Recently the public radio station WBEZ broadcast a feature on "Sex and Architecture." We thought that another approach should be considered.

I am not aware of any architect-designed structure in Chicago in which sex or sex appeal was the foremost intention of the architect. But there definitely are instances where sex and architecture cross paths or sex is an aspect of a larger architectural program or endeavor.

One place where Chicago architecture and sex intersect is the year 1856. It is the year when both Louis Sullivan, the father of the modern skyscraper, and Sigmund Freud, the father of modern psychology, were born. This linking may seem a little farfetched at first but there were a couple of important ideas that came out of Vienna and/or were widely popular there that are relevant to this question. These ideas can be helpful in or even fundamental to understanding Sullivan's work, its sensual aspects and create a thread that we carry down through the sartorial designs of Mies van der Rohe to the recent, rather puckish Prada Store and the new, slick Sofitel.

The first is the idea of the "heavy dress." The Viennese architect Gottfried Semper argued that since post and beam structural systems and the guts of every building were essentially the same, what the architect did was choose the style of its clothing or drape. The "heavy dress" is what differentiated one building from another. And "dress', a sexy dress, is a way to reveal and conceal, all the while leaving something to the imagination. The pedimental sculpture of the Parthenon from the 5th century BC in the British Museum speaks volumes on this. Having a little clothing on is much sexier than wearing nothing at all. The fabric hugs the figures' curves like a second skin inviting your caress (while strictly forbidden and not recommended, if you cannot control yourself make sure the Museum Guard isn't looking!). Its folds create shadow and rhythm, capturing your attention, without revealing too much. They still elicit a sensual response today.

The second idea is a dichotomy penned by Nietzsche that was very popular in fin de siecle Vienna. Nietzsche spoke of two fundamental opposites: the need to order or rationalize versus the need to embellish or ornate. This is played out in Sullivan's work -- much of his output is a structural frame that has been been embellished with ornament. Think of the overgrown, abundant foliage of his cast iron windows at Carson, Pirie, Scott, or his lush terracotta frames of the Krause Music Store on North Lincoln Avenue. Or think of Wright's description of his primary duty when hired by Sullivan as a draftsman of ornament -- first he drew the underlying geometry, say a circle and a rotated square, with a T-square and a compass and then he applied lush ornament calling it a crime. And, to put this into context, at that time so was everything in the bedroom but the missionary position with the lights on...

Nietzsche's aphorism "Without Art we perish from Truth" is instructive in describing the oeuvre of the architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. Mies's output is arguably the non plus ultra of sensual 20th century architecture. This maybe hard to believe in Chicago but Mies' European work is known for its rich fabrics and sartorial finishes. When Mies came into his own in 1920's Berlin, there were 2 major movements in architecture: historicsm or those who made NeoGothic and Neoclassal buildings with traditional materials like marble and masonry attached to their steel frames in the manner of Gottfried Semper's "heavy dress" and Die Sachlichkeit or the New Objectivity. The latter used industrial methods and man-made materials to create inexpensive housing for the masses. Mies took the materials used by the historicists, the rich stones, sumptuous leathers, and the polished surfaces and combined them with the industrial methods and forms of the Die Neue Sachlichkeit to create what he saw as a third way in architecture.

Is Mies's work sexy? Yes, I think so, for all its transparency it uses light and reflection to change and slowly unfold the space. The best of the buildings elicit a response like that the architect himself had on Dr. Farnsworth at their first meeting: "The effect was tremendous, like a storm, a flood or other act of God." His interior spaces are legendary. They change with the time of day and the season. The shiny, reflective metals, the rich leathers, the tactile fabrics, the reflections from the glass radiate luxury and a Weimar noblesse and seductiveness. The polished metal curves of his Brno or Barcelona chairs have a sexiness about them. They beckon your touch. The one phrase that can be credited to him alone is "almost nothing." Like the Parthenon's pedimental sculpture, I think his interiors and their furnishings draw your attention and your touch but they don't reveal too much. They are pared down, but rich and they never reveal everything. The proportions are handsome and pleasing. The materials make them irresistible. (This is where his imitators and even some of his own American work goes awry.) His spaces are not earnest like the Die Neue Sachlichkeit; let's face it earnestness isn't sexy -- nice guys finish last. Nor are his buildings nostalgic like the Historicists; nostalgia, unless it's the
movie Henry and June, isn't sexy either. This brings me to the current situation in Chicago.

The Sofitel's sex appeal comes equally from its provocative shape (some say it's like a stiletto), reflective surfaces and displays of light. The mass is draped with white, frameless, backpainted glass that softly reflects its surroundings. The cone that it is cut out of the wedge, the primary building mass, creates a piazza, a place to be seen, that is as Parisian as the staircase in the Opera House. Like the Prada store's display of its fetish-like fashion, the Sofitel has its own display of beautiful people and objects. The waxed, designer automobiles drop off its Prada-wearing patrons in the piazza and those in the Café des Architectes can take notice. The revolving door is frameless glass and leads to a foyer whose floor radiates a changing rainbow of colored light through its glass cabochons. The foyer is separated from the grand staircase by a translucent glass partition that has a kaleidoscope projected on its surface from within. The materials are rich and lighting subdued. I think it is a sexy and/or glamourous experience. But its sex appeal is part of a branding strategy enacted by its French owners. So it has more in common with Ambercrombie and Fitch than it does with the directly sexual Museum of Sex in New York City or the phallic figures in Colonna's fifteenth century classic "Hypnerotomachia Poliphili." (The Newberry Library on Walton Street has a copy from the original printing.)

Sex appeal, like art, is an impossible thing to define but you can atleast create some concepts and categories in order to make some distinctions and then move forward.

What do you think?