Richard Meier
Pritzker Architecture Prize Laureate
1984

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At 49, Richard Meier was the youngest architect to receive his profession's highest accolade, the Pritzker Architecture Prize. Shortly after receiving that honor, he was awarded what is probably this century's most important commission, the design of The Getty Center, an art center funded by the J. Paul Getty Trust. 

Explaining his own roots, Meier says, "Le Corbusier was a great influence, but there are many influences and they are constantly changing. Frank Lloyd Wright was a great architect, and I could not have done my parent's house the way that I did, without being overwhelmed by Falling Water." Meier continued, "We are all affected by LeCorbusier, Frank Lloyd Wright, Alvar Aalto, and Mies van der Rohe. But no less than Bramante, Borromini and Bernini. Architecture is a tradition, a long continuum. Whether we break with tradition or enhance it, we are still connected to that past. We evolve." 

In 1963, he established his private practice, and working from his apartment, launched the business with a commission for his mother and father, a residence in Essex Fells, New Jersey. "Thank God for one's parents," said Meier, "and their faith in us." In 1965, one of his early residential commissions, Smith House in Darien, Connecticut thrust him into national prominence. 

Looking back on it now, Meier spoke of "the clarity of the building, the openness, the direct articulation of private and public spaces, how it relates to the land and water." He added, "It's been over 17 years, and what was innovative and captured a great many people's imagination and admiration then, is already a part of our language, and somewhat taken for granted today." 

Other commissions for private homes followed, along with some more public projects. In 1967, he began work on the conversion of the old Bell Telephone Laboratories in Manhattan's Greenwich Village to accommodate some 1200 people in 383 apartment units. The result was hailed in the architectural community as the first evidence that ultimately, Meier's greatest achievements might lie in larger-scaled more public works. "This too is an example of how quickly we assimilate," said Meier. "'The phrase, 'adaptive re-use,' wasn't even in the language then. We were really pioneering a new area." 

In 1979, after devoting nearly five years of work to it, Meier completed another work, which prompted Ada Louise Huxtable to write in the New York Times, that the building advances "conventional modernist practice provocatively beyond established limits." The building referred to is known as The Atheneum, situated on the banks of the Wabash River in the restoration community of New Harmony, Indiana. 

On an even grander scale, the High Museum of Art in Atlanta, Georgia was completed in 1983. It opened to enormous media attention and Paul Goldberger, architecture critic of the New York Times, wrote in the June, 1983 issue of Vogue: "It is no accident, then, that Richard Meier is becoming one of the preeminent architects of museums." 

In addition to the High Museum, he has designed a major museum for Frankfurt, Germany, an addition to the Des Moines Art Center in Iowa, as well as many other types of commissions around the world. 

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Citation from the Pritzker Jury 

We honor Richard Meier for his single-minded pursuit of the essence of modern architecture. He has broadened its range of forms to make it responsive to the expectations of our time. 

In his search for clarity and his experiments in balancing light and space, he has created structures which are personal, vigorous, original. 

What he has achieved is only prologue to the compelling new experiences we anticipate from his drawing board. 

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Richard Meier's Acceptance Speech

I am extremely pleased and deeply honored to receive the 1984 Pritzker Architecture Prize. It never occurred to me that I would be in the running this year. I would like to thank The Hyatt Foundation for this prize for the art of architecture; it is profoundly significant in influencing the quality of architecture throughout the world. 

I would like to share with you, tonight, the ongoing conversation that I have with my children, Joseph and Ana. It revolves around the question "What is your favorite color?" Joseph, who is four and three-quarters, always replies green, and states when asked why, that "green is the color of grass, the trees are green, green is all around us, it's the color of spring and dollar bills." 

Ana, who is three and doesn't like to be outdone by Joseph, replies that her favorite color is blue, and that, "the sky is blue, the pools and ponds and lakes are blue." 

And then they turn to me and ask, "Daddy, what is your favorite color?" And every time we play this gave, my response is the same: "White is my favorite color." 

"But Daddy," Joseph says, "You can't have white. White is not a color; white isn't in the rainbow; you have to take a color that is in the rainbow, like red or green, or blue or yellow." 

And I have to explain that for me, white is the most wonderful color because within it you can see all the colors of the rainbow. For me, in fact, it is the color which in natural light, reflects and intensifies the perception of all of the shades of the rainbow, the colors which re constantly changing in nature, for the whiteness of white is never just white; it is almost always transformed by light and that which is changing; the sky, the clouds, the sun and the moon. 

White conventionally has alwyas been seen as a symbol of perfection, of purity and clarity. If we ask why this is the case, we realize that where other colors have relativevalues dependent upon their context, white retains its absoluteness. At the same time, it may function as a color itself. It is against a white surface that one best appreciates the play of light and shadow, solids and voids. Goethe said "color is the pain of light." Whiteness is perhaps the memory and the anticipation of color. For me, the contrast becomes the definition -- that which is natural, organic, changing, contains at different times, all of the colors of the rainbow. And that which is man-made should help to focus and intensify one's perception of all that is around us. 

As I have said many times in describing my own aesthetic, mine is a preoccupation with light and space; not abstract space, not scaleless space, but space whose order and definition are related to light, to human scale and to the culture of architecture. Architecture is vital and enduring because it contains us; it describes space, space we move through, exit in and use. I work with volume and surface, manipulating forms in light, changes of scale and view, movement and stasis. 

In this way whiteness has been one means of sharpening perception and heightening the power of visual form. This is one of many ways of achieving this and I hope to be able to explore a range of choices in the future. My sources include many from the history of architecture, but my quotes and allusions are never literal; my meanings are always internalized, my metaphors purely architectural. 

For me, part of the significance of an awareness of architectural history is that we again value permanence, continuity and, therefore quality. I am deeply concerned with the making of a building and prefer to think of myself more as a master builder than as an artist, for the art of architecture ultimately demands this. 

Mine is an attempt to find and redefine a sense of order, to understand, then, a relationship between what has been and what can be—to extract from our culture both the timeless and the topical. This, to me, is the basis of style, the decision to include or exclude, choice, the final exercise of the individual will and intellect. In this way, one might say that my style is something that is born out of culture, and yet is profoundly connected with personal experience. But to gain any sense of my involvement, it is necessary to consult the work. 

Fundamentally, my meditations are on space, form, light and how to make them. My goal is presence, not illusion. 

I pursue it with unrelenting vigor and believe that is the heart and soul of architecture. 

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About Architecture 

by Arata Isozaki

Every civilization has a realm in which its essential qualities are crystallized. In this realm architecture, gardens, furniture and even the manner of living form a highly tensioned spatial integrity Most people would agree that the Acropolis in Athens, Fatehpur-Sikri in Agra, the Temple of Heaven in Beijing and the Katsura Imperial Villa in Kyoto are examples of this idealized relationship. (Should Versailles and Las Vegas be added to this list, I would not object.) 

An architectural gem outlives its age only when it is the confident and passionate manifestation of a concept unique to its culture. The concept must be held not only by the architect but also by the client and user. A work of this excellence, even if unacknowledged in its own time, will, like Katsura Villa, be celebrated by future generations. 

Katsura Imperial Villa was rediscovered in the thirties by Bruno Taut, a European architect working in Japan. It was acclaimed one ofjapan's most eloquent works of architecture, but at that time it did not have the fame it has today Academic research had yet to be started when Taut, examining the legend, determined that Kobori Enshu was the architect for the Imperial Villa. Enshu was an important architect, garden designer and tea master. Also, he was governor of the outlying district of Kyoto where, in the mid 17th century Katsura Imperial Villa was built. 

Enshu created an austere and individual style of teahouse and garden which appealed to the taste of the warrior class in the age of the Shogun's rule. Therefore many imitators followed. He soon became a mythical figure and numerous works of nameless carpenters and gardeners were attributed to him. 

The mark of Enshu canbe found at Katsura both in the house and the garden and, since the designer was not known, Enshu was credited with these, also. However, it now appears that Enshu was not directly engaged in the design of Katsura. He did not even visit the site. It seems likely that the man responsible was Prince Hachijo-no-miya the First who supervised the work, and directed the carpenters and gardeners. 

An anecdote concerning Enshu is that when asked what conditions are necessary to create a masterwork of architecture, he answered that he could produce as many masterworks as desired if the following conditions were met: 

There was no limit on expense. 

There was no limit on time. 

The client would not see the work until it was completed. 

Although this story may be apocryphal it is ironic that even an architect of mythical status suffered the frustrations we all feel in our daily lives. 

In its present form Katsura is the product of extensive construction and additions continuing over many generations. The last major construction at the Imperial Villa, 150 years after its founding, is credited to Hachijono-riuya the Seventh. 

At Ise Shrine, another monument of Japanese architecture, the conflict between the need for permanence and the temporal nature of the materials is resolved by a form of rebuilding. This restoration resembles the method employed by a gene replicating itself to transmit information to the next generation. Two sites of similar shape are arranged side by side. Every twenty years a new shrine is rebuilt. The original shape of the shrine, developed in the 8th century remains essentially unchanged. 

These examples suggest that architecture outlives its age not merely because of its physical manifestation but, more importantly, because of the transcendent vision behind it. Although we see a structure before us as an edifice for practical use, in truth it is fragile and transient. 

Nevertheless, a work of architecture can endure even if like Katsura and Ise, it is not made of precious materials and is not monumental in scale. It can survive, moreover if it exists only on paper; as do most of the works of Palladio. Even the intangible inspiration of architecture can thus be transmitted. 

Perhaps it is true that ours is an unfortunate age in which to create. Architecture as a visualization shared by architect, client and user remains underdeveloped today.

The Pritzker Prize honors architects who pursue the art of architecture. It should inspire the development, growth and maturity of concepts which crystallize in noble and harmonious designs the finest qualities of our civilization.