Paul Thiry: pioneer of architectural modernism in Seattle
His buildings are what mid-century modernism was supposed to be, especially the structure-as-sculpture KeyArena. He was blunt and passionate, and we should have listened to him on the Viaduct and I-5.
"Wagner's music is better than it sounds," wrote the 19th-century humorist Bill Nye (Edgar Wilson Nye), and the quip attaches just as easily to Paul Thiry's architecture. Thiry's work is deeper, richer, more carefully thought out than a casual glance suggests.
Thiry was the architect who introduced modernism to Seattle in the 1930s, and he enjoyed a long, distinguished, and controversial career here. He died in 1993, but made news freshly this spring when a beach house of his design in Normandy Park went on the market for $1 (plus some $200,000 in moving costs to save it from demolition). Sunset had featured the house on a cover in 1968, praising its "sculptured form that almost suggests a gull poised for flight." Several readers commenting on a Seattle Times story on the threatened demolition were less laudatory. "Looks like George Jetson's house, but without the charm,” wrote one.
Another went straight to the precast heart of the public's enduring antagonism toward midcentury modernism: "Can we all just move on from the era of poured concrete? ... I have yet to see [a concrete building] that didn't look just like State Built Housing, either from East Germany or the Soviet Union."
No one scooped up the Normandy Park house, and it was demolished.
Houses weren't Thiry's best work, and it's difficult to view them anyway — several in the Denny Blaine and Madison Park neighborhoods are all but obscured with landscaping. To best understand Thiry's under-appreciated contribution to modernism, take a perimeter hike around KeyArena and check out the immense concrete tripods that carry the roof load to ground.
This is structure as sculpture, and it's never been done better. The beams form a geometric fandango of creases and wedges that makes perfect sense structurally, and yet it's consciously emotional and beautiful as well. It changes dramatically with the play of sunlight at different times of day. This is what mid-century modernism was supposed to be about.
Thiry was born in Alaska in 1904 to French parents attracted by the Gold Rush. He started studies in pre-med at the University of Washington, but veered into architecture after the first cat dissection. He absorbed classical Beaux-Arts training at UW, but then wandered the world for a year, meeting pioneer modernists Le Corbusier in France and Antonin Raymond in Japan. When he returned to Seattle in 1935, he was no longer interested in the mock Swiss chalets and Renaissance revival public buildings that had largely occupied American architects up through the 1920s.
In an extensive oral history in the Smithsonian Archives of American Art, Thiry recalls that "I was subject to a lot of ha-ha-ing and criticism ... they thought I just came over from some socialist society or something." But he believed that modernism offered expressive possibilities where the historic costume party had failed. Instead of squeezing a building's functions into a picturesque envelope largely dictated by its historic form, a creative architect could play with views, breezes, light, and shadow, and the internal functions its occupants wanted, and all these matters could inform the building.
In designing a room, Thiry told historian Meredith Clausen, "I thought of the moon and the shadows it would make. You think of gray days, you think of rain, you know, as an atmosphere. You have to think of shadows different objects cast — the leaves, the branches of the trees ... And if you design a room with the full consideration for all of the aspects of environment, why, you don't really design one room, you design a thousand rooms within a single room."
Thiry also had some progressive thinking at the urban scale, and Seattle might profitably have listened. He furiously opposed the Alaskan Way Viaduct, though when it finally appeared inevitable, he unsuccessfully offered to design it. When the I-5 slash through the city was approved in 1957, he saw another disaster in the making, but proposed sinking the freeway all the way through downtown and building a lid park over it. He was unimpressed with Lawrence Halprin's eventual five-acre Freeway Park, dismissing it as "a small park of no consequence, whereas the other would have been ... another Champs Elysees."
"He was a formidable guy," recalls Mercer Island architect Jerry Gropp, who worked as an unpaid intern in Thiry's office in 1944. "He took architecture as a very serious thing, and expected others to do the same."
One of Thiry's strongest designs is Tacoma's Christ Episcopal Church, and it serves well to illustrate the enduring disconnect between modernist theory and public affection.
It's a tough, raw concrete building that draws at least spiritual inspiration from Le Corbusier's chapel at Ronchamps, a building Thiry admired. Like Ronchamps, it walls out the world, creating a dark cocoon where the only admitted daylight squeezes through tiny stained-glass windows and one knee-high ribbon window beside a reflective pool and garden wall.
A great structural curve in the concrete embraces the chancel where the liturgy takes place, symbolically affirming its central importance. It's an easy building to respect but a tough one to like, and the difference between the two verbs, one connecting with the intellect and the other with emotion, sums up the problem with even the best buildings of that era (the worst are neither respectable nor likable).
Thiry's Mercer Island Presbyterian Church, built seven years earlier in 1962, looks like the work of a kinder, gentler architect. The walls are tilt-up concrete aggregate, but the roof seems to float weightlessly over a concourse of generous clerestory windows that welcome a universe of daylight. The roof itself — an extremely complicated "inverted hyperbolic parabola form," as Thiry precisely described it — issues from the same structure-as-sculpture impulse as those KeyArena tripods.
Thiry left a substantial array of significant work in the Puget Sound area, including the 1951 Frye Art Museum (considerably remodeled), the 1958 Washington State Library in Olympia (now the Pritchard Building, housing legislative offices), and the 1962 St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church in Seattle.
They all have merit, though none qualifies as an architectural icon. Nor does Key Arena — though it's a better building, both in function and intellectual integrity, than our all-too-prominent 21st-century icons, EMP and the Central Library.
Thiry was searching for a way out of the deceptively confining trap of historicism, and he tried a lot of different avenues. Some worked better than others. The Normandy Park house, honestly, was more cantilevered motel wing than gull poised for flight. But it's worth looking for the surprising grace embedded in many of Thiry's buildings.
They're better than we think.
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Comments:
Posted Thu, Jun 24, 7:02 a.m. Inappropriate
Thanks for this great article, I'm happy to see Thiry still in the news. Although the house was recently demolished, many of it's parts were salvaged by '2nd Use' and are still available in South Park.
Posted Thu, Jun 24, 9:17 a.m. Inappropriate
Thanks for the great article & mentioning the recent loss of one of Thiry's residential homes in Normandy Park. What a sad fate...the remnants of the house @ Second Use make its demise even sadder.
Another Thiry-designed residence can be found in West Seattle - a 1935 "Spanish Ecclectic" Style residence which stands in stark contrast to his later work.
bvbseattle
Posted Thu, Jun 24, 10:46 a.m. Inappropriate
I've always seen Key Arena as an architectural masterpiece.
Freeway Park feels like encroaching nature fought back with hastily constructed concrete barriers. Its emphasis is more on the concrete than nature. The 90 degree turns of the high concrete walls create (a sense of) dangerous hiding places. It should be rebuilt someday. Take a sledge hammer to those concrete walls.
Posted Thu, Jun 24, 1 p.m. Inappropriate
A few words in defense of Freeway Park, now called Jim Ellis Freeway Park in honor of the man who pulled it off. It is designed by one of America's most respected landscape architects, Lawrence Halprin, who recently died. It is a stylized representation of a forest floor, with paths wandering amid "boulders" and cliff walls as well as trees and plants. The concrete form walls are also symbolic echoes of the nearby skyscrapers as well as the freeway "sculpture." It has recently been extensively replanted, following a marvelous plan devised by Iain Robertson, the highly regarded landscape architect at the UW. The park is celebrated around the world, but has somehow been relegated to obscurity here in Seattle. I suggest that readers rediscover it this summer, walking its five acres with open eyes.
Posted Thu, Jun 24, 1:17 p.m. Inappropriate
Thank-you for your article on Thiry. Mid-Century Modern Olympia recently screen the film Modern Views - A Conversation on NW Modern Architecture - presented by The University of Washington Department of Architecture. If you really want eye opening depth of the NW Modern movement look it up. There is a growing movement to save, educate and celebrate mid-century architecture in the NW and abroad. The LA Conservancy is featuring a year long focus called 'The 60's Turn 50' and Mid-Century Modern Olympia just finished a month-long string of events in honor of Natl. Historic preservation month. Now is first time architecture of the era can be submitted for historical protection. We need to open our eyes to the beauty of thought of the era before more are destroyed.
Posted Thu, Jun 24, 3:17 p.m. Inappropriate
A footnote on the Alaska Way Viaduct: in the 70s, I believe, Thiry's office proposed a megastructure of offices, hotels, etc. to be built over the Alaska Way Viaduct, enclosing the roadway more aggressively than the recent Frank Chopp version. The scheme was published in the Argus and maybe in one or the other of the Seattle dailys. I don't believe Thiry had a client for this effort. He or others in his office got enthused and put out some exciting drawings.
Posted Thu, Jun 24, 3:58 p.m. Inappropriate
Not sure why Thiry argued against the viaduct. Some of his work even seems to reflect it. The viaduct also embodies the work of another NW architect Roland Terry. Many of his designs provided amenities that were ideally suited for our rainy climate by providing stunning views from structures with seamless open/covered, inside/outside spaces. Pretty or not, the viaduct represents a much greater opportunity for creating a vibrant, people oriented waterfront than an open field or promenade.
Posted Thu, Jun 24, 8:17 p.m. Inappropriate
While I always appreciate attention to the architectural history of Seattle, this article perpetuates the myth that "Thiry was the architect who introduced modernism to Seattle in the 1930s." Research in the period indicates that the actual story of how modern architecture came to Seattle is much more complex.
First, recent scholarship has shown that modernism in architecture was never a unified or coherent movement; rather modernism was a collection of tendencies that probably appeared more unified than they actually were. (The unified narrative of modern architecture was a simplification developed in the post-World War II era as part of the crusade for modernism.)
In Seattle architects in the 1930s were searching for ways to do modern buildings. At least three connected approaches can be discerned in their work--adopting new (modern) technologies, adopting more open plans or "free plans"; adopting modern architectural vocabularies.
Second, architects in Seattle were aware of modernism before Thiry made his trip around the world. Some American architectural journals were already discussing European modernism in the early 1930s; these journals were received in Seattle. It wasn't as if modernism in architecture was unknown in Seattle.
As early as 1931-32, Lionel Pries, as Director of the Art Institute of Seattle (predecessor to today's Seattle Art Museum), tried to arrange for the Museum of Modern Art "International Style" exhibition to come to Seattle as part of a West Coast tour. (The effort failed when museums in California could not raise their share of the anticipated costs.) In the late 1920s Pries had begun traveling to Mexico every summer. He interacted with Mexican modern artists and Mexican architect Juan O'Gorman, who, beginning in the late 1920s, inspired by LeCorbusier, designed a series of modern concrete school buildings. Pries's work beginning in 1936 clearly shows his awareness of the modern architecture of Mexico.
Third, the first Seattle architect who referred to the modern architecture of Europe as the source for a Seattle design was Tom Haire, not Paul Thiry. In 1934 Haire designed the M.M. Chism House that he stated, in an article in the Seattle Daily Journal of Commerce, was based on the new "straight-line architecture of Germany." Unfortunately, the house has been demolished and only two photographs showing its remarkable design have been discovered.
David Rash has discovered that John T. Jacobsen published an article in December 1933 in The Town Crier arguing that how we think about houses should change, and suggesting that houses should be more like commercial office space that can be altered to accommodate changes throughout a person's life. Jacobsen's own house, dating from 1936, was clearly influenced by the International Style. (This house survives with some alterations.)
By 1936, Seattle also had the Ambrose and Viola Patterson house; the building permit lists Harlan Thomas as the architect-of-record, but oral tradition, supported by written evidence, credits the design to Jack Sproule. Ambrose Patterson, as UW art faculty member, had spent part of the 1920s and early 1930s in Paris studying art; he was no doubt aware of the emerging "International Style" modern architecture and sought a house of similar design on his return to Seattle. This house survives today.
There may well have been other modern houses in the period--until more research is completed, we cannot say for sure.
Given this history, what can be said about Paul Thiry? It appears accurate to state that Paul Thiry was likely the first Seattle architect to design a series of houses that were in the language of the International Style. This series of houses began in 1936 and continued up to the Second World War. Thiry's own house is the best-known of this group. However, not every house Thiry designed after 1936 was International Style. Some of his houses have features that can be characterized as Art Deco. And, in the years from 1936 to 1942, he continued to design the occasional house with a historicist vocabulary.
Why is Thiry so often credited as the first modern architect in Seattle? There are several reasons. First, it does appear true that Thiry was one of the first architects to do a series of buildings that show a fairly consistent application of the International Style. In contrast, designs like the Chism house and the Patterson house appear as singular works. (And the architect Tom Haire is obscure.)
Second, the post-World War II narrative of modern architecture was a simplification that emphasized heroic figures like Wright, Mies, LeCorbusier, Gropius and others. This made a convenient story that could be used to great effect in the crusade for modernism from the 1930s to the late 1940s. The accepted narrative of Seattle's modern architecture history similarly has tended to emphasize a few heroic figures--Thiry, Kirk, etc.
Third, Thiry, himself, contributed to the myth by emphasizing his trip around the world and his interaction with Raymond and LeCorbusier, and by focusing on his International Style buildings, while omitting almost any discussion of his historically-derivative non-modern buildings.
The narrative of twentieth century architecture in Seattle is rich and complex. Paul Thiry was a very important figure who played a key role in the emergence of modernism in this city and region. But Thiry was not alone, and we should not allow the large shadow he cast to obscure the contributions of many others.
Posted Fri, Jun 25, 3:56 a.m. Inappropriate
"A few words in defense of Freeway Park: It is a stylized representation of a forest floor amid boulders and cliff walls". (BS)
"The concrete walls are symbolic echoes of the nearby skyscrapers as well as the freeway sculpture." (BS)
"It has been extensively replanted, following a marvelous plan devised by Ian Robertson, the highly regarded landscape architect at the UW." (Being highly regarded means their work is unquestionable? Talk about closed eyes.)
"The park is celebrated around the world, but has been relegated to obscurity in Seattle." (BS)
"I suggest readers rediscover it this summer walking its five acres with open eyes." (I'd like to see the new plantings, but it's just another example of Seattle's thoughtlessly bizarre landscape architecture. Steinbrueck Park and Sculpture Park are also crap designs. Denny Park feels like a cemetary. Many parts of Seattle Center grounds are poorly laid out. Occidental Park and Pioneer Square had that horrible faux granite block pavement for decades. Sycophants see nature through the eyes of landscape architects whose designs ridiculously segregate rather than celebrate nature within urban space.)
Posted Fri, Jun 25, 6:04 a.m. Inappropriate
Too bad the article didn't include some photos that would allow us rube non-architects to better grasp what you're talking about.
Posted Fri, Jun 25, 8:25 a.m. Inappropriate
A brief note about the Freeway Park.
I was the project Architect for the City of Seattle for the portion of the Freeway Park that held up the eastern portion of the park, that being the Municipal Parking Garage paid for by the inssuance of Municipal Bonds.
The Freeway Park was a masterpiece of cooperation of varied governmental and private sector interests. The portion that held up the park over the freeway was bult by the State and Feds. The park above the bridge, the parking garage, and park over, were the City's responsibility thanks to teh Forward Thrust Bond Issue.
And, the western portion, including the office tower, was the responsibility of the property owner, Dick Hedrine. His property was first proposed to be condemned for the park, but he succesfully negotiated an agreement with the city, to be allowed to build a tower that the city would have complete design review over. And, Hedrine agreed to pay for the park design and construction on his property and maintain it perpetually, which has consistantly been done.
In the agressiveness to lid the feeway as Jm Ellis once proposed to have been done with the construction of I-5, the urban design aspects of the accomplishment fell way short of the Halprin concept that would have made the park the major pedestrian link to/from first hill et al.
Without the garage, the park would have returned to the eastern grade of the fereeway, like diving down into a canyon.
However, with the garage holding up the park, the connections to first hill were facilitated. But,the needed urban design features, which would have accented and extended these connections, dissapeared due to lack of funding and private cooperation. Only slight design gestures have made it possible to traverse the park from the hill.
Had those pedestrian design features been accomplished, the park's relevance to downtown would have encouraged the developments on first hill to pursue orientation to that urban trail and would have enlivened the park to a level that would have made it the centerpiece of downtown pedestrian access from the densest urban population in the State.
It's not too late to have this happen, but there has to be interest and money to make it a reality.
Arthur M. Skolnik FAIA
Posted Fri, Jun 25, 8:38 a.m. Inappropriate
Wells,
You would be benefitted by knowing and understanding the history of each of these parks/openspace designs and their formulation processes.
Blaming the individual Landscape Design professionals for the end product is touching the wrong end of the elephant. You also have to put yourself in the shoes of those talented people who had to meld few public dollars with unobtainable program requirements, community input and political pressures. Once you have that under your belt, you would be better able to critic these accomplishments in their own context.
Each has a wonderful, and precious, story to tell. They are part of the urban history of our built environment.
Art
Posted Fri, Jun 25, 9:54 a.m. Inappropriate
Mr Skolnik, I appreciate your candor, but I've formulated honest critiques of Seattle parks on various forums and regretfully come to the conclusion that Seattlers don't listen to anyone outside their mutual admiration peer group. Whether the subject is light rail, streetcar, monorail, the AWV replacement, parks, public art, sidewalks, bicycling, environmentalism or political issues of all sorts, liberal Seattlers exhibit smug self-centered closed-mindedness that mirrors the obstructionist behavior coming from the rightwing. My critiques (mostly engineering) are based upon analysis, not political partisanship. Yet, the analytical points I make are ignored. Mayor Mike is fighting to save Seattlers from themselves. The deep bore tunnel is a horrific mistake bordering on criminal.
Posted Sun, Jun 27, 7:27 p.m. Inappropriate
Jeffrey, thanks as always to your insightful comments, this time on Thiry and [indirectly] the possible contributions of scholarship to even popular architectural history. Real life and art are always more complex than is portrayed in a short media piece, although any promotion of mid-century architecture and architects is welcome. Your comments would be good to pair with Randy Gragg's recent comments on the Columns' piece on PNW modernism, which concentrated on the Seattle area at the expense of recognizing Portland's contributions to the same events and trends. His comments should be expanded to include Vancouver BC as well. All these metropolitan areas were undertaking explorations in response to new ideas and adaptations of modernism, and all contributed equally to the richness of modern architectural practise in the 1930s through the 1950s in the PNW.
Diana Painter
Posted Mon, Jun 28, 6:55 p.m. Inappropriate
Diana: Thanks for your comments. My response was directed at the question of the degree to which Paul Thiry "introduced" architectural modernism to Seattle. Your question is a different one--the extent to which modern architecture in Northwest cities influenced each other or developed independently. This is a much more challenging question.
While it is true that Portland architects Belluschi and Yeon would eventually be highly regarded by Seattle architects, it is much less clear whether they had any influence in Seattle in the crucial year of 1934-1936. Yeon's Watzek house, for example, was not completed until 1937; Belluschi's Council Crest house and Sutor house, two of his important early regional modern works were completed in 1937 and 1938 respectively. At what point these and similar projects became known in Seattle is not clear, but it cannot have been prior to the early modern works by Thiry, Jacobsen and Pries. In fact, in 1936 Pries was likely more aware of the California regional modern work of W.W. Wurster, since Wurster was just one year ahead of Pries at UC-Berkeley.
Pries soon did become aware of Belluschi's regional modern approach; he took UW students to visit Belluschi's Myers residence in the Magnolia neighborhood when it was under construction in 1940-41.
Whether emerging modern work in Vancouver BC had any influence in Seattle in this early period is unknown. As far as I am aware, research has not uncovered references to Vancouver modern architecture by Seattle architects before World War II.
Posted Mon, Jun 28, 6:58 p.m. Inappropriate
In my previous comment, the last sentence would have been better worded:
As far as I am aware, research has not uncovered any references by Seattle architects to Vancouver modern architecture before World War II.
Posted Wed, Jul 7, 2:55 p.m. Inappropriate
After reading the above comments on Larry Cheek's Paul Thiry piece (in which I am mentioned), I'm more and more convinced that all architecture has to stand on its own. If it isn't good, no matter who did it, let it go. Paul Thiry wasn't afraid to try new ideas and take the risk that they wouldn't work out. It took courage in those postwar days- as it does now.
Jerry Gropp Architect AIA
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