Natalie used to be a neighbor. She lived four or five houses down the street from our old house. She was active in the neighborhood association, so I met and talked with her several times, some 20 years ago. A sweet lady. Thoughtful. Concerned about the neighborhood. I had no idea that she was an architect. I had no idea that I was talking to history...
Natalie de Blois was born in New Jersey in 1921 and passed away in 2013. It was upon her passing, and the noting of her passing by architects on the listserv in our old neighborhood, that I became aware of who she was and her place in architectural history.
In short, while working at Skidmore, Owings, and Merrill, she designed the Lever House, an icon of early skyscraper modernism completed in 1952, in New York City (Mies van der Rohe, six years later, built the Seagram building kitty corner across from it). She also designed the Connecticut General Life Insurance Company Headquarters (1957), the Pepsi Building (New York City, 1960), the Union Carbide Building (New York City, 1961), and the Equitable Building (Chicago, 1965), among others. She was unique at the time as a woman designing high-rises and helped paved a path for other women to enter the industry. A teaching position at The University of Texas brought her to Austin from 1980 to 1993 (we interacted with her in 1992 and 1993 before she moved back to Chicago). [here's a nice summary of her life]
As time passed, she slowly started to get credit for her prominent yet hidden role in the application of the International Style on corporate buildings. And her obits noted her silent contributions in the New York Times, LA Times, Chicago Tribune, and Architizer. She struggled as a female designer in the Mad Men era with credit for her work going to the partners she worked for, a collection of men that could never bring themselves to make her a partner. This is why history is perpetually rewritten: it's secrets are revealed slowly, reality delayed by the biases of the times.
In an oral history, de Blois mentions the modern buildings at the 1939 World's Fair in New York influencing her to become not only an architect but a modern architect. Fittingly, upon her passing, she lived in Mies van der Rohe's Promontory Apartments (1950), his first high-rise.
(photos from SOM)
Lever House (1952)
Pepsi Building (1960)
Pepsi Building (1960)
awesome stylized representation of the church (and the iconic nearby palm tree) by Steve Wallet
photo I took on May 12, 2012
So imagine my joyful surprise when I learned that the church was being restored, had a new congregation, and was having an open house to celebrate its new life! Instantly I thought: “We must go.” And so we went!
Schindler’s structures are sights (and sites!) to behold, but their true beauty—and surprise—are held within. Schindler described himself first and foremost as a “space architect”, space in the sense of the space we live in (Gregory Ain, in describing the difference between working for Schindler versus working for Neutra, said “Schindler was different than Neutra—he had transitions from one volume to another, there were sequences of space. Neutra was more concerned with windows.”). Schindler also felt strongly that his architecture couldn’t and shouldn’t be judged on outward appearances. He wanted you to experience his work in the flesh, to see and feel the space to fully appreciate it.
And he was absolutely right. Although I find the outside aesthetics of his work phenomenal, the surprise on the inside is how much bigger the space feels than what appears outside. The interlocking volumes and various levels (echoes of Loos’ raumplan) create deliciously lively and open spaces.
In the 2009 recommendation for the church to become an Historic-Cultural Monument for Los Angeles, the authors described the church as “an example of modernist de Stijl architecture.” “Built in 1944, the character-defining features of the building include horizontal bands of stucco, an L-shaped floor plan, and an open cruciform tower. The horizontal layered de Stijl pattern was both simple and complex enough to attract the attention of passing cars. The horizontal bands also allowed the insertion of planters and other openings for natural illumination. By placing the church at the corner of the lot rather than in the center and marking its presence by means of an abstract cruciform tower, Schindler organized his design to enable flexible use of both indoor and outdoor space. These distinctive elements of the building are designed in a unique mid-century modern architectural style.” The church also embodies the early stages of what became the “Schindler frame”, formally developed in 1945.
Schindler showing the plans for the church to Theodore Dreiser (photographer unknown)
What is further amazing is the location: “This building is the lone example of Modernist architecture to cross Los Angeles’ economic and racial boundaries during the era of Jim Crow housing covenants which began in the 1890s and ended in the 1970s.” Many early modernists dreamed of creating architecture for the common man but, because of the nature of custom construction, wound up building for the rich or near rich instead. With this project, Schindler designed and built an affordable yet inspired church for a socioeconomically challenged part of the city.
The request for historic designation in 2009 wasn’t the first. Another request was made in 1974, a year before the original congregation sold the church. This request failed due to lack of a second on a motion to protect the property, perhaps due to budgetary snobbism. The Cultural Heritage Committee of the American Institute of Architecture commented at that time that “since the building was constructed under a very low budget, it was not one of R.M. Schindler's best works.” (quote from the 2009 application).
The church is now occupied by the lovely people of Faith Build International (aka the FBI, complete with a badge logo!). It’s unclear who presently owns the church as he or she (or they) wish to remain anonymous. Reverend Melvin A. Ashley, Jr. and his crew didn’t realize that they were not only acquiring a space for services, but that they were assuming stewardship of an architectural jem. As Capri, one of the pastor’s crew, stated, she had never heard of Schindler before they worked on the church, and that now she loved him (Schindler seems to do that to people). She’s now, appropriately, the church’s historian. The Schindler factor is helping the congregation with restoration of the church (there’s quite a crew out there of folks looking after Schindlers including the architect Steve Wallet and designer Brendan Ravenhill). And after learning the history of the church and its architect, they now have a goal of fully realizing Schindler’s original vision for the property, which included a larger facility with an ample rooftop deck for outdoor sermons.
Schindler's original plans
Footprint of what was built.
From Compton Avenue, the church offers an elevated sense of sliding horizontal volumes, some cut short, some extended, some accommodating windows and built-in planters. Perched on the top of the church is the only indication that the structure is a church: a three-dimensional stylized cross, a cross that’s a cross no matter which direction you see it. From the side street, the L-shape of the plan is apparent with a garden space nestled in the elbow and bordered by a loggia connected to the outbuildings. The church, now white (and white works well with the building...), was originally, according to Esther McCoy, “a mulberry grey that deepened into rosy violets and deep plums for the interiors.”
view from Comptom Avenue
view from the side street
Steve Wallet's representation of the church in its original color.
view from the pulpit
looking up through the skylight to the cross
The pulpit and balcony above the pulpit for the choir. Brendan Ravenhill's light.
The floorplan evokes the Packard House (1924) and the Howe House (1925) and, apparently, an earlier but unbuilt church Schindler designed for the Hollywood area. There are two wings on opposite sides of the pulpit, which faces the entry doors and the light beaming in from the ceiling beneath the cross. The pastor joked that he doesn’t know which side to talk to, but I imagine it’s useful to look up to the light in front of him when referring to higher authorities. The pastor says the space easily accommodates his congregation of 125 folks with the ability to double that in the future. The church clearly demonstrates Schindler’s untapped capacity for designing institutional buildings. It’s sad he didn’t get more opportunities to flex these designing muscles.
Steve Wallet, an architect from San Diego and something of a Schindler buff, has built a three-dimensional computer model of the church and will be blogging about the design of the church in the near future. His other posts about the nuts and bolts of Schindler’s work are fantastic. Plus, he's a cat person, so you know he ain't a bad guy. We also got to meet John Reed, another architect from San Diego, who finished design work on the Schlessinger House, Schindler's last built project. Reed is also an Irving Gill historian, one of the first to sing his praises. A discussion with Wallet overheard by a reporter fascinated that we came all the way from Texas just to see the church led to a radio interview that might air this week. hmmm....
All in all it was a joyous occasion. A congregation proud of their new space, various Schindler gear-heads absorbing a long-forgotten space, and neighbors wondering what was going on (we chatted with the folks to the east of the church and filled them in). And how appropriate that in the Easter season the church has had the rock of neglect rolled to the side allowing it to be reborn with new purpose.
scary fire in the alley a few days ago...