Howard Roark, Architect.

The sun made lighthouses of peaked summits, they reeled, flashing long white rays over the city. The city spread out, marching in angular rows to the rivers. It stood held between two thin black arms of water. It leaped across and rolled away to a haze of plains and sky. Flat roofs descended like pedals pressing the buildings down, out of the way of her flight.

[Vader House by Maynard Architects, via Black.White.Yellow.]

The rock crystal forms mounted in such eloquent steps that the building did not seem stationary, but moving upward in a continuous flow–until one realized that it was only the movement of one’s glance and that one’s glance was forced to move in that particular rhythm.

[Falling Water by Frank Lloyd Wright]

No two materials are alike. No two sites on earth are alike. No two buildings have the same purpose. The purpose, the site, the material determine the shape. Nothing can be reasonable or beautiful unless it’s made by one central idea, and the idea sets every detail. A building is alive, like a man. Its integrity is to follow its own truth, its one single theme, and to serve its own single purpose. A man doesn’t borrow pieces of his body. A building doesn’t borrow hunks of its soul. Its maker gives it the soul and every wall, window and stairway to express it.

[Stockholm Summer House by Tham & Videgard Hansson, via Black.White.Yellow.]

The house on the sketches had been designed not by Roark, but by the cliff on which it stood. It was as if the cliff had grown and completed itself and proclaimed the purpose for which it had been waiting.

[House on the Cliff via Black.White.Yellow.]

Its lines were horizontal, not the lines reaching to heaven, but the lines of earth. It seemed to spread over the ground like arms outstretched to shoulder-height, palms down, in great, silent, acceptance. It did not cling to the soil and it did not crouch under the sky. It seemed to lift the earth, and its few vertical shafts pulled the sky down.

[Butler House by Maynard Architects, via Black.White.Yellow.]

[Quotes from Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead.]

Happy Monday.


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  • Mama


  • Vicki

    I love Howard Roark! I always wished he were a real man. :)