Ten days after Trump demeaned Brutalist architecture and its heavy imposing aesthetic, I stood in the background as Robert, a man I care for a great deal, spoke in his witty, razor-sharp, charming manner, to a group visiting The Salk Institute in La Jolla, California.
To be fair to the president, Brutalist architecture which landed in the United States following World War II, with its look of raw exposed concrete and bold geometric forms, often inspires strong emotions—both love and hate.
Over the past few years, I have seen and heard Robert’s tours five times. Each time, he adds, embellishes, and polishes his content.
I am struck by his vast knowledge, not only of the site, but of its founder, Jonas Salk, and the architect Louis Kahn, who designed some of the 20th century’s most notable buildings.
I am captivated by his presentation skills.
I am inspired by his ability to engage an audience.
And I marvel at his love of this place.
The day is cool. It is mid-afternoon and a breeze blows gently. The group huddles close to one another for warmth; they are friendly, intelligent colleagues gathered in a semi-circle facing Robert who stands tall - orange baseball hat, sans jacket - with his back to the cold relatively calm Pacific Ocean, apparently unaffected by the chill in the air.
Along with the others, I am awed by the magnitude of the setting—twenty-seven acres of coastal bluffs overlooking the deep Pacific. Kahn’s masterpiece consists of two mirror-image structures—both six stories high—that flank the grand travertine courtyard and house large, open and unobstructed laboratory spaces whose occupants deal with the ever-changing needs of science.
It strikes me as curious that we travel all over the world to great cathedrals like Notre Dame in Paris, Duomo di Milano in Milan, or St. Andrew's Cathedral in Singapore and yet many of us have overlooked the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York or The Lady of Our Angeles in Los Angeles. We visit architectural wonders such as the Taj Mahal in India, or the Colosseum in Rome and yet have not seen or perhaps heard of this majestic monument.
Along with talk of the buildings and the site, Robert relates stories of Kahn and Jonas Salk, medical researcher who developed the first polio vaccine, and their longtime collaboration and respect for one another.
As he winds down his tour, Robert leads the group to the far western point of the Salk Institute compound. There, he pauses to share not only the magnificence of the closer view of the Pacific Ocean, but one last story of Louis Kahn’s journey to the pyramids in Egypt at Giza, which astonished and overwhelmed him.
“He saw them not only as enormous masses, timeless and eternal, but also as vehicles of light. You can see that influence here at the Salk,” Robert added.
I find myself moving closer to the group who stand mesmerized by the architectural wonder and the ocean in front.
Again, Robert pauses and then turns to the west with his back to the visitors. Another pause, after which he turns slowly back to face the group and with a reverence that seems to spill over onto the men and women gathered, says,
“You are standing in a very special place. You are looking at the immense expanse of the Pacific Ocean, the largest, deepest, and oldest ocean on earth with Hawaii and Japan beyond. And to the east behind you, the entire north American continent.”
And with that, he ends.
I am inspired.
By the speaker.
By the site.
By the moment.