Whiteness is All
By Philip Jodidio. Excerpt from the book 'Richard Meier & Partners, Complete Works 1963-2008'
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If it is true that Ludwig Mies van der Rohe once said, "God is in the details," it might be possible to say of Richard Meier's architecture that God is in the numbers. More than any other contemporary architect, Meier has imposed a style that is almost invariably driven by grids and precisely calculated proportions. Nor are these arithmetical elements the only predictable components of his designs. And yet his work is far from being as sterile as its rigorous white demeanor might imply. Rarely completely open, Meier's buildings are usually a symphonic arrangement of geometric volumes composed of solids, voids, and generous glazing alternating with closed surfaces. Closed on the entry side, open to the ocean or the landscape, separating private and public spaces, double height and more where the design allows, or rather imposes, Meier's houses announce but do not summarize his approach to larger buildings. Smooth glazed or white enameled panels alternate, too, with louvered, articulated façades, not according to the architect's whim, but rather in function to the program and the specific site.
Why is white, the absence of color, Richard Meier's choice? His own words answer this question best, explain the link between his method and his fundamental concerns, and betray a poetic nature: "White is the ephemeral emblem of perpetual movement.White is always present but never the same, bright and rolling in the day, silver and effervescent under the full moon of New Year's Eve. Between the sea of consciousness and earth's vast materiality lies this ever-changing line of white.White is the light, the medium of understanding and transformative power."
Perhaps the most significant word in this description is not "white" but "light." Light floods through the best of Richard Meier's buildings, bringing constant change to his architecture. Clouds moving across the sky, the cycle of the seasons, the arc of the sun, and the moon in the heavens, quintessential expressions of nature, transfigure his grids and white surfaces. Where there is no man-made color, the rising sun and blue sky infuse Meier's forms with the authentic, ephemeral palette of the world. At night, artificial light makes his architecture glow from within, like a lantern in the blackness.
Meier makes no pretense to design "organic" architecture, rather he willfully places his designs in a more reflective context.When asked if his use of white geometric forms might not be considered a symbolic victory over nature, he says, "No. I think that it's really a statement of what we do as architects, that what we make is not natural. I think that the fallacy that Frank Lloyd Wright perpetrated for many years had to do with the nature of materials. He claimed to use what are called natural materials, but the minute you cut down that tree and you use it in construction, it is no longer alive, it is no longer growing, it is inert. The materials we're using in construction are not natural, they do not change with the seasons, or with the time of day. What we make is static in its material quality. Therefore, it's a counterpoint to nature. Nature is changing all around us, and the architecture should help reflect those changes. I think it should help intensify one's perception of the changing colors of nature, changing colors of the day, rather than attempt to have the architecture change."
Page [1] [2]
Page [1] [2]
If it is true that Ludwig Mies van der Rohe once said, "God is in the details," it might be possible to say of Richard Meier's architecture that God is in the numbers. More than any other contemporary architect, Meier has imposed a style that is almost invariably driven by grids and precisely calculated proportions. Nor are these arithmetical elements the only predictable components of his designs. And yet his work is far from being as sterile as its rigorous white demeanor might imply. Rarely completely open, Meier's buildings are usually a symphonic arrangement of geometric volumes composed of solids, voids, and generous glazing alternating with closed surfaces. Closed on the entry side, open to the ocean or the landscape, separating private and public spaces, double height and more where the design allows, or rather imposes, Meier's houses announce but do not summarize his approach to larger buildings. Smooth glazed or white enameled panels alternate, too, with louvered, articulated façades, not according to the architect's whim, but rather in function to the program and the specific site.
Why is white, the absence of color, Richard Meier's choice? His own words answer this question best, explain the link between his method and his fundamental concerns, and betray a poetic nature: "White is the ephemeral emblem of perpetual movement.White is always present but never the same, bright and rolling in the day, silver and effervescent under the full moon of New Year's Eve. Between the sea of consciousness and earth's vast materiality lies this ever-changing line of white.White is the light, the medium of understanding and transformative power."
Perhaps the most significant word in this description is not "white" but "light." Light floods through the best of Richard Meier's buildings, bringing constant change to his architecture. Clouds moving across the sky, the cycle of the seasons, the arc of the sun, and the moon in the heavens, quintessential expressions of nature, transfigure his grids and white surfaces. Where there is no man-made color, the rising sun and blue sky infuse Meier's forms with the authentic, ephemeral palette of the world. At night, artificial light makes his architecture glow from within, like a lantern in the blackness.
Meier makes no pretense to design "organic" architecture, rather he willfully places his designs in a more reflective context.When asked if his use of white geometric forms might not be considered a symbolic victory over nature, he says, "No. I think that it's really a statement of what we do as architects, that what we make is not natural. I think that the fallacy that Frank Lloyd Wright perpetrated for many years had to do with the nature of materials. He claimed to use what are called natural materials, but the minute you cut down that tree and you use it in construction, it is no longer alive, it is no longer growing, it is inert. The materials we're using in construction are not natural, they do not change with the seasons, or with the time of day. What we make is static in its material quality. Therefore, it's a counterpoint to nature. Nature is changing all around us, and the architecture should help reflect those changes. I think it should help intensify one's perception of the changing colors of nature, changing colors of the day, rather than attempt to have the architecture change."
Page [1] [2]
Richard Meier & Partners, Complete Works 1963-2008
Hardcover, 30.5 x 39 cm (12 x 15.4 in.), 568 pages
$ 150.00
$ 150.00
Whiteness is all—the elegant and timeless architecture of Pritzker Prize Laureate Richard Meier assembled in a stunning XL monograph
Jesolo Lido Village, Jesolo, Italy. Photo: Roland Halbe
Southern California Beach House, Southern California, USA. Photo: Scott Frances/Esto
Museum of Contemporary Art, Barcelona. Photo: Lluis Cassals