Modern Architecture and American Culture, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005. This is a 1984 article by Jordy, based on his article in the University of Syracuse journal (above).

Articles

Albrecht, Donald, and Thomas Mellins, “Going Gershwin”, Interior Design, March 2007. A good article on Lescaze and Howe’s PSFS Building, focusing specifically on the interiors.

Brooks, H. Allen, “PSFS: A Source for Its Design”, The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians (27: 4 Dec. 1968): 299-302.

Doordan, Dennis P., “Design at CBS,” Design Issues (6:2 Spring, 1990): 4–17. An excellent account of corporate design at CBS including Lescaze’s architecture and interiors of their broadcast facilities in Hollywood (1936-38).

Jordy, William H., “PSFS: Its Development and Its Significance in Modern Architecture”, The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians (21: 2 May 1962): 47-83.

Pommer, Richard, “The Architecture of Urban Housing in the United States during the Early 1930s”, The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians (37:4 Dec. 1978): 235-264. Generally critical of the Williamsburg Housing project, designed by Lescaze (and fellow Swiss émigré Albert Frey), Pommer argues that it was a mistranslation of European modernist housing ideas.

Stern, Robert A.M., “PSFS: Beaux-Arts Theory and Rational Expressionism”, The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians (21: 2 May 1962): 84-102.

Weisser, Amy S., “The Little Red School House, What Now? Two Centuries of American Public School Architecture”, Journal of Planning History (5:3, 2006): 196-217.

Thesis

Alan Jon Warner, "Stylistic Influences on the Design of The Philadelphia Savings Fund Society Building", Masters Thesis, Ohio State University, 1983.

Manitoga and Japan

Following my last entry on Manitoga and the picturesque tradition, this entry analyzes links between Wright’s project and Japanese design traditions, particularly the parallels between Wright’s landscape design and the Edo Period “Tour Garden”. There are several dimensions to the Japanese influence on Wright’s design of Manitoga worth considering: firstly, Wright hired architect David Leavitt to build Dragon Rock specifically because of Leavitt’s Japanese architectural knowledge and experience; secondly, Wright traveled to Japan in the mid-1950s when the house and its surrounding landscape was being designed; and finally, what I’ll be analyzing most carefully here, Wright’s possible borrowings from Japanese garden traditions. While Manitoga might be seen as a mid-twentieth century version of English picturesque landscape design (and its later American iterations) in which nature serves as a model for art, the Japanese tradition, founded on a more nuanced encounter between the artificial and the natural, may align better with Wright’s design ideals. In this blog entry, I want to rethink Manitoga in these terms: if picturesque design creates an artificial “copy” of nature, Japanese design creates an idealized or “heightened” version of nature that is self-consciously artificial and yet natural at the same time.

Russel Wright and Japan

In 1955, after seeing Leavitt’s Japanese-styled New York City apartment in the New York Times, Wright hired the architect to design his dream home at Manitoga, Dragon Rock. Leavitt had extensive knowledge of Japanese design and architecture, having previously worked in Japan with the architect Antonin Raymond. Raymond and his wife, Noémi (also a designer), went to Tokyo in 1919 with Frank Lloyd Wright to work on the Imperial Hotel, and stayed to open their own practice in the 1920s. Leavitt worked with the Raymonds after the Second World War, an experience which was significant for Russel Wright and the construction of Dragon Rock. According to Christine Vendredi-Auzanneau in “Antonin Raymond and the Modern Movement”, “Leavitt’s wood post-and-lintel structure [was] based on the system developed by Raymond at the Kôgai-chô Studio” in Japan (Vendredi-Auzanneau, 60).

Beyond its structural construction, Dragon Rock contains other specifically Japanese elements, including a small “flower arranging room” which I presume was adopted from the Japanese ikebana tradition. In addition, Wright’s ritual transformation of the house’s interior décor in accordance with the seasons could be Japanese in inspiration, and the integration of the interior of Dragon Rock with the landscape might also be traced to a Japanese design sensibility (see my previous blog entry). While I am unsure of the role Leavitt might have played in these, I understand that he was influential in advising Wright to develop the system of paths through the property in the spirit of Japanese garden design. However, given Wright had already begun designing the landscape at Manitoga (at least to some extent) before meeting Leavitt, the impact of Leavitt’s Japanese experience and advice on the landscape design is difficult to gauge.

Wright’s trip to the “Far East” as a design advisor in 1955-56 may have also had an impact on the design of Manitoga. The trip lasted several months and included official stops in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam, in addition to an unofficial side trip that Wright took to Japan. At this stage I am unsure exactly what Wright saw in Japan, but there are specific details in the house that relate directly to this Asian trip, such as his use of thin bamboo blinds in his studio, for example. While I assume Wright encountered Japanese architecture and garden design first hand in Japan, there were also sources closer to home that he may have been familiar with. In 1954, for example, MoMA curator Arthur Drexler (with the aid of Antonin Raymond), organized an exhibition of a traditional Japanese house and garden in the museum’s garden in 1954. The Brooklyn Botanical Garden contains the oldest public Japanese garden in the US (constructed 1914-15), a garden that Wright may have been familiar with, and, even closer to Manitoga, Wright may have seen the Japanese garden constructed as part of the Rockefeller’s Hudson River Valley estate, Kykuit (garden construction 1908-09). But to avoid further speculation, I will assume that Wright absorbed Japanese design ideas first hand through at least one of these sources and leave aside elements of Wright’s house and interiors that might display Japanese influences in order to concentrate on connections between Wright’s “Garden of Woodland Paths” and Japanese garden traditions.

Manitoga and the Japanese Garden

Like the picturesque landscape, the traditional Japanese garden had an emphasis on irregularity, asymmetrical arrangements, references to literary and painterly effects, and above all, a design derived from nature. But the attitude towards nature was markedly different in each tradition. The Japanese garden was seen as an ideal microcosm of the world, and design was used as a force that can potentially free what already exists in nature. For Teiji Ito, “the Japanese attitude towards nature is revealed as the continuous endeavor to extract the essence of a stone, a tree, a view.” (Ito, 197). Although often self-consciously “artificial”, garden designs followed natural patterns, and were designed to accommodated both the changing seasons and changes wrought by time. The Japanese garden was designed to contain nature in replica “both physically reduced and spiritually enlarged to suggest the proportions of nature.” (Ito, 139) The formal/informal divide of European landscape traditions does not apply to the Japanese garden, neither does the natural/artificial divide that is commonly used to distinguish designed landscape types.

While these general ideas might be applicable to Manitoga, a more specific category of Japanese garden, kaiyu-shiki teien, the “Tour” or “Stroll Garden”, may have provided a model for Wright’s design. A Tour Garden was not designed to be viewed from a house, pavilion, or static vantage point, but was designed to encourage “the kinetic experience of landscape” (Rogers, 305). The Tour Garden, which emerged during Edo Period Japan (1615-1867), was a composed experience created with stepping-stone paths that guided walkers on prescribed but winding and unpredictable routes, usually comprising a main path with branching paths looping from it. The paths were arranged around a lake or pond and offered the walker a variety of designed scenes to take in along the way.

The oldest surviving example of a Tour Garden in Japan is that of the Katsura Detached Palace in Kyoto (see image above). While the Palace’s architecture appealed to leading European modernists such as Bruno Taut, Walter Gropius and Le Corbusier (who all visited and wrote about it), they seem to have had little interest in the Tour Garden. Ito describes the experience of walking in the Katsura garden as participating in a kind of drama, and his description is worth quoting at length:

“One is carried through this experience as though the course of footpaths had a musical rhythm. From the shadows of the thicket one suddenly emerges upon a spacious view; the sound of rushing waters incites curiosity and imagination; one climbs a slope in the shade and discovers at the crest a sunny panorama that seems vast.” (Ito, p.191)

Such a description could well apply to Wright’s landscape at Manitoga – the sound of the waterfall hidden by the pergola at the entrance incites curiosity, for example, and Wright’s deliberate use of surprise views and varied arrangements of scenes along his paths is surely Japanese in inspiration. Certainly Wright’s cultivation of a Moss garden above the Quarry Pond and his use of stepping stones paths here and there along the paths must have been influenced by Japanese garden design principles. Interestingly, the paths at Katsura were also known by poetic names like Wright’s “Sunset Path”, “Morning Path” and “Spring Path”. Lastly, while Japanese Tour Gardens such as Katsura included miniature mountains or suggestions of larger natural features in miniature (such as a miniature version of Mount Fuji, for example), Wright’s version of this might be the miniature replica of the Quarry waterfall in the driveway, created from ferns (see image below).

In an essay titled, “Designing with Nature”, a version of which appeared in House and Garden in 1971, Wright described his guiding principles for designing the landscape at Manitoga: follow the natural topography; make paths one way; utilize existing features; cut vistas slowly; and avoid panoramic vision (see Wright, 122-123). This latter idea in which Wright resisted utilizing panoramic visions in his landscape design certainly aligns Manitoga more with Japanese rather than European ideals. While in some ways a self-contained world, the Japanese Tour Garden also typically included “borrowed scenery” from the world outside the garden – designers would consciously incorporate distant mountains into framed views in a similar way to Wright’s exposure to the outside at his various “osio” points along the paths.

Despite these various aspects which may have been adopted from the Japanese garden tradition, Wright made no attempt to replicate a Japanese landscape topographically or to use Japanese flora. Manitoga was not a literal reproduction of a Japanese garden such as at Kykuit or the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, but it was instead an attempt by Wright to extract the essence of the Hudson River Valley site, its topography, flora and its cultural memories. Like a Japanese Tour Garden, Manitoga is a landscape to be traversed and encountered by the senses, and the experience incorporates the viewer into the landscape in an intimate way. As Ito writes of the Japanese Tour Garden: “In this garden-drama, one becomes the hero oneself because one ‘creates’ this garden by walking through it.” (Ito, 191) At Manitoga, embedded within rather than standing apart from nature, the visitor encounters a similar kinetic and tactile experience as in a Japanese garden, engaging creatively with the essence of nature.

Bibliography

Altman, Cynthia Bronson, “The Japanese Garden at Pocantico”, Orientations, May 2006, Vol. 37, No. 4, pp. 47-52. Online here.

Helfrich, Kurt G. F. and William Whitaker, eds., Crafting a Modern World: The Architecture and Design of Antonin and Noémi Raymond, New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2006.

Ito, Teiji, The Japanese Garden: An Approach to Nature, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1972.

Kuck, Loraine, The World of the Japanese Garden: From Chinese Origins to Modern Landscape Art, New York and Tokyo: Weatherhill, 1968.

Rogers, Elizabeth Barlow, Landscape Design: A Cultural and Architectural History, New York: Stewart, Tabori & Chang; London: Thames & Hudson, 2001.

Vendredi-Auzanneau, Christine, “Antonin Raymond and the Modern Movement: A Czech Perspective”, in Helfrich and Whitaker, eds., Crafting a Modern World: The Architecture and Design of Antonin and Noémi Raymond.

Wright, Russel, Good Design is for Everyone: In His Own Words, Manitoga/The Russel Wright Center and Universe Publishing, New York, 2001.