Architecture doesn’t need words; it stands on its own. So when I saw the title of the current architecture show at MoMA posted outside the gallery, 9 + 1 Ways of Being Political: 50 Years of Political Stances in Architecture and Urban Design, I wanted to turn around and leave. It sounded more like a PhD dissertation than a show, and promised little delight.

The exhibit, culled from artifacts in the musem's permanent collection, is text heavy, like an exploded book. Most of what’s on display describes speculative constructions and consists of drawings, collages, posters and pamphlets. But those things on display – those actual, tactile, three-dimensional objects – are enchanting. There’s a facade panel from the Ricola headquarters by Herzog & de Meuron, printed with the image of a single wildflower, that magically fuses elegance with kitsch. And there are models that bring projects to life in a way that renderings and photographs simply cannot. Foremost among these is a foot-high, laser-cut, clear acrylic massing model for a proposal to rebuild the World Trade Center by United Architects. It’s a group of narrow towers, in staggered heights, that are becoming gently tangled up in one another. Someone I know, a poet, says that the Twin Towers were lovers. This model makes this notion that buildings harbor desire perfectly real.

World Trade Center Proposal, 2002, United Architects.

December 21, 2012 by Nalina Moses

The drag queen heroines of Kinky Boots and Any Day Now, two movies I just saw back-to-back, couldn’t be more different from one another. In the first Chiwetel Eliofor plays a majestic amazon who inspires those around him with physical and moral courage. In the second Alan Cummings plays a slight, emotional train wreck who struggles to piece together his professional and romantic lives. While the first queen is dazzling, it’s the the second that breaks your heart.

It’s a platitude to note that drag is an exaggeration of a woman’s traditional role, a heightened expression of femininity. But there’s a more universal appeal to it too. Drag performers turn themselves into a fantasy of who they want to be, which is something most of us are doing a lot of the time. We make and remake ourselves continuously to meet an idea we have about what is beautiful or good or strong, an image that isn’t always within reach. There’s something deeply human in the striving. This might be why the Alan Cummings character is so moving. He’s expressive about who he wants to be (artist, father, lover) and fights all-out to get it. His high heels, makeup, and glittery dresses are more than fashion; they’re combat dress.

Unknown French model, Burt Glinn, 1960.

December 18, 2012 by Nalina Moses

Has Frank Gehry become a classicist? His interiors for the Signature Theater, a year-old off-Broadway venue on far west Forty-second Street, have a remarkable repose. Which isn’t to say the place isn't recognizably Gehry; everything is finished in plywood, aluminum and concrete, and there are stretches adorned with his (signature) complex, faceted geometries. But the forms are more resolutely composed than those in his well-known buildings like the Guggenheim Bilbao; the place is calm.

The Signature is tucked inside the second and third floors of a new condominium tower by Arquitectonica. The twisting, freestanding, wood-clad staircase that pulls visitors up from street level is the only major expressed volume. Two of the theaters, reached through long ramps on the second floor, are box-shaped, trimmed inside with puzzle-piece-shaped plywood panels to dampen acoustics. The open lounge area on the second floor, a kind of public plaza (it’s open to all), might be the most uninspiring part of the place. The floor is only about ten feet high, which doesn’t leave room for big sculptural moves. Though the ceiling is animated with floating plywood panels and clouded acrylic lamp shades, the space seems, quite literally, flat. But those moments within the complex where Gehry has a free hand (the staircase, the theater interiors) are energetic and finely composed. This architect, known as a free spirit, is just as skillfull in restraint.

Photography by James Ewing/OTTO.

December 12, 2012 by Nalina Moses

Ivy Style, the new clothing exhibit at F.I.T., hits close to home because so many of the pieces on display (khakis, oxford shirts, pullover sweaters, duffle coats) are things that even those of us who don’t identify ourselves as preppy have hanging in our closets and don’t consider to be particularly fashionable or innovative.

There are some smart stories about the origins of particular garments. Blazers were originally red jackets for rowers, Weejuns are an adapatation of Norwegian fishing shoes, and saddle shoes began as gym shoes at Princeton. (In decades past Princeton, it seems, was a hotbed for fashion innovation.) While there’s plenty of ivy clothing on display there isn’t a whole lot of bracing ivy style. Most of the mannequins were dressed not-so-differently from real people you might see at the mall. My companion observed that we take this kind of clothing for granted, and don’t appreciate how innovative it really is to dress in unprecious, unironed, mix-and-match pieces. But preppy clothing, with its enthusiastic layering and color-mixing, might lend itself to its own kind of high fashion. There are some sophisticated ensembles by Thomas Browne on display, like a woman’s stewart plaid jacket work over a contrasting campbell plaid shirtdress. But there’s not much of the pizzazz that's evident in the joyously multicolored madras jacket on the catalog cover. I wanted more of this; I wanted to see how preppy could turn its old-fashioned image inside out.

Chipp, madras jacket, circa 1970.

December 11, 2012 by Nalina Moses