Adolf Loos, Donald Judd, and 101 Spring Street, Lecture, 2011
Lecture at the Museum of Modern Art, May 2011
Commissioned by Judd Foundation as part of the Donald Judd Architecture + Design Lecture Series. Sponsored in part with funds from the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs.
“Adolf Loos, Donald Judd, and 101 Spring Street”
On a 2008 trip to Marfa, Texas, I visited Donald Judd’s residential compound La Mansana de Chinati, which includes his thirteen thousand volume library. Among Judd’s wide-ranging collection of art, architecture, philosophy, history, geography and other titles, I discovered that he owned about a dozen books by and about Adolf Loos.1 Judd’s architectural work during the 1970’s and early 1980’s at Spring Street and Marfa, and his exposure to Loos, occurred around the time that I received my education, when I purchased several of the same books that had been recently published or republished. Judd and I might have been attracted to Loos for the same reasons. Loos was a trenchant critic of formalism, such as that practiced by the architects of the Viennese Secession during the late 19th and early 20th Century. Loos advocated for a more thoughtful connection between architecture and the rapidly emerging modern consumer society of his time. The architectural context for Judd’s work of the 1970’s and 1980’s was postmodernism, which was marked in the United States by return to the purported associative value of historical forms. Judd, like Loos, strived to create a deeper, more vital relationship between art and life.
Loos and Judd shared several key attributes. Critical writing, marked by close observation and a clear, concise style, was a common foundation. Loos’ earliest efforts were a series of newspaper articles for the New Free Press about the Vienna Jubilee Exhibition of 1898, collected into Spoken into the Void, which was translated and republished by MIT Press in 1982 (a book Judd owned).2 During the 1960’s, Judd wrote dozens of reviews of exhibitions for Arts Magazine and Art International, as well as many subsequent essays about his own art.3 Loos and Judd also had similar working processes and formal proclivities. They explored simple proportional variations, eliminating extraneous elements and refining their ideas in each project or piece. Loos employed unadorned cubic solids as the massing strategy for many of his projects. Judd used simple rectangular planes and surfaces to create manifold parallelipid wall and floor pieces. Their precisely crafted art and architecture employed carefully considered materials and details. As important as its intrinsic properties, their work was intended to be understood directly through use and perception, to be a means of shaping experience as much as an end in itself.
In 1968, Donald Judd purchased 101 Spring Street, a five story, 19th century cast-iron building in Manhattan’s SoHo neighborhood. Although he spent much of his time in Marfa, Texas from the early 1970’s onward, Judd continued to live and work in 101 Spring Street until his death in 1994. The building is notable for its elegant, extensively glazed historic exterior and for Judd’s significant interior modifications to permanently install his art and that of his contemporaries. Loos’ ideas are a way of interpreting Judd’s efforts at 101 Spring Street through the lens of architecture. “Industrial Artifact” describes 101 Spring Street as expressive of modern building technology when it was constructed in 1870, emblematic of Loos’ assertion that architecture be conceived in relation to cultural conditions. “Specific Spaces” compares the organization of 101 Spring Street with Loos’ raumplan as an innovative, dynamically ordered space perceived through movement. “Thought and Feeling” examines Judd’s installed spaces through Loos’ interpretation of architecture as a sensory experience. From the large scale of the exterior to the smaller scale of the interior, it is possible see beyond the physical legacy of Judd’s architecture–now widely appropriated as the museum and gallery aesthetic of our time — toward a greater understanding of his conceptual framework.
101 Spring Street was constructed in 1870 at the heart of New York City’s northward expansion up the island of Manhattan. Assessing the qualities of the existing building through Loos’ correlation between materials, construction, form and culture helps explain the significance of Judd’s decision to purchase and preserve this building. In his essay “Architecture,” Loos described a quiet scene in a rural village of vernacular structures united with their natural lakeside context. The architect designs a home in the middle of this pastoral scene, and Loos asks:
“Why is it that every architect, whether good or bad, desecrates the lake? The farmer does not desecrate it. Neither does the engineer who builds a railway on the shore, or he who draws deep grooves in the clear surface of the lake with his ship. They create in a different way. The farmer has marked out the spot from which the new house is to rise, and has excavated the earth for the foundations. The mason appears. If clay is in the vicinity, then it provides a brickyard which delivers bricks. If not, then those stones which form the lake’s shore will suffice. And while the mason lays brick upon brick, stone upon stone, the carpenter has taken up his position next to him. He builds the roof. What kind of roof? A beautiful one or an ugly one? He does not know. It is a roof!” 4
Linking the engineer with the farmer, Loos identified the possibility of coherence between how and what buildings are made of, their appearance, and the society that produced them. In “Furniture for Sitting” (and in several other essays published in) Spoken into the Void, he expanded this argument beyond architecture, asserting, “The beauty of a useful object exists only in relation to its purpose.”5 For Loos, construction technique had the potential to give architecture integrity and logic that were often subordinated by stylistic pretence or apriori formal conceits. It could influence the form, space and character of a building in a clear, unselfconscious manner which originated from the resources and methods of a culture. He believed that this could be achieved when the architect took into account that the performance and qualities of materials in giving them formal expression.
“Every material possesses its own language of forms, and none may lay claim for itself to the forms of another material. For forms have been constituted out of the applicability and through the methods of production of materials. No material permits an encroachment into its own circle of forms.” 6
Loos envisioned architecture that was grounded in the way that people live and the artifacts that they produce. He was neither nostalgic, nor did he advocate invention for its own sake. In the essay “Potemkin City,”7 Loos railed against the prevailing translation of stone detail into cast concrete. He believed that ignoring the potential of new materials and methods of construction in this manner diminished society’s capacity to achieve appropriate expression. However, Loos also wrote, in “Vernacular Art” that “A change with regard to tradition is only possible if the change means an improvement. And that is where the new inventions [the electric light; the flat roof] tear great gaps in tradition, in the traditional manner of building.”8 Loos broadened his argument to encompass program and function, writing in his eulogy for the cabinet maker (and longtime collaborator), Joseph Veillich, “I maintain that use creates the cultural form, the forms of the objects. The others say that the newly created forms can influence cultural forms (sitting, dwelling, eating, etc).”9
101 Spring Street, its character largely determined by the properties of its cast iron structural system, situated Judd’s work in history, technology and place as Loos advocated. In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, cast iron was a “new invention” that began to transform the worlds of engineering and construction. By the time 101 Spring Street was built, cast iron had become a widely used material that filled a need for fast, inexpensive fire-resistant structures to accommodate commercial programs such as offices, factories and warehouses in the rapidly growing metropolis.
Strong in compression, it was particularly well suited to vertical structural elements such as columns, which could be smaller in cross-section than wood or masonry but carry greater load. This enabled longer spans between columns, larger uninterrupted floors and larger areas of glazing. Because it was prefabricated off-site, cast iron was made to precise dimensional tolerances and could be accurately reproduced in multiples through the casting process. Judd acknowledged the basic attributes of the existing building in his 1989 essay “101 Spring Street,” writing:
“The building is on a corner and is a right angle of glass. The facade is the most shallow perhaps of any in the area and so is the furthest forerunner of the curtain- wall. The lot is only 25 by 75 feet. As usual, there are five stories and two basements, which originally were well-lit thorough the ground-level clerestory and the sidewalk. I thought the building should be repaired and basically not changed. It is a 19th century building.” 10
In writing years earlier about art in his essay “Specific Objects” (1965), Judd noted: “There is an objectivity to the obdurate identity of a material.”11 Such is the case with the expression of cast iron at 101 Spring Street. The building’s insistent presence is reinforced through clarity of structural function, formal expression, repetition, and uniformity of color.
As in Loos’ precepts and Judd’s art, there is a correspondence between construction and appearance of 101 Spring Street. The building’s principal features are plainly visible and predominantly determined by pragmatic considerations of function and economy, as befitting its utilitarian purpose. Cast iron is utilized in a forthright manner as both structure and enclosure. The exterior columns are the actual structure of the building rather than an applied covering over a concealed support. Like a modern curtain wall, the non-structural spandrel panels between each column, made of cast iron, are attached to a concealed a cast iron “L” that supports the wood floor joists. Unlike many cast iron buildings from this period, the details do not closely mimic stone; for example there are no simulated masonry joints. The use and expression of cast iron makes 101 Spring Street’s character akin to the fundamental propriety of the carpenter’s work as described by Loos.
The building’s facades are the result of the matter-of-fact application of construction technique, as Loos advocated. They also possess similar formal qualities as Judd’s art. The elevations of 101 Spring Street are structural frames, with a repetitive order of ten equally-spaced bays on Mercer Street and three equal bays on Spring Street. Reflecting its modular construction, each floor has the same repeated column and molding over every window, with only minor variations. Two-thirds of the surface of the facades are windows, a very large proportion made possible by the strength of cast iron. The cage-like facades are lightly ornamented and do not have a strong hierarchical composition but instead appear as grid-like stacks of regularly spaced openings. The interior of each floor is defined by the repetitive structural bays of the building. Judd eschewed overt or conventional hierarchical composition, referring to it, in a 1971 Artforum interview with John Coplans, as “typical part by part play”.12 He continued “…the thing about my work is that it is given. Just as you take a stack or row of boxes, it’s a row. Everybody knows about rows, so it’s given in advance.”13
101 Spring Street’s medium-gray exterior color further unifies the building, reinforcing the overall perception of the entire assembly of repeated structural bays. The building was originally cream colored to imitate limestone, as was the typical practice. However, the building was painted gray before Judd’s time and he left it this color. Gray paint, which was consonant with the iron base material, rather than a faux finish, brings to mind Loos’ “Principal of Cladding” which stated, “We must work in a way that the confusion of the material clad with its cladding is impossible.”14 Further, window frames and interior wood window trim were also kept or repainted this same color gray, which was in keeping with Loos’ assertion that “Wood may be painted any color except one–the color of wood.”15 In the 1971 Artforum interview, Judd spoke about the interrelationship of color and form, noting that “…the red, other than a gray of that value, seems to be the only color that really makes an object sharp and defines it s contours and edges.”16 The consequence of the monochromatic gray color is that, like a Judd piece, the entirety of the building is felt as a totality.
Integrated with 101 Spring Street’s historical and spatial framework, Judd’s installed spaces on floors 2-5 are linked together by the elevator and stairs, two different types of vertical movement. Separated spatially and programmatically, but connected in this manner, the building is experienced like Judd’s art. Inhabitants become part of a dynamic interaction between part and whole, between each floor and the entire building, as they move through it. In similar ways, but for different reasons, Loos’ raumplan (a word coined after his death by his student Kulka) is a spatial strategy that he developed to organize domestic space, balancing the separation of program spaces with circulation between and through them.
The raumplan is an interlocking, three-dimensional organization of rooms which make Loos’ houses into a precisely tailored spatial and material experience; a responsive context for the activities occurring within. Each room is distinct but also part of a continuous sequence that spirals along a central stair and circulation path. This is different than ordering strategies such as alignments of rooms and openings (e.g. en filade; en suite) or a conventional hierarchical relationship between part and whole (e.g. symmetry), which subordinate local to overall order. In the raumplan, a more nuanced awareness of the interior order emerges through personal experience of the interaction between part and whole, as the relationship between room and circulation is blurred. Sometimes rooms look into each other, introducing the simultaneous sensation of being inside and outside.17 The interior of each room is lined, and the exterior hall side is sometimes covered, with a material which imparts an appropriate character in relation to its particular program.
In their book Villa Muller: A Work of Adolf Loos, Kent Kleinman and Leslie Van Duzer describe how the raumplan balances the sensations of stasis, enclosure and separation with movement, openness and connection.18 This makes the feeling of inhabiting space more potent. Late in his life, Loos first described what subsequently came to be known as the raumplan:
Developed in multiple residential projects, the raumplan was for Loos a means of shifting architecture from the superficial formal invention of the Secession and toward more precise and intense interrelationships with the lives of its inhabitants. The raumplan’s fluctuating closure and openness establish varying levels of privacy as well as accommodate diverse activities, choreographing the day to day events of domestic life. This also reflects the ambiguous quality of domestic space at a time of great social change in fin-de-siecle Vienna and throughout Europe — the home was no longer simply a retreat.
“I do not design plans, facades, sections, I design space. Actually there is neither a ground floor, an upper floor or a basement, there are merely interconnected spaces, vestibules, terraces. Every room needs a specific height-the dining room a different one from the pantry-therefore the floors are on varying levels. After this one must connect the spaces with one another so that the transition is unnoticeable and natural, but also the most practical.” 19
As the raumplan reorganized domestic space to achieve an experiential and psychological association with the inhabitants, Judd’s conception of the installed spaces merges context and content to make a place for personal, controlled engagement with the art in contrast to the indifferent space of a gallery or museum. Like in Loos’ raumplan, Judd’s architecture at 101 Spring Street is perceived through bodily movement. Living in or visiting requires traveling through the building, alternately outside of and within the local order of each floor. This enables the subtle qualities of the work to be fully experienced over time as Judd intended, giving greater appreciation for the visitor and informing the artist’s approach. This is analogous to how Judd’s art is fully perceived through a person’s changing vantage point. He described its significance:
“The installation of my work and that of others is contemporary with its creation. The work is not disembodied spatially, socially, temporally as most museums. The space surrounding my work is crucial to it: as much thought has gone into the installation as into a piece itself. The installations in New York and Marfa are a standard for the installation of my work elsewhere. The interrelation of the architecture of 101 Spring Street, its own and what I’ve invented with the pieces installed there, has led to many of my newer, larger pieces, ones involving whole pieces.” 20
Judd’s early sketch of the building, similar to a drawing of one of his stack pieces, elegantly expressed the similarity between his art and architecture. Each floor was a distinct volume of space that was also affiliated with the entire array, like a room interlocked within the raumplan. However, in contrast to the raumplan’s centripetal order, at 101 Spring Street the floors are held together through their vertical alignment and shared volumetric simplicity. Judd’s formulation of a totality defined by the reciprocity of part and whole, new and old, one floor to another, is also consonant with his art. It is grounded in his respect for the organization of the building:
“The given circumstances were very simple: the floors must be open, the right angle of windows on each floor must not be interrupted, and any changes must be compatible. My requirements were that the building be useful for living and working and more importantly, more definitely, be a space in which to install work of mine and of others. …It was pretty certain that each floor had been open, since there were no signs of original walls, which determined that each floor should have one purpose: sleeping, eating, working.” 21
The original manually-controlled elevator for the building provides a linear path of travel up and down, tying together the discrete floors. The upper sides and top of the historic elevator cab are enclosed by a wire mesh grille, and large windows comprise the street wall of the skylit shaft way. Light-filled and open, the vertical shaftway is a connective space at the scale of the entire building. From the elevator, the independence of each floor, stacked one upon the other, is evident because the elevator doors are glazed and it is therefore possible to see from the elevator into each floor as it moves up and down. The interval between the floors is also understood in the blank shaft wall between door openings and through the time it takes the elevator to travel between floors. Upon arriving at each floor, there is a fixed single-point perspective view into the space from the station point at the elevator door.
In contrast to the elevator, the stair lands at each floor in a different location, establishing diagonal views and activating the spatial experience of each floor differently. The stairway traverses the length and height of the building, beginning at Spring Street on the southeast corner of the building, continuing northward along the east party wall past the second floor, and doubling back at the third and fourth floors before finally reaching the fifth floor. The changing position and dimensions of the stair enclosure affect the overall proportions of the space, which influenced how Judd organized each floor into smaller areas. On the fourth floor, Judd opened the stair to the rest of the space. This overlapping condition emulates the raumplan’s simultaneity of movement and stasis, as well as reinforces the unity of the building.
Thought and Feeling
Critiquing postmodern architecture in 1984, Judd declared “Everything is to be read; nothing is to be appreciated.”22 As in his art, at 101 Spring Street the essential interplay between the containment and extension of space is experienced viscerally. Decades earlier, Loos wrote persuasively about the necessity for his architecture to be lived. Physical sensation was the means to engage the qualities that were important to him:
“…what I want in my rooms is for people to feel substance all around them, for it to act upon them, for them to know the enclosed space, to feel the fabric, the wood, above all to perceive it sensually, with sight and touch, for them to dare to sit comfortably and feel the chair over a large area of their bodily senses, and to say: this is what I call sitting!”23
For Loos, the basic task of the architect was to create the appropriate atmosphere corresponding to the program or function of a project. Loos’ interiors are lined with expressive materials that reinforce the spatial variety of the raumplan. Richly-veined stone slabs, dark wood panels, soft drapery and other materials or finishes help set a distinct ambiance for each room that is tuned to the particular activity occurring there. Built-in elements such as upholstered couches and carefully chosen or designed furnishings add another level of refinement. He explained:
“…the artist, the architect, first senses the effect he intends to realize and sees the rooms he wants to create in his mind’s eye. He senses the effect that he wishes to exert upon the spectator: fear and horror if it is a dungeon, reverence if a church, respect for the power of state if a government palace, piety if a tomb, homeyness if a residence, gaiety if a tavern. These effects are produced by both the material and the form of the space.” 24
At 101 Spring Street, Judd’s installed spaces create sensory experiences in relation to the art on display, as well as the domestic program as in Loos’ architecture. The relationship between enclosure and openness, which starts with what Judd called the “corner of glass” of the building, is elaborated differently on each floor. In particular, the third, fourth and fifth floors are defined by material planes and surfaces that tune the architecture to the art, furniture and program. These modifications to the building intensify experience by engaging the body and view.
“… my main inventions are the floors of the 5th and 3rd floors and the parallel planes of the identical ceilings and floor of the 4th floor. The baseboard of the 5th floor is the same oak as that of the floor, making the floor a shallow recessed plane. There is no baseboard, there is a gap between the walls and the floor of the 3rd floor, thus defining and separating the floor as a plane.” 25
The third floor accentuates the enclosure and openness of space often present in Judd’s art. Perhaps this was instigated by the presence of the volume of the stair enclosure on this floor, which disrupts the singularity of the space. Here the largest Judd piece in the building (Untitled, 1969), an open-ended box made of four thick slabs of aluminum plate, is juxtaposed with unadorned gray plaster walls and ceiling. The piece rests upon the floor plane, made from wood boards applied over the existing floor and distinguished from the plaster walls with a small reveal. Judd’s plasterwork unifies walls and ceiling. The proportions of Untitled, 1969 are identical to the south end of the floor around it (defined by the projecting stair volume) and the piece is centered within this area. The height of the piece is slightly above eye level, so the top is seen as a plane slightly receding in space. Except for cantilevered wood book shelves in the corner library, all of the art and furniture is placed on the floor, rather than the walls. The Ethiopian head rest and small woven carpet, located directly on the floor, prompt intimate contact between the body and the floor plane.
On the fourth floor, the equivalent treatment of the wood floor and ceiling planes makes palpable the space that is contained between them. From a standing position, eye level is slightly below the midpoint of the height of the room. The approximate symmetry about the horizon line seems to neutralize gravity, recalling spaces created by Mies van der Rohe. This sensation is reinforced because Judd stripped away the changes made to this floor when building codes were tightened in the early twentieth century. He removed the sprinkler piping and fire-rated enclosure around the stair. He replaced the metal-clad wood windows and wire glass at the fire escape with windows that matched the others on the floor, unifying the south and west walls of the space. He also removed the heating piping under the windows. Two large paintings by Frank Stella originally filled the east wall; the planar stair wall and north walls contain small works, mostly drawings and pieces by Dan Flavin. The design and selection of furniture is in consonance with the planar articulation of the floor and ceiling. The top surface of the dining table and console, designed by Judd, is expressed as a plane extending beyond the square post-like legs. Gerrit Rietveld’s Zig-Zag chairs, designed in the early 1930’s, are used at the dining table.
On the fifth floor, the wood floor and base is detailed in a manner similar to the way that Judd articulated some of his floor pieces, such as the top detail of the smaller floor piece (Untitled, 1970) on the third floor. He described this invention with respect to his art:
“The surface is pushed back. It occurred to me that if you took one of the sides and pushed it in, it would open the top surface up. I was always interested in edges and flanges. …It defines what the boxes are made of by showing the thickness of the sheet metal, and thus becomes less arbitrary, more rigorous, with a more precise knowledge of the thickness of the material.” 26
This articulation terminates the floor surface, which reinforces the sensation of being at the top of the building, especially in relation to the lower floors. The sloping white plaster ceiling follows the underside of the roof joists, establishing a gradient from the small-scale private bathing and dressing spaces to the taller open sleeping area at the south. Judd’s low bed platform, a floating plane made of wood boards, occupies the shallow space defined by the floor base. The piece “Dedicated to Flavin Starbuck Judd,” by Dan Flavin, was created for this location and spans the entire floor along the west elevation. It is viewed obliquely as one moves along it, to or from the elevator and stair, as well as seen frontally from the sleeping area, in relation to structural order of the building. This piece and others demonstrate Judd’s motivation to create installed spaces at 101 Spring Street, which was prefigured in his 1965 essay “Specific Objects”:
“Three dimensions are real space. That gets rid of the problem of illusionism and of literal space, space in and around marks and colors–which is riddance of one of the most salient and most objectionable relics of European art. The several limits of painting are no longer present. A work can be as powerful as it can be thought to be. Actual space is intrinsically more powerful and specific than paint on a flat surface.” 27
“…one person is a unity, and somehow, after the long complex process, a work of art is a similar unity.” 28
101 Spring Street demonstrates Judd’s conviction that a work of art and its site must be understood as a totality. Uniting context and content, Judd’s careful interventions correlated the existing building with the art installed within it. 101 Spring Street continuously evolved as Judd modified it over twenty-six years, enriching his art. Assessing 101 Spring Street through Adolf Loos’ writing and work elaborates Judd’s architectural vision of the union of art and life, directly manifest through human experience.
Loos was acutely aware of the chasm between this perspective and the prevailing attitudes of contemporary society, which restlessly swings between nostalgia and novelty. Near the end of his life he wrote “It is well known that all the breathless artistic lucubrations on the way to live–in any country–do not shift the dog away from the warmth of the stove, that all the traffic of associations, schools, professorships, periodicals and exhibitions has furnished nothing new.”29 Seeking to engage a level of consciousness akin to instinct, like the dog holding near to the fire, Loos designed progressively simpler and more reductive forms. Among the last of these was his own burial marker, a stone cube adorned with only his name.
From Spring Street to Marfa and beyond, Judd worked on an increasingly large scale to encompass the landscape. He summarized his motivation in “Art and Architecture,” writing “…my first and largest interest is in my relation to the natural world, all of it, all the way out. This interest includes my existence, a keen interest, the existence of everything and the space and time that is created by the existing things. Art emulates this creation or definition by also creating, on a small scale, space and time.”30 In the heart of a crowded metropolis, 101 Spring Street is a microcosm of Judd’s world, where space and time may be thought and felt.
1. The Judd Foundation web site includes a searchable database of all of Judd’s books in his Marfa library. Go to http://library.juddfoundation.org/JUDDlibbrowse/.
2. Loos, Adolf. Spoken into the Void : collected essays, 1897-1900. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1982.
3. Judd’s early writing is compiled in Donald Judd: Complete Writings 1959-1975, published by the Press of Nova Scotia College of Art and Design in 1975 and reprinted in 2006.
4. Safran, Yehuda and Wang, Wilfred, eds. The Architecture of Adolf Loos. London, Arts Council, second edition 1987, pp. 104-109.
5. Loos, Adolf. Spoken into the Void, pp. 29-33.
6. Loos, Adolf. “The Principle of Cladding” in Spoken into the Void, pp.66-69.
7. Ibid, pp. 95-96.
8. Safran and Wang, The Architecture of Adolf Loos, pp. 110-113.
9. Loos, Adolf. “Joseph Veillich” in 9H No.6, 1983, pp. 86-87.
10. “101 Spring Street” published in Donald Judd: Selected works from the Judd Foundation, Christies: New York, 2006, p.34.
11. “Specific Objects” published in Donald Judd: Complete Writings 1959-1975, the Press of Nova Scotia College of Art and Design in 1975, reprinted 2006, pp.181-189.
12. Coplans, John. “An Interview with Donald Judd,” Artforum, June 1971, reprinted in Donald Judd Selected Works 1960-1991.The Museum of Modern Art, Saitama and The Museum of Modern Art, Shiga, 1999, p.161.
13. Ibid, p. 161.
14. Loos, Adolf. “The Principle of Cladding” in Spoken into the Void, pp.66-69.
16. Coplans, John. “An Interview with Donald Judd,” Artforum, June 1971, reprinted in Donald Judd Selected Works 1960-1991.The Museum of Modern Art, Saitama and The Museum of Modern Art, Shiga, 1999, p.157.
17. Colomina, Beatriz. “The Split Wall: Domestic Voyeurism,” in Sexuality and Space. New York, Princeton Architectural Press, 1992, pp. 73-130.
18. Kleinman, Kent and van Duzer, Leslie. Villa Muller: A Work of Adolf Loos. New York, Princeton Architectural Press, 1994, pp. 38-43.
19. Quoted in Kleinman and Van Duzer, p. 38. (originally in Karel lhota, “Architekt Adolf Loos,” Architekt SIA 32. Tg. (Prague, 1933): 143.)
20. “In Defense of my work,” in Donald Judd: Complete Writings 1975-1986, Eindhoven: Van Abbemuseum, 1987.
21. “101 Spring Street” published in Donald Judd: Selected works from the Judd Foundation, Christies: New York, 2006, p.34.
22. “Art and Architecture (1984)” from text provided by Judd Foundation.
23. “Regarding Economy” published in Risselada, Max, ed. Raumplan versus Plan Libre, New York: Rizzoli International Publications, Inc., 1988, pp. 137-141.
24. Loos, Adolf. “The Principle of Cladding” in Spoken into the Void, pp.66-69.
25. “101 Spring Street” published in Donald Judd: Selected works from the Judd Foundation, Christies: New York, 2006, p.34.
26. Coplans, John. “An Interview with Donald Judd,” Artforum, June 1971, reprinted in Donald Judd Selected Works 1960-1991.The Museum of Modern Art, Saitama and The Museum of Modern Art, Shiga, 1999, p.162.
27. “Specific Objects” published in Donald Judd: Complete Writings 1959-1975, pp.181-189.
28. “Art and Architecture” (1983) published in Donald Judd Architecture, Vienna, MAK and Hatje Cantz, 2003, pp. 25.
29. The translation is from Aldo Rossi’s preface to Gravagnuolo, Benedetto. Adolf Loos. Milan, Idea Books, 1982, p. 14. The original quote is in Adolf Loos’ Trotzdem, published in 1929.
30. “Art and Architecture” (1983) published in Donald Judd Architecture, Vienna, MAK and Hatje Cantz, 2003, pp. 24-28.