American residential architecture took a deep plunge in the baby boom, post-Craftsman era and never looked back. The old Craftsman-style homes (and the simple prairie houses from which the form was derived) utilized natural materials, clean lines, and high quality artisanship to build enduring structures, creating a warm and inviting habitat that emphasized communual areas (large kitchen, front living room, shaded porch) over ginormous bathrooms and bedrooms. The downsides–the small amount of closet space and often sparse windowing–could be corrected in modern designs, but the artisanship to build those structures is all but completely gone, replaced by hacktastical would-be carpenters that would probably wack themselves in the head with a hammer if they had to use one. The trend toward standardization and homogeneity–a high virtue in the I-Like-Ike 'Fifites–led to mass produced shells of often increasingly questionable build quality, and culimated in the cheap fake brick and cheap, tacked-on vernier panelling. And the less said about linoleum, the better. The replacement of this by vinyl siding and sheetrock in faux-Colonial style is a marginal improvement (although build quality continues to sink) but is nowhere near how solid and inviting the Craftsman style is.
All that said, Modern can be done very well, albeit not with concrete and glass block (which is well gone by the past due date and needs to be retired along with Joe Camel signs and salmon-colored silk jackets), but not inexpensively, nor with as little skill as contemporary tract housing. I’ve been in a number of Modern-style homes that are very well done and timeless. But these were not inexpensive houses (for the square footage), were carefully designed by the owners working with a dedicated architect, and would not have been suited for rainy or cold climates. In general, Modern architecture, despite its ostensible endorsement of utility and rejection of ornament, seems to be more about itself than its inhabitants, and often creates a very unflattering, harsh, oft-called ‘soulless’, and often unergonomic environment, both for inhabitants and pedestrians. I’d much rather take a stroll down one of Pasadena’s streets of old neighborhoods than across some glass-and-concrete boxes.
The same goes for commercial architecture, only moreso. With rare exceptions, Modern architecture just isn’t done very well; even when it looks good from a distance, it rarely functions well either as a habitable space or in terms of its resistance to elements. (Yes, I am talking about the Strata Center; why, how ever did you guess?) On occasion a structure can be a work of art, but more often it ends up being a stunt, like freshmen trying to one-up each other on who can be more gross. And the lest said about postModernism–whatever the hell it is–the better. Modern can be done well, but only with great effort, and not suited (at least as this point) to mass architecture.
Oh, and for the Frank Gehry fans in the audience, yes, his house in Santa Monica would not look out of place in backwoods Arkansas; it really does look like a heap of junk. Here are some pictures on the ironically-titled “GreatBuildings.com” site. It actually looks worse in person. It’s still not as bad as the Disney Concert Hall, which is one of those buildings that must have looked good in some abstract drawing but has turned out to be not only an eyesore but a serious pain-in-the-ass to maintain, and obtusely offensive to nearby residents on which it’s reflected glare shined into windows until the city sanded down the exterior to a matte finish.
Stranger