Philip Johnson died, and as with Agnes Martin, it was a shock for me- once they go beyond their 90´s, I somehow expect them to live a lot more. She was on my visit list, he was part of my Christmas card mailing. Both were gone before I acted. I had admired Philip Johnson for years, ever since a strong interest in architecture grew on me. The Sony Building in New York was and is one of my favorite creations of the twentieth century. His boldness and vision, his adaptability to the times, commissions and corporate years drew me to him. His being harshly criticized for all that, for being Philip Johnson, was yet another factor of my delight towards his peculiar architecture and persona.
And then he died, and I was already living in New York, and the extensive coverage the press gave him (too extensive sometimes) was revelatory for me. Not only I learned he had been a Nazi-supporter in the 30´s, after leaving the MoMA, even tripping to Germany to support the Hitler "cause", but -particularly lurid for my somehow spotless vision of Philip Johnson- he was gay. And he had been living for many, many years with David Whitney, curator of -among others- exhibitions of Michael Heizer. Everything is connected.
There was even an op-ed in The New York Times written by the art critic of New York Magazine in which he more or less disdained the whole architectural and personal career of Philip Johnson for his Nazi years. Outrageous. But the shock and the carnage of him and his art slowly faded. A brief feature in the Times reminds us of the problems of his architecture (not only of ethical or artistic matter). This is about safety. The author lists a number of buildings that are in danger of being demolished or badly restored, thus harming Johnson´s original concept.
The New York State Pavilion he constructed for the 1964 World Fair in Queens is one of them. A gorgeous ruin, Philip Johnson chose it for the cover of his 2002 monograph. Many have been attracted to the circles and tall towers of the building and its whole decay and abandonment, menacing and impressive. Johnson wrote for the foreword of the aforementioned volume, "The New York State Pavilion at the 1964-65 World's Fair is now a ruin. In a way, the ruin is even more haunting than the original structure. There ought to be a university course in the pleasure of ruins". In consonance with Camilo José Vergara's vision of Detroit as an American acropolis, it would be truly rewarding to have a ruin kept in New York City, where everything seems to be rebuilt and revitalized.
Also, this is the building that in 1964 housed the art of all those then-unknown Pop artists (Rauschenberg, Indiana, Chamberlain), including Andy Warhol's infamous billboard depicting the Thirteen Most Wanted Men by the FBI at the time, a mural that was officially censored for avoiding hurting the Italians (most of the most wanted men where Italians) and was covered with silver paint.
Today, despite all these illustrious moments, the Times says the building may be demolished for its unsafety (and I have to visit before that calamity happens).
The other architectural example of Philip Johnson's inventiveness currently in danger of being irremediably transformed is the Water Gardens in Fort Worth, Texas. The story around these set of urban pools, cascades, fountains and swirling water is worth telling. It was designed and built in 1974 at the cost of $6 million and donated to the City of Fort Worth by the Amon Carter Foundation, which has a museum of American art also designed by Philip Johnson. Soon the Water Gardens were one of the most popular attractions of downtown Fort Worth, an oasis of water and freshness amid the city's hotter-than-hot temperature.
Along the years, safety was a concern, and Johnson himself cited "the element of danger" he had poured into the Water Gardens. "He felt the thrill of what he called "pseudo-danger" increased the visitors' appreciation of the park", according to Franz Schulze, Johnson's biographer. The New York Times called it in 1975 "useless and absolutely splendid". But the Gardens were never designed to swim or be walked; the water is just to be looked at. And despite signs warning the people "No wading or swimming", the word was commonly ignored. The potential danger was always an issue, and for years the City of Fort Worth paid thousands of dollars to visitors injured in falls.
"4 visitors drown at Water Gardens- Girl falls in; 3 others die attempting to save her". In June 2004, "a Chicago father, two of his children and a third child drowned in a swirling pool at the Fort Worth Water Gardens despite frantic efforts by bystanders and emergency workers to save them" read the Star-Telegram of Texas. One of the children slipped, and that started a chain reaction of falls and death.
Now, the water plaza, one of Philip Johnson's masterpieces, will take a $14 million renovation that will, the Times says, "decrease the depth of one of Johnson's pools and add railings and concrete walls. They are also planning to add a memorial to the victims."
This is a very American thing to happen. In Texas. And to Philip Johnson. Ruins in Queens, death and stupidity in Texas. What did he ever think of this absolutely bizarre and sad story?
