Like most other architecture critics, I’m often asked to write essays for monographs on living architects. However, unlike some of my colleagues — especially the king of introductions, whom I dub the Grand Old Laureate and Dispenser of Bland Encomiums, Ramblings, and Gallingly Equivocal Reviews — I always decline such requests, even from those whose work I admire and despite the temptingly high honorariums. My blanket excuse is that if I agree to one I’d have to say yes to all, and because the requisite positive introduction is tantamount to a wholesale endorsement, my objectivity would be suspect when assessing the subject’s future designs.
That wariness stems from the fact that no great architect is great every day, or every year, for that matter, and it’s dishonest to pretend otherwise. But whereas the reputations of long-dead titans like Wright and Kahn are so secure that discussing their flaws cannot diminish their standing, current (and lesser) contenders fret that even mild critical reservations might harm their job prospects.
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