Kahn led a generation of architects away from the standard-issue modernism of glass and steel boxes, but his route was gentle, thoughtful, philosophical, and sometimes vaguely mystical, which is part of the reason that he never really became famous. Kahn’s semi-obscurity didn’t just extend to the cops at Penn Station: The Times obituary had to be written on deadline the night his death became known, because the obit editors hadn’t considered him important enough to merit one in advance. — The Nation
In his essay on Kahn, Goldberger examines methodologies of biographical writing, and explores the enigmatic aspects of the architect's identity and work.
"You get his essence almost as much through his words as his buildings. Both are somewhat spare and cryptic, and both are rich in meaning. Who else but Kahn could have said, “A great building must begin with the unmeasurable, must go through measurable means when it is being designed and in the end be unmeasurable…. what is unmeasurable is the psychic spirit.” Or, “The sun never knew how great it was until it struck the side of a building.” Or, “I want to give the wall a consciousness.”
Kahn’s writing could dance on the edge of psychobabble, and we almost certainly would have been less forgiving if his architecture hadn’t been as good as it was. But at their most evocative, Kahn’s words don’t give us insight into his buildings so much as they do him and the reasons behind his designs. Kahn spent his life in pursuit of the distinct feeling of awe that he believed architecture could instill in others. His rambling, poetic pronouncements were his way of trying to get at the essence of what he sought in architecture: not just to protect us from the rain, but to provide us with a kind of spiritual shelter."
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