Seattle's most significant city-shaping events have not been architectural. They've been destructive: clearcutting the old-growth forest that covered this area 150 years ago; the burning of Pioneer Square. in1889; the "regrading" of Denny Hill and Jackson Street. No single building can compete with the ramifications of stretching floating bridges across Lake Washington-a move that populated Eastside farmland at Seattle's expense.

Buildings here have failed to capture the pride of our citizenry. We have no Sydney Opera House, no Tower of London. The Space Needle (1962)-the closest thing we have to an Eiffel Tower-is beloved for its awkwardness, not its beauty. It is a giant maypole for a communal rite of self-deprecation. It shouts, "Hey, world, Seattle doesn't take itself too seriously!"

Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas, who designed the new downtown Seattle Public Library, chastises our city for its boring architecture. His civic jabs are overstated, but it's true that Seattle has not prioritized the dramatic. When visual splendor did arrive this year in the multicolored explosion of Paul Allen's Experience Music Project, it was buried at the foot of the Space Needle. No way would Seattleites have allowed those red, blue and silver blobs at, say, Gas Works Park.

Seattleites tend to prize local edifices for their feel, rather than their look. Pike Place Market (1907-1917), for instance, is beloved even though it's hardly a great building. Other constructions, like the Smith, Tower (1914) or 1001 Fourth Avenue Plaza (formerly the Seattle First National Bank Tower, 1969), are valued because of what they say about Seattle's growth as a "real city."

Yet despite our aversion to the prominent and sophisticated, the skyline here is blessed with some beautiful structures. Ten of them, built during the 20th century, can be appreciated for their visual vitality.

Storey Houses (1903, 1905), 270 and 260 Dorffel Drive E.

Architect Ellsworth Storey arrived here from Chicago in 1903, thoroughly entrenched in the principles of the Craftsman or Arts & Crafts style. In what was then the "suburb" of Denny Blame, he built two houses-one for his own family and one adjacent (but connected by a gallery) for his parents. His own home is all deep-charcoal shingles with white-framed windows-the brooding archetype behind the mail-order bungalows that would soon pop up all over Seattle.

Seattle Tower (1929), 1218 Third Ave.

If an architectural style could compete with jazz as an American original, then that style would be Art Deco. Not the common terra-cotta Art Deco, but the mountainlike rock-faced Art Deco of New York City's Rockefeller Center or this tapered, 26-story downtown tower. Follow the syncopation up the façade. Faced with gradations of brickwork- darkest at the bottom, growing lighter as the building climbs-and with setbacks to allow natural light into a maximum number of offices, the Seattle Tower is easy on the eye, over and over again.

Seattle Asian Art Museum (1932), 1400 E Prospect St.

Once in a long while, a good architect surpasses him- or herself to create a masterpiece. Even though the Olmsted Brothers, who designed Capitol Hill's Volunteer Park in the early 20th century, fought efforts to mar their landscaping with buildings, the clear spans of granite that face architect Carl Gould's museum are the definition of elegance. The gilded foyer and quiet interior court of stone together form Seattle's finest interior space.

Egan House (1958) 1500 Lakeview Blvd. E.

Seattleite Robert Reichert may be the only American architect to create buildings that double as freestanding abstract modern paintings. This crisp, wedge-shaped private residence pops out from its surrounding wooded hillside. In the language of modern art criticism, it is a composition of black and white in motion.

Seattle Public Library, Downtown (1959), 1000 Fourth Ave.

A handsome composition of interlocking volumes, this International Style block of glass and aggregate concrete is scheduled to meet the wrecking ball in 2001 to make way for Koolhaas' less-restrained replacement. At night, the present library's first two stories glow warmly over Fourth Avenue. The walls of its auditorium zigzag along Spring Street, while a courtyard on the Fifth Avenue side shelters artist George Tsutakawa's bronze Fountain of Wisdom.

Bon Marché Parking Garage (1960), 1619 Third Ave.

While most folks pay attention only to the John Graham Sr.-designed department store across Fourth Avenue, this skybridge-connected structure-a block dominating, nine-story stack of floating, crisp white layers of thin concrete-is the more arresting sight. The garage's corkscrew ramp at Third Avenue and Stewart Street, its mushrooming support columns and its open-air staircase on the Pine Street side (next to the alley) give it a rare modern delicacy.

Freeway Park (1976), on Seneca Street between Sixth and Eighth Avenues.

This five-acre retreat, now merged with the Washington Convention Center, is a bizarre illusion of floating ground-a multilevel lid over 1-5 that's quite lovely in the spring. Developed by landscape architect Lawrence Halprin, the park features ponds and flower beds, but is best known for its concrete abstraction of a mountain waterfall that's meant to block out roadway sounds, but also makes a mockery of one long-ago observer's statement that the freeway below sounds "like a waterfall."

Seattle Art Museum (1989), 100 University St.

Sophistication, joy of decoration and respect for the old city describe Seattle's most intelligent building, Philadelphia designer Robert Venturi shifted the paradigms of modern architecture by rejecting the simplicity of the glass box. Instead, he gave SAM a cascade of red arches against sandstone cladding, a mini-forest of stone columns inside the First Avenue entrance that lends this structure a feeling of monumentality, and just a hint of pop art with the monumental lettering-SEA1TLE ART MUSEUM-that curves around the façade.

Chapel of St. Ignatius (1998), Seattle University Campus, 900 Broadway.

Quirky cut-out shapes in flat concrete walls fence this work by Northwest-born superstar architect Steven Holl (who also designed the new Bellevue Art Museum, set to open in January). The details make this a structure not to be missed. Sunlight reflecting off hidden colored walls sprays the chapel's rolling ceiling with different hues throughout the day. Zoomy holes pierce the heavy entry door. The precisely crafted confessional wall rotates. Artist Linda Beaumont's waxed walls glow.

Pike-Pine Neighborhood (1900-2000), along Pike and Pine streets east of 1-5.

This area of Capitol Hill has the architectural edge over our other urban neighborhoods. Building on a foundation of early-2Oth-century brick-and-timber warehouses, recent condominiums and businesses have added a freshness of design and a solidity of character. The Baltic Room (1207 Pine St.) may be one of the most elegant wood-clad rooms in the country, while a chance to appreciate the smooth and slick Jetsons-like bar at Man Ray (514 E Pine St.) is worth the price of the martini. Fremont is over. Pike-Pine is here.

Seattle Magazine

December 2000

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