Laurie
Bodor, an executive with Rubenstein Public Relations called and asked
me if I’d like to talk to Robert A.M. Stern about
a new building he’d designed. The purpose was obviously to
garner some publicity about someone’s new real estate project.
Frankly we are besieged here at NYSD with new projects looking
for promotion (a/k/a freebie advertising), so I was only half-listening
when she made her pitch. I didn’t catch the name of the
project or product that Ms. Bodor was elegantly hawking. I heard
only “Robert
A.M. Stern” — a name I am very familiar with and
naturally impressed with.
I did not know Mr. Stern, had never really met Mr. Stern (beyond
the polite-society-howja-do at sundry social events). And so it
stuck in my craw: would you like to have lunch with Robert A.M.
Stern?
I always run these PR offers/suggestions by JH who
is the NYSD built-in applause-o-meter, because inevitably he’s
going to enhance them with his photographic talents. He’s
often a little more objective than I. It was he, for example,
who when
we were offered (also by Ms. Bodor) the day-trip on Adam
Katz’s
G IV to Nantucket, overruled my solid indifference, and of course
NYSD readers know it was a great time. And an interesting one.
Although, in the case of Robert A.M. Stern, I actually wasn’t
entirely indifferent. He’s a distinguished, award-winning
American architect of our time. He’s the Dean of the Yale
University School of Architecture; an author, a teacher, and
he runs a 175-person firm of architects, landscape architects,
interior
designers and supporting staff involved in product design, town,
urban and campus planning. Their design work includes schools,
hotels, corporate centers, libraries courthouses, museums, performing
arts centers, recreational centers, as well as resorts and even
individual housing. (You can have a look by going to www.ramsa.com).
Awesome, you could say.
Besides, growing up, I was one of those kids who loved to while
the hours away on a rainy day home from school drawing houses
and cars and even floor plans. In college I was further intrigued
by
Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. The notion of
being an architect passed through my brain many times, and its
romantic
aspect remains.
So we went. Yesterday. Over
to the man’s office on 10th Avenue
in the 30s, in one of those great old buildings that have been
turned into offices (or lofts). Mr. Stern’s building was
built for printing business. Now a good portion (if not all, I’m
not sure) of one huge floor is space for his business.
Architecture, to my way of thinking is the fusing of the imagination — the stuff of (my) childhood fantasy — with the practical,
the utilitarian and the politics of adult life. That’s
what comes to me when I enter an architect’s headquarters.
For there are always maquettes of their creative imagination
that are about
to become, or already have become reality. There are oceans of
desks covered with books, papers and blueprints, and more maquettes,
and models — often even rough, primitive clay models — all
the more fuel to the imagination’s fire.
Entering Mr. Stern’s personal office (which is really just
another communal space with three entrances connecting to all
the other partitioned offices) you’re instantly drawn
to a wall of windows and the magnificent Hudson River.
It was a clear day and we could see ten miles out to the Oranges
and the Watchung mountains of New Jersey. Below before us were
the railroad yards (where someone wanted to build a new Jets
Stadium), the sprawling black glass chock-a-block Javits Center
and beyond
to the permanently berthed USS Intrepid to the north,
the High Line and the Starrett-Lehigh Building (where
the Martha
Stewart offices are) to the south, and beyond, across the river, Newark
and Hoboken.
You could stand there all day and just watch — the yachts,
the planes, the helicopters, the sailboats, the barges, the
cars on the West Side Highway, the cars emerging on the west
bank
from the Lincoln Tunnel.
The office itself is utilitarian — white walls and ceiling
(partitions really), brown carpet, Mr. Stern’s desk,
glass; a pedestal with an entire place-setting of china, crystal,
and silver (designed by him) under a square plastic cover;
a table
laid out with a tray of sandwiches, a Greek salad, china, silver,
napkins and water. Everyone took something and we sat down
at a large elliptically-shaped glass conference table.
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