| |
From: Stephen Lauf
To: design-l@lists.psu.edu
Subject: Re:enactionary architecturism
Date: 2004.04.14 17:18
Reenactionary appears to be a word I invented sometime in the second half of 1999.
The first time I wrote the word architecturism was 30 January 2001 within personal notes, and the first time I wrote architecturism publicly was 28 October 2001 here at design-l. I may not be the first person to use this word, however, as a google search indicates a couple other people using this term, also in 2001.
A search of 'reenactionary' and 'architecturism' within the design-l and architecthetics online archives will provide a fairly good 'history' of the use of these terms. I may have used to words in posts to archipol, but that archive is no longer available online (or maybe it moved to a new URL).
It has long been my intention to compose an e-book entitled Reenactionary Architecturism. So far, I have compiled lots of material.
Here's something I read for the first time today--I'm not kidding. It was (ghost)written/published in 1913 by (Maude Mary Chester Ffoulkes) Marie Larisch, a second cousin of Ludwig and Otto:
Herrenchiemsee was a miniature Versailles, and it was here, in the Galerie des Glaces, that the King gave his ghostly dinner parties, one of which he afterwards described to my aunt, who in turn narrated the incidents and the conversations to me, although not literally in the words which follow:
Shortly before midnight, the wonderful "Galerie" glowed with the soft light of many candles which turned the crystal candelabra into chains of glittering diamonds. The dinner-table, which was decorated with gold plate and exquisite glass and flowers, was laid for thirteen guests, and at five minutes before midnight King Ludwig entered the room to await their arrival.
When the clock struck twelve, the great doors were flung open, and the Groom of the Chambers announced -- Queen Marie Antoinette. Ludwig came forward to receive her, and what did he see? A beautiful woman dressed in delicate satin, her powdered hair entwined with pearls and roses, and round her neck a thin blood-red line; for the King imagined that at his bidding the Queen's spirit resumed the earthly aspect which she wore during the gorgeous days at Versailles, together with the cruel mark of the guillotine.
Louis XIV, with flowing wig and suit of stiff gold-encrusted brocade came mincingly forward on high red heels to be welcomed by his host; then Mary, Queen of Scots, lovely in black velvet, with the crimson kiss of death on her neck, looked deep into the King's eyes and enthralled his soul.
Catherine the Great, resplendent in her gorgeous robes, brought with her the taint of blood and desire, and the romantic troubadour Wolfram von Eschenbach, who followed the august lady, shivered as his sleeve inadvertently brushed her arm.
Julius Caesar, whose bald head was encircled with a laurel wreath, entered with the all-conquering Alexander, and the Emperor Constantine followed them absorbed by his vision of the Cross.
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark and the cross-grained cynic Diogenes seemed entirely out of place in that lovely glittering room, and so did the Emperor Barbarossa as he roughly acknowledged Ludwig's salutation. A solemn monk was the next arrival, and then the King looked anxious, for one guest was late, but at last the Spirit of the Mountains drifted lightly into the room. She was fair as the dawn which is only seen to perfection in the lonely places of the world, and her eyes were the deep blue of the quiet lakes. From beneath a crown of icicles her long fair hair fell over her white shoulders, and her transparent draperies were adorned with flowers and moss.
The King smiled at the Fairy, who kissed him with cold sweet lips that whispered of the purity of life far from the haunts of men; then she placed her hand upon his brow and bade him think of the forests, and the wild creatures which he loved and whose lives he held sacred.
Dinner was served, and thirteen servants waited on the guests, whose conversation was varied and often brilliant, as befitted such a gathering of the Great Ones of all Ages. But the Mountain Fairy sat by the King, and spoke of her distant home where the streams flowed swiftly over the emerald water weeds; she told him the secret which the wind tells the pine-trees in the dreary winter days, and how their resinous tears in summer are shed by the dryads imprisoned in their hearts. She made him smell the perfume of the flower-starred moss which she wore, and the enchanted King paid little attention to Marie Antoinette, who was talking trivialities about the Trianon and the Fountains of Versailles.
Finally Ludwig pledged his guests, and when the hands of the great gilt clock marked the hour of one he shattered his glass so that it could never be used to drink less noble toasts. Then silently and swiftly the ghostly diners disappeared, followed by the King.
Ludwig firmly imagined that this dinner was really attended by the illustrious dead, and his servants heightened the illusion by devouring the courses as soon as they were removed; so when the King passed through the serving room and saw that the food had really been consumed, he was more than ever convinced of the truth of his delusion.
["Ludwig occupied Herrenchimsee Palace on one occasion only: for ten nights in the autumn of 1885." -- Wilfrid Blunt, The Dream King. Ludwig was declared insane and subsequently soon died mid-June 1886.]
reenactment is as reenactment does?
Kahn and Matta-Clark have lately been discussing architecture and cut-outs (and cut-up books). Piranesi and Schmitt are together composing a documentation of Santa Costanza. And the ghost-writer John the Baptist Piranesi has taken over Encyclopedia Ichnographica, the project initiated at Quondam.
Did you know Ludwig is close friends with T.S. Eliot?
My life-long next-door neighbor, who is now 80+ years old, spent Holy Week and Easter on retreat in Elkins Park. At least somebody I actually know recently spent some time close to Saint Catherine de Ricci, Trumbauer, and who knows who else.
|