Within
the architecture community, J. Carter Brown, Hon. AIA, who passed away
June 17 at the age of 67, was best known for bringing the arts to the
American public. As director of the National Gallery of Art from 1969
to 1992, jury chair for the Pritzker Prize since its inception, and chair
of the Commission of Fine Arts from 1971 until his resignation for health
reasons on May 30, "J. Carter Brown was a faithful advocate for shaping
our environments so our experiences will be elevated and enriched,"
as recently characterized by AIA Executive Vice President/CEO Norman L.
Koonce, FAIA. And clearly there were other facets to Brown's dynamism,
which attracted heartfelt admiration from many, many people. George E.
Hartman, FAIA; Bill Lacy, FAIA; and Raymond P. Rhinehart, Hon. AIA, share
some of those facets in the tributes below.
A Slight
Luff to Ease the Load
by George E. Hartman, FAIA
While best known as director of the National Gallery
of Art or the longest-serving chair of the Commission of Fine Arts, J.
Carter Brown was also a highly accomplished sailor. He was an esteemed
member of the Cruising Club of America and participated in the Newport-to-Bermuda
race, a rigorous, 1,000-mile passage across the Atlantic for which only
the most seasoned sailor qualifies.
I
learned something of Carter the day he sailed the Chesapeake Bay with
me on my 40-year-old wooden Concordia yawl, Woodwind. He was an excellent
and very considerate helmsman. Tacking a boatshifting 90 degrees
from one direction to anotherrequires easing and trimming sails,
to shift the wind in the Dacron sails that power the boat. As he tacked,
Carter would always give you a slight luff in the sails to ease the load
as you winched in the headsails. Perhaps he used the same instincts in
running a meeting of the Commissionhe gave proponents and opponents
alike some slack in their course, even in the roughest waters, yet he
always retained control of the helm and usually had a pretty good idea
of the ultimate outcome.
Having served on the commission under Carter in
the mid-1980s and having consulted with him over four decades on mutual
design projects, I believe only when sailing was Carter completely relaxed
and focused solely on the task at hand. Like many sailors, watching the
wind on the water was Carter's one preoccupation when under sail, rather
than his usual diverse range of multiple concerns.
Carter was extremely knowledgeable about the sport
of sailing. He once sketched a sectional drawing of a Dorade vent during
a Commission of Fine Arts meeting, explaining the Sparkman & Stevens
invention and the source of the name. He suggested that a similar design
might allow Metro stations to ventilate the subway while keeping out water,
just as they do on boats. Carter came by all this honestly as the son
of John Nicholas Brown, who died in the arms of his captain on his boat,
Malaguana. This is the boat Carter learned to sail on, a classic 50-foot
yawl made by Hinckley of Southwest Harbor, Maine. Malaguana is now in
the Chesapeake Bay, where its subsequent owner has lovingly maintained
it to the Brown family's taste and standards.
George Hartman is principal and founder of
Washington, D.C.'s illustrious Hartman·Cox Architects, former member
of the Commission of Fine Arts, and an avid sailor.
My
Travels with J. Carter Brown, Hon. AIA
by Bill Lacy, FAIA
J. Carter Brown was an eager advocate and a fan,
a true architect manqué, if there ever was one. That is what disappointed
me about much of the coverage that followed his death: The obituaries
and lengthy tributes rightly called attention to the great figure he cut
in the art world, and they were absolutely on the mark about his brilliance
as a raconteur and connoisseur.
But his passion for architecture and architectsthis
did not get nearly the attention it deserved.
My association with Carter began in 1971 when I
came to Washington to run the National Endowment for the Arts' Architecture
and Design Program. Carter Brown was already a major force in art, architecture,
and design, so there were any number of reasons for our paths to cross.
At the time, the NEA was deeply involved in saving
Washington's Old Post Office as well as critiquing the Pennsylvania Avenue
plan and directing a Federal Design Implementation program. As we grappled
with the complex aesthetic, economic, and political issues stirred up
by these projects, I quickly came to appreciate just how absolutely knowledgeable
Carter was about architecture.
In
one sense, his knowledge and passion were not all that surprising. After
all, Carter Brown was born and bred surrounded by the very best. After
his funeral service in Providence, we went back to the house he grew up
in, his family's marvelous historic home on Benefit Street. Just looking
around, you could see that it had a significant effect on him, as did
Windshield, the summer home his father commissioned from Richard Neutra,
FAIA.
Carter used to regale us with stories about his
father's intensive interaction with Neutra. Being able to listen in on
the entire design process of that extraordinary commission obviously opened
his eye and sensibility to the excitement of modern architecture, which
is why I was so pleased that before he died he was able to see Dietrich
Neumann's fine book on Windshield and participate in creating a wonderful
exhibition organized by the Harvard University Art Museum. For the opening
last November, Carter delivered one of the finest video and audio presentations
I have witnessed in a long time. By the time he came to that part of the
story when the house is destroyed by fire, there wasn't a dry eye in the
crowd.
In those first years after we met, our professional
association rapidly grew into a close friendship, especially when I took
on the responsibility of running the Pritzker Prize, whose jury Carter
had chaired ever since its inception in 1979. We began to spend a lot
of time traveling together, not simply for the annual ceremonies but,
most importantly, to see the architecture.
On those trips Carter never stopped moving. It was
just fantastic to watch him operate. We would land in, say, Spain, get
packed into a van, and immediately set out to visit several citiesall
in one day. By the time evening came, we would be limp from the walking
and talking and being taken around. But about a mile from the hotel, Carter
would get out of the van and say, "You go on. I'm going to walk the
rest of the way. I want to see what this town is like"
Even then he wouldn't stop. After dinner, he would
go up to his room where he would happily sit at his laptop answering dozens
of e-mails that had come that day. I cannot imagine how he found the time
to sleep! I have never seen such an indefatigable individual or anyone
who was so keen to learn and see as much as he possibly could in one lifetime.
He was so devoted to the Prtizker Prize that he
would not allow health matters to stand in the way of his commitment to
its mission to honor the significant contributions of architects to humanity
and the built environment. Last year in February, shortly after finishing
a debilitating round of therapy, he let it be known he did not want to
miss the jury's regularly scheduled meeting. Could we come to Boston,
he asked, where he was convalescing? He advised us that if we did, we'd
have to wear masks, because he could not take any chances with getting
an infection. Of course we went, but not before sending all the materials
he requested for his review so that he would be prepared to take an active
role in the discussion.
I remember once trying to get dressed in a small
private jet on the way to Chicago. We were cutting it close, because,
as usual, Carter was doing more than any individual could do in a day.
He and I were hunched over in the aisle, struggling with our tuxes, as
the plane bounced in the air, and I looked at him and said, "This
is the craziest thing I've ever seen!" On the ground an hour later,
I was introducing him at the Chicago Art Institute where he went on to
deliver a brilliant talk, as usual.
Carter Brown could have easily had the career and
life his father led, collecting art and giving money away. But he loved
architecture too much for that. Given another life to live, I am sure
he would have lived it as an architect.
Bill Lacy is the president of Purchase College/State
University of New York and the executive director of the Pritzker Architecture
Prize.
Giving
the Angel Its Wings
by Raymond P. Rhinehart, Hon. AIA
The
back of J. Carter Brown's head was a tangle of loose sandy curls that
grew lighter over the years. As a fellow subscriber to a National Cathedral
concert series, I watched the graying of one of the Capital's most preeminent
citizens from a privileged position two rows back and slightly to the
right. Often he brought his son, who cut a somewhat slighter profile,
but the fine tangle of hair that spilled over his shirt collar made him
a dead ringer for his dad.
Carter was passionate about music. His mother had
seen to that. And so when he wasn't planning blockbuster exhibitions at
the National Gallery of Art or skillfully steering the Fine Arts Commission
through the shoals of Washington politics, he grabbed whatever spare time
he could to attend musical productions all around town.
However, as he was heard to say on several occasions,
whether from a full orchestra or a single instrument, the pleasure was
magically enhanced by the space in which the performance took place. Music
wasn't for him solely a matter of technique or acoustics, although both
were of course important. Music, or at least the experience of it, was
also what the eye could see. At its best, music was for Carter the sum
of all the senses engaged. If that included incense, so much the better.
More than an intelligent listener, Carter was also
a friend of music, which is how I came to know him.
Seven years ago, Washington's Cathedral Choral Society
(CCS) decided to create a new honor, the Laura E. Phillips Angel of the
Arts Award, named after one of the society's most generous benefactors.
As someone who had once sung with the CCS, Carter was asked to use his
good offices to persuade his patron, Paul Mellon, to be the award's first
recipient. Mellon's many contributions to all the arts certainly qualified
him. Moreover, his acceptance would position the new award as an honor
of some importance in Washington's arts community.
At first, Mellon was reluctant to accept. Although
he, too, was a generous supporter of the CCS, he was well on in years
and not in the best of health. Besides, for all his visibility as a great
patron, he was a private man who did not seek the spotlight. But Carter
wasn't someone to be denied once he was on a mission, and his consummate
diplomatic skills prevailed. This Angel had wings.
Late last summer the now-established awards committee
met over lunch to select an Angel who would be honored at the annual CCS
gala this past spring. As a singer and CCS trustee, I was on that committee
along with Carter who, uncharacteristically, was late, so we began the
meeting without him. Yet his very absence was a kind of presence, and
in short order, one of us came up with a novel idea: What about Carter?
Wasn't he the obvious frontrunner? Of course, and with that settled, we
became caught up in a much more difficult matter: What were the names
of the Seven Dwarfs? We came up with only six.
At that point, Carter arrived, his craggy patrician
face looking more angular and pale than usual. We all knew he had been
battling a life-threatening illness, but his quick wit and energy belied
just how serious his condition was. "I apologize for being late,"
he said. "I see you've started the meeting. What are you talking
about?"
"We're trying to remember the names of all
the Seven Dwarfs, but we're stuck at six." "Who have you got?"
he asked. As soon as we quieted down, he said without missing a beat,
"It's Doc."
We then moved on to the business at hand and conveyed
our unanimous decision that the 2002 recipient of the Angel of the Arts
Award should be J. Carter Brown. Clearly surprised, he sat back in his
chair. "I suppose I'm outvoted," was his reply. Then he smiled
and said, "Well, I guess I'll have to live long enough to receive
it."
The CCS gala last April was to be Carter's last
public appearance in Washington. The acceptance speech he gave that night
to a room crowded with his friends and admirers spoke of the profound
joy music gave him, especially when performed in a space as grand as that
of the National Cathedral. The easy erudition and gentle humor together
with the passionate sparkle of his eyes were the measure of a man at the
top of his form, a man who had given so much of his life to the arts and
to whom the arts had given so much in return.
In retrospect, it was only fitting that he gave
the final words to England's great poet, John Milton, as he recited from
memory the following lines from the elegiac poem Il Penseroso:
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced choir below,
In service high, and anthems clear
As may, with sweetness, through mine ear
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
Ray Rhinehart is the AIA's senior director
of special programs, and a longtime member of Washington's Cathedral Choral
Society. He singsand writeslike an angel.
Copyright 2002 The American Institute of Architects.
All rights reserved.
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