While the work of modern masters will always lurk in the shadows of contemporary design, few have been imitated or referenced as frequently as the German architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. His material palette and deceptively simple methods of spatial organization indirectly inspired subsequent generations of artists and architects to treat the architect's body of work as a blank canvas onto which they can individually project their own creative identities. 

"Out of all the architects to use as a focus and collector of artist interests," author and architect Christian Bjone writes in his newest book, "Ludwig Mies van der Rohe is a lightning rod. His work, writings, teaching, students, and personal mythology lay waiting for a response from the worshipful, visually curious, obsessive and angry." 

The title of Bjone's book, Almost Nothing, is a phrase often used to describe the products of Mies' labor: the nearly complete reduction of ornament, embellishment and human error, yielding a design elegance so pure it appears to be without an author. The book collects the work of 100 artists that compliment, challenge and defy the almost-frustratingly perfect work of the famed German architect through painting, sculpture and architecture. Each of the following creative pieces is a singular reference to a project designed by Mies van der Rohe.

Soon after graduating from the Mies-designed Illinois Institute of Technology, George Schipporeit designed Chicago's Lake Point Tower in a clear nod to the designer of his alma mater. The tower bears a striking resemblance to one of Mies' earliest and most idealistic glass skyscraper proposals in the 1922, which is also one of the only examples of a curvilinear architectural design produced by the architect. Bjone writes that for any admirer of Mies, "the act of copying [... is] as effortless as unconsciously sleepwalking through a dream.

Contemporary artist Natasha Kissell chose the Barcelona Pavilion, one of Mies' most celebrated projects, as her muse when painting Pink Canyons. Kissell transported the pavilion from the flat terrain of Barcelona to the sublime canyons of Arizona to challenge the site specificity of the building. Like many of Mies' buildings, the Barcelona Pavilion is built onto its own plinth rather than engaging with its context. The painting asks the viewer to ask whether or not Mies' buildings are truly autonomous from their sites.

Mies van der Rohe Melting, by Erwin Wurm (after Lake Shore Drive, 1951)

German artist Erwin Wurm sculpted a foam plastic model of Mies' apartment design for Lake Shore Drive with a severely melted base. One might assume that the artist's embellishment is a way of making the building more 'human,' or imbued with human imperfection. The heroically good posture of all of Mies' buildings is taken down a notch by Wurm and other artists that have sought to rebel against the perfection found in the architect's work.

“Are you really sure that a floor can’t also be a ceiling?,” by Big van der Pol. (after Farnsworth House, by Mies van der Rohe, 1951)

Dutch artists Liesbeth Bik and Jos van der Pol installed a slightly scaled-down version of Mies' Farnsworth House at the MACRO museum in Rome and turned it into a home for thousands of plants and butterflies, transforming the space into a small scale greenhouse. As the artists explained, "butterflies are... particularly sensitive to environmental degradation," just as the Farnsworth House is regularly flooded as a consequence of climate change. The two, in other words, are easily affected by changes in their environmental contexts, as they are prized for their supposed purity.

Suspended Mies, by Bettina Pousttchi (after the Seagram Building, by Mies van der Rohe, 1958)

Berlin-based artist Bettina Pousttchi used the famously elegant facade of Mies' Seagram Building as her muse when producing Suspended Mies, her installation at The Arts Club of Chicago. Suspended Mies partially consisted of a large-scale photograph of the Seagram Building printed on textile, which extended the length of the entire west gallery. The piece invited visitors to wonder how pliable the measured proportion of the Seagram Building truly were — how far can they be stretched, and is there a point at which the building can become monstrous while following its own proportional rules?