Rory Sherlock - Architectural Association School of Architecture

The Phidian Fallacy:
Dispelling Vanity in the Architect’s Self-­‐Portrait.
Rory Sherlock
Tutor: Ryan Dillon
Figure 1 - The Beaux-Arts Ball at the Hotel Astor, New York, 23 January 1931

‘The first right on earth is the right of the ego’
-­‐ Howard Roarke 1
Phidias (circa 480 – 430BC) is widely regarded as the greatest
and most famous sculptor in ancient Greece. Renowned for his
unbridled skill, delicacy and tact, he single-­‐handedly revolutionised his
art, with colossal sculptures of the Gods so unfathomably magnificent in
their representation and composition, that it was said that ‘he alone had
seen the exact image of the Gods and that he revealed it to man’ 2. He
was the artistic director of the Parthenon and several other projects,
and his statue of Zeus at Olympia was one of the Seven Wonders of the
Ancient World.
However, in spite of his overwhelming talent and fame, Phidias was not
immune to criticism and made one catastrophic, yet seemingly
inconsequential error. While carving his colossus of Athena Parthenos,
destined to sit at the heart of the Parthenon, upon the Amazonomachy
of the goddess’ shield he ‘included his own self-portrait among the
reliefs’ 3. A signature; a trifling stamp of the artist himself upon his great
work.
This minor gesture, however, was construed as such a profane act of
vanity and self-­‐flagellatory arrogance by his rivals and the Athenian
authorities, that he was imprisoned for his insolent egoism, until his
ultimately sick, slow death. Phidias had stamped his own face upon the
image of a deity, and in this fleeting act, had cemented in the opinion of
the viewers of his great work, the loathsome and to many,
preposterous, notion that he considered himself above all others to
warrant a place among the pantheon. Phidias, it appeared, fancied
himself a God. And people hated him for it.
Such proclamations of seeming self-­‐worth and inflated egotism have,
historically, never canvassed much favour with the general public,
myself certainly included, in any field, be it architecture, art, politics or
otherwise. The idea that somebody could hold themselves in such high
regard, coupled with the possible fear that the person in question could
in fact be more powerful, more knowledgeable, better, in that they, over
all others are granted the freedom to undertake such projects in the
public domain, makes him loathsome in the eyes of those who
encounter his creations. Friedrich Nietzsche, in Thus Spoke Zarathustra,
neatly summed up this sentiment;
‘So I shall speak to them of the most contemptible man: and that is the Ultimate Man.’ 4
Now, architects in the public eye have, traditionally, shared this
somewhat reprehensible habit for bold statements concerning
themselves and their subject; a habit that has its roots in Individualism.
Adolf Loos talked of his aristocratic architectural ideal, of how he
understands, as an architect, that ornamentation is detrimental, yet he
‘can accept the African’s ornament … my shoemaker’s, for it provides the
high point of their existence, which they have no other means of
achieving’ 5. Upon first reading this passage, I was incredulous. The very
thought of someone being able to muster such genuine, unadulterated,
wild condescension, to place themselves on a pedestal of such
1 Rand, Ayn, ‘The Fountainhead’, Film, King Vidor, 1949
2 Encyclopedia Britannica, ‘Phidias’, Online Edition, 2012
3 Plutarch, Perikles, 13.31-­‐2
4 Nietzsche, Friedrich, ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’, Penguin Classics, 2003, p.45
5 Loos, Adolf, ‘Ornament and Crime: Selected Essays’, Ariadne Press, 1998, p.174
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empyrean height from which to look down on the rest of humanity, in a
serious academic piece of writing, blew my naïve mind. What became
immediately clear, though, was that this must surely have been the
response to Phidias’ gesture, over two millennia ago. However, no
matter how contemptible such outbursts may seem, they are
undeniably marks of the individual, signs that those in question have
unmoving and total belief in themselves and their work.
The character of Howard Roarke in Ayn Rand’s seminal novel, The
Fountainhead, is clearly an exaggeration of this architectural, individual
ideal, though he represents a very real desire. He is, rather than an
exaggeration, an extrapolation of the real-­‐life architect. Within the
architectural profession, (more so than most others, since the products
of the work are to be seen in the public domain) everybody strives to
make their mark, in their own specific way (even those who conform
must design in their way) and as such everyone has their own opinions
on what is the best, what is right. Frank Gehry once said,
‘There are sort of rules about architectural expression which have to fit into a certain
channel. Screw that! It doesn’t mean anything. I am going to do what I do best and if it’s
not good the marketplace will deny it.’ 6
Given this individualist outlook, every building designed by an
individual architect, (this point must be carefully stressed, for many
architects do not necessarily share this individualist ideal) like works of
art or sculpture, painted or carved by an artist, become, on some level, a
personal reflection on their creator. If the architect truly believes that
their view is the right one, that their design is better than all the others
for a building, then their work, ultimately, is a representation of their
self. This faith, then, in their own individual capabilities and opinions,
turns every work of the architect, to a certain degree, into a self-­‐
portrait.
Here, then, there begin to some appear potent and noteworthy parallels
between the architect and Phidias. Firstly, the former, akin to the latter,
has an inclination towards bold statements, which don’t necessarily
work in their favour so far as winning people over is concerned.
Additionally, they are both concerned with producing work in the
public eye and the view of others, and yet for the inclusion of their self-­‐
portraits are castigated and scorned for their pride. It must be noted
that not all architects are branded as vain, and this certainly has a
certain degree, to do with the ‘starchitect’, however what I wish to focus
on is instances of individualism, such as those of Howard Roarke, in
which it is perceived that an architect gets carried away with his own
sense of self-­‐worth and the value of his ideas in the design of a building,
the same crime attributed to Phidias. It is in such cases of the individual
architect that the response to their work errs on the side of public
frustration and the ultimate and woeful brand of vanity.
So who is this man, he that holds himself in such high regard and
delirious vainglory as to tell we, the public, what is best for us? Why is
his opinion right, and why do we care who he is? It is this line of
questioning and this often brash ascription of vanity to an artist or
architect, whose works are available and constant in the public view,
with which I wish to quarrel, and to this I denote the title of the Phidian
Fallacy. Fallacious, because I feel that this stamp of vain pride and
narcissism with which we are so happy to brand artists and architects
for statements and demonstrations of perceived wanton egotism, the
6 Gehry, Frank, ‘Sketches of Frank Gehry’, film, Sydney Pollack, Sony/WNET, 2000
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cause of Phidias’ imprisonment and eventual death, is improper.
Defined as ‘excessive pride in or admiration of one’s own appearance or
achievements’ 7 vanity, it seems, finds its fault in pride. Architects do
seem to have this habit of grandiose statements of their self-­‐worth and
pride in their work, but is this really so wrong; a cause for
condemnation? Was Phidias’ gesture as self-­‐centred as it may, on the
face of it, seem? Focussing more closely on this self-­‐representation in
art and architecture, what is it about the inclusion of the self, this
passing act of personal reflection within a work, that can elicit a
response of such outrage?
To address this issue, the whole notion of self-­‐representation and its
emergence in the aesthetic ‘arts’; that vast umbrella under which
architecture now seems to find itself situated and sheltered from the
clinging deception that hangs thick in the air of academic ambiguity,
must be considered. To understand whether this vanity, this pride in
one’s own work, is deserved of its delegation as a deadly sin when it
comes to the architect, it must first be questioned where this desire for
self-­‐representation originates. Why did Phidias feel the need to include
himself in his sculpture at all? Why do architects feel the need to imbue
their buildings with their personality, and why is this so vehemently
rejected by the public and denounced with such vigour? Are we really
so vain?
The self-­‐portrait has existed since long before Phidias’ unfortunate
debacle. Since humans first glimpsed their own reflections, those
tentative first narcissi, we have been fascinated with the image of the
self. However, it was not until the advent of cheaper and better quality
mirrors, and the increased interest in the self as a subject during the
early renaissance in the mid 15 th century that the self-­‐portrait in art as
we know it today emerged 8.
The methods and reasoning for self-­‐portraiture are numerous and far-­‐
reaching, and have evolved greatly over the millennia. Phidias carved
out his portrait as an inclusion within a much larger work. Until this
emergence of the self-­‐portrait as a distinct and sole project in the early
renaissance, almost every prior incidence of its existence was within a
larger context. This would often be as a banal means to fill numbers in a
crowd, for example, if a painter couldn’t afford more models. However,
a painter would often, and more interestingly, include himself within a
scene by way of a signature. Jan Van Eyck famously depicted himself
within his works, most notably in his 1434 painting, ‘Wedding Portrait’,
in which a young couple face the viewer, exchanging vows. In the
distant background of the room, Van Eyck can be seen reflected in the
mirror, the inscription above it reading ‘Johannes de Eyck fuit hic’; ‘Jan
Van Eyck was here’ 9 (figure 2).
This placement of the self portrait within an artist’s own work, and
many others like it, was met with considerably less commotion than the
case of Phidias, and the architect. But what’s the difference? It seems
that a work such as this one, the intention of which is aesthetic beauty
for either its creator or the commissioning party behind it, the inclusion
of the artist himself is seen as a mark of authenticity, a valuable
signature on an admirable work. Insofar as the architect is concerned, if
they are well known enough, the patent inclusion of their own self-­‐
7 Oxford English Dictionary Online, 2012
8 ‘Self Portrait’, UMBC Educational Pages Online, 2012
9 Van Eyck, Jan, ‘Wedding Portrait’, 1434
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Figure 2 - Detail from ' Wedding portrait', Jan Van Eyck, 1434
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portrait may in some cases serve this novel purpose of confirming or
ascribing some value to the work, however, purely on this level (of
going some way towards authenticating a work, or giving it value) it
rarely does much to sway the people whom are affected by its
existence. Similar to Phidias carving his face onto his deity, the
inclusion of an architect’s self-­‐portrait within his work more often than
not is met with a somewhat more frosty reception.
Seemingly patent vanity in this sense, though, is not particularly
difficult to find amongst the work of artists, even when it is not
necessarily commissioned to create a point of contact between the
heavens and the earth. Diego Velázquez, in his 1656 painting ‘Las
Meninas’ rather than painting a portrait of King Philip IV of Spain, the
model sitting for the picture, he paints a portrait of himself instead.
Now, this, clearly, is a somewhat curtailed and dramaticised description
of the work, yet the sentiment rings true. There are many parallels
between this painting and the tale of Phidias or the architect; the focus
of the work is, in fact, on someone else, the self-­‐portrait is merely an
aside (although a considerably more prominent one in this case), the
painting was for a King, not quite a deity but greater (possibly) than the
public. Once again, though, rather than fury, the work was met with
esteemed commendation. It was described as "Velázquez's supreme
achievement, a highly self-­‐conscious, calculated demonstration of what
painting could achieve, and perhaps the most searching comment ever
made on the possibilities of the easel painting" 10. High praise indeed.
Why then was this self-­‐reflection so distinct, so praiseworthy? Surely, if
Phidias was jailed for his pride and vanity, Velázquez should have
suffered the same fate?
Furthermore, what then of the self-­‐portrait as an entirely distinct work?
Is this intricate study of one’s own features, the self, and its display as a
piece of interest for public view, not a mark of vanity? Is it not vain to
paint a picture of yourself, and to think this will be of interest to others?
Since Jean Fouquet painted what is widely agreed to be ‘the earliest
identified self-­‐portrait, that is a separate painting, not an incidental part
of a larger work’ 11, self-­‐portraits have become a distinct art form in
their own right. After this ice-­‐breaking moment, there was a vast
proliferation in the self-­‐portrait as an individual work. Painters would
originally study themselves for the purposes of furthering their skills as
a fine artist, without the need to hire a model, often even drawing
themselves as prominent historical figures as a method of self-­‐
promotion. Francisco de Zurbarán painted a self-­‐portrait, ‘Saint Luke as
a painter, before Christ on the Cross’, (Figure 3) in which he depicts
himself as Saint Luke, stood before Jesus, head hanging, haggard and
pale, nailed to the cross. This image should, by all accounts, be the
ultimate icon of utter pride and self-­‐centered profanity; a milestone in
the ultimate subversion of the creator’s own self-­‐worth and the product
of their labour. Jesus Christ himself has become the secondary character.
Saint Luke, defaced, is shown as the painter himself, and as such takes
on prominence as the most interesting feature of the work; head held
high, lit from the heavens, gazing up to the Son of God with a look of pity.
It’s mind boggling stuff, it really is.
However, at this point, it must be noted that in its transition into the
modern era, the self-­‐portrait endured a major shift in its rationale, and
its reception, that makes apparent they key separation between the
10 Honour and Fleming, ‘A World History of Art’, Laurence King, 1982, p.447
11 Janson, H.W, ‘History of Art’, Harry N. Abrams Inc., 1986, p.386
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Figure 3 - 'Saint luke as a Painter, Before Christ on the Cross', Francisco de Zurbaran, 1630-
1639
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aesthetic self-­‐representation portrayed by the artist and that of the
architect. The self-­‐portrait became instrumental as a form of self-­‐
analysis, beyond merely the physical. This form of self-­‐representation
in the modern sense, far from being a vain act, is more often an attempt
at a description of the person behind the work and their mental state,
warts and all. The self portraits of Egon Schiele (1890 – 1918) are
startlingly intense, and far from depicting perfection, are more a
revelation of the psychology of the creative mind behind them. In his
1911 ‘Selbstbefriedigung’, (Figure 4) he paints an image of himself
masturbating, sallow and negative. His eyes are hollow and unfocused,
his stature and expression, far from suggesting pleasure, cry out
solitude.
Here then, what becomes clear is that the artists self-­‐portrait, as oppose
to that of the architect, is not denounced for vanity, because it inherits
interest in the mind of its viewers in giving the works of a given artist
provenance and context. The works of an artist, as with the works of an
architect, to an large extent, are greatly concerned with aesthetics.
However, this is as far as the work of the artist stretches. The majority
of art serves a purely aesthetic purpose, and as such, when we
encounter the self-­‐portrait of an artist, the experience is one of
revelation. This self-­‐reflection in the modern sense, as we see in the
case of Egon Schiele and its heightened openness gives the viewer an
understanding of the person responsible for the work, the way he
thinks, his history, and thus why his work looks the way it does, in a
field concerned primarily with aesthetics. It is for this reason that
vanity and pride are often overlooked, or if not overlooked, are seen as
enhancements in the understanding of an artist’s motivation.
Rembrandt, over the course of his life, painted over forty self-­‐portraits,
his self-­‐obsession even stretching to the act of making his students copy
these works as part of their study 12. However, it is because of this
purely aesthetic nature of the product of the artists labour that we can
overlook this seeming vanity, and dig deeper into the artists motives, as
a means of giving increased power to his works.
The works of the individual architect, on the other hand, although
certainly concerned with aesthetics, have an intrinsic function as well,
and therefore the intervention of their own self is open to far greater
criticism. Questions arise as to whether it deserves to be there, (forced
upon the public, as it were) or whether it is even necessary at all in a
public context. Public works of architecture are not designed purely
with the intention of satisfying the aesthetic whims and desires of a
party with the necessary funds to facilitate such a creation. Phidias,
though an artist, was carving a sculpture with a vastly important
function, in addition to its aesthetic value. His statue was a means of
connection between the heavens and the earth, an icon for all Greeks to
pray to. In this case, then, the self-­‐portrait seemingly has no place at all.
Phidias’ face was not worthy of its placement, and as such its reception
was borderline hysterical.
When the work in question has to satisfy a function, whether as a statue
to pray to, or a library to read or work in, for example, the inclusion of
some essence of the self, the creator behind the outcome, is received as
an act of severe vaingloriousness. The reception of the viewer, far from
overlooking vanity, instead focuses on the function, and if the design,
the personality of the architect, overbears this underpinning rationale,
then the accusation of self-­‐centred pride becomes all the more
12 van de Wetering, Ernst, ‘Rembrandt by himself’, National Gallery, London, 1999, p.10 -­‐
8

Figure 4 - 'Selbstbefriedigung', Egon Schiele, 1911
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prevalent. It seems, when function is attached to aesthetic beauty, who
the creator of the work is, becomes of little importance to those whom
it concerns and affects. In a recent article on the death of world famous
architect Oscar Niemeyer, it was said that
‘His style was not to everyone's taste, and for a communist some people say his work was
not very people-­‐friendly -­‐ focusing more on the architecture's form than on its inhabitants
or functionality’ 13.
Jacques Derrida, in ‘Memoirs of the Blind’ sets forward an argument
about self-­‐representation that contributes further to why the architect,
in contrast to the artist, in his self-­‐portrait, is seen as vain. The
argument is essentially an attempt to prove that no self portrait can
ever achieve its aim of being a true representation of the person
responsible for it. Derrida argues that the draughtsman, or the painter
is always concerned with drawing the blind object, in the architect
designs buildings. Furthermore, he continues, the draughtsman is
himself blind, ‘one draws only on the condition of not seeing’ 14, and thus
every work becomes a self-­‐portrait to some degree (exactly what was
established at the earlier concerning the work of the architect).
However, the crux of the argument lies in that ‘if the draughtsman is
drawing the blind which is himself, he himself is drawing blindly, is blind
to his drawing’ 15 and as such, ‘the desire for self-presentation is never
met, it never meets up with itself, and that is why the simulacrum takes
place.’ 16. In sum, the blind artist, who depicts the blind, and thus
himself, cannot fully represent himself, since he is blind to what he is
drawing. The self-­‐portrait, then, can never be truly representational of
the creator behind it, and therefore the image and explanation of the
person behind the work is individually formed in the minds of those
who encounter it.
This argument, coupled with the previously established notion that
people care less for the provenance and personality of an architect, due
to the fact that their creations have to satisfy a public function,
highlights another explanation for why the architect is condemned with
vanity for expressing his self-­‐portrait within his work. If, as Derrida
argues, through self expression and representation, the architect
becomes a subjective, imagined personal entity in the mind of the
viewers of his work and if the question of who the character behind the
product is, is not necessarily of interest to those concerned with the day
to day interaction with it, (as oppose to the case of the artist) the
architect, and his personality becomes, entirely, his buildings.
In the eyes of the public, so far as they are concerned, the architect then,
is seen entirely as his material output. It seems, as a result, that
materiality, and the greatness of their material product is the only thing
with which the architect is concerned and through which he portrays
himself. The fruit of the architect’s labor becomes his mask. He is
known only through the guise of his buildings, leading to the incredible
subversion, often again perceived as vanity, witnessed in the
photograph of the Beaux-­‐Arts Ball at the Hotel Astor in 1931, in which
several of the mot famous architects in the world of the time dressed up
as their own buildings. Patrick Bateman, (Figure 5) in American Psycho, is
materially obsessed. The products he buys and his material goods are
13 BBC News Online, 6 th December 2012
14 Derrida, Jacques, ‘Memoirs of the Blind – The Self-­‐Portrait and Other Ruins, The
University of Chicago Press, 1993, p.49
15 Duff, Mike John, Working Notes, Blogspot, December 11 th 2007
16 Derrida, Jacques, ‘Memoirs of the Blind – The Self-­‐Portrait and Other Ruins, The
University of Chicago Press, 1993, p.121
10

Figure 5' - Patrick Bateman, the mask of the material man, 2000
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what define him, and as such he to succumbs to this sweeping brand of
vanity.
‘There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me:
only an entity, something illusory.’ 17
It appears a statement of great pride, and shallowness, to suggest that
our buildings, our materials, are worthwhile replacements of our true
personality. It alludes to the suggestion of greatness and bold
individualism illustrated earlier that the architect is willing to attribute
himself entirely to his material work.
For the architect, then, his buildings become his mask, the primary
means through which he finds a form of self-­‐expression. For his self-­‐
portrait, he is denounced as vain, self-­‐centered, and contemptible, for
he must not only satisfy aesthetic desires, but also the pragmatic
necessities of function. However, having initially agreed with the
derogations of seemingly bold gestures of self-­‐worth, such as those of
Phidias, and Adolf Loos, I am a convert. I believe that the architect is
entirely right to include his individual ideals, himself, and to an extent
his ego within his work, because the self-­‐portrait of the architect is that
of an entirely different sort. Such self-­‐portraits and representations of
the self have historically existed in art for centuries, yet they are more
difficult to find, less obvious, more intelligent than a mere physical
depiction of oneself. The architects’ self-­‐portrait, in my opinion, is one
of emergence, through immersion.
Agnes Varda is a key proprietor in this vein, with her film ‘The Gleaners
and I’, in which she sets out to simply make a documentary about a
subject in which she is very interested, namely, gleaning (scrounging,
scavenging). However, the film ends up being, although not initially
intended from the outset, a strong representation of Varda herself. She
sees the work as ‘another kind of gleaning, which is artistic gleaning. You
pick ideas, you pick images, you pick emotions from other people, and
then you make it into a film’ 18. She films what inspires her, and in doing
so the film becomes a reflection of her, the film maker. Her self-­‐portrait
emerges, through this total immersion, love of her work and
inspiration. This, I feel, is the where the true defence from vanity in the
architect’s self-­‐portrait, lies. The way architects represent themselves
stems from a total love of what they do. Works of architecture are not
intended to be purely self-­‐reflective, as monuments to their creator,
from the outset. Rather, the personality they inherit is an emergent
property of the real interest and inspiration the creator finds in the
work that they do.
To return again to Howard Roarke and his ideal individualism, he states
that,
‘to get things done, you must love the doing’ 19
The architect doesn’t make such bold statements and proclamations
about his work out of a longing to assert power over the swarming
masses. I now feel that this is entirely misconstrued. The architect is not
shallow for being concerned with the material world, this again is
misconstrued. Oscar Wilde once said,
17 American Psycho, Film, Mary Harron, Bret Easton-­‐Ellis, 2000
18 Anderson, M., and A. Varda. "The Modest Gesture of the Filmmaker -­‐ an Interview with
Agnes Varda." CINEASTE 26.4 (2001): 24-­‐7. Print.
19 Rand, Ayn, ‘The Fountainhead’, Film, King Vidor, 1949
12

‘It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The mystery of the world is
the visible, not the invisible’ 20
Maybe architects do sometimes fail in their work in the belief that they
themselves are right, more right than anyone else. However we are
wrong to cast the net of vanity over such judgments. The architect
makes these decisions, grand, pubic and therefore open to great
criticism, because he loves this doing, just as the artist paints for the
love of his own form of doing. This, surely is not vanity! This self-­‐
representation within the architectural project arises from a total
immersion within a subject which takes such hold of a man’s life and
individual beliefs. In what position would we find ourselves without
this form of the architect’s self-­‐representation? The profession would
be in tatters, doomed to total architectural homogeneity and the refusal
to produce something new, and individual. So condemn him not for
vanity, and throw not Phidias in jail, for these are the men, who, without
their belief and their individuality and their immersion within their
subject to the point where they are willing to take a leap nobody else
would dare, for without them, we are nowhere.
20 Wilde, Oscar, in a letter, ref. Sontag, Susan, ‘Against Interpretation’, Vintage, 2001, p.1
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Bibliography
Nietzsche, Friedrich, ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’, Penguin Classics, 2003
Loos, Adolf, ‘Ornament and Crime: Selected Essays’, Ariadne Press, 1998
Honour and Fleming, ‘A World History of Art’, Laurence King, 1982
Janson, H.W, ‘History of Art’, Harry N. Abrams Inc., 1986
Van de Wetering, Ernst, ‘Rembrandt by himself’, National Gallery, London, 1999
Derrida, Jacques, ‘Memoirs of the Blind – The Self-­‐Portrait and Other Ruins, The
University of Chicago Press, 1993
Sontag, Susan, ‘Against Interpretation’, Vintage, 2001
La Cecla, Franco, ‘Against Architecture’, PM Press, 2012
Easton-­‐Ellis, Bret, ‘American Psycho’, Picador, 2011
Rand, Ayn, ‘The Fountainhead’, Signet, New York, c1972
Filmography
‘The Fountainhead’, Film, King Vidor, 1949
‘Sketches of Frank Gehry’, film, Sydney Pollack, Sony/WNET, 2000
American Psycho, Film, Mary Harron, Bret Easton-­‐Ellis, 2000
‘The Gleaners and I’, Film, Agnes Varda, 2000
Webography
http://www.britannica.com
http://oxforddictionaries.com
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/
http://userpages.umbc.edu
http://perseus.mpiwg-­‐berlin.mpg.de
Images
1 - The Beaux-Arts Ball at the Hotel Astor, New York, 23 January 1931
2 - Detail from ' Wedding portrait', Jan Van Eyck, 1434
3 - 'Saint luke as a Painter, Before Christ on the Cross', Francisco de Zurbaran, 1630-1639
4 - 'Selbstbefriedigung', Egon Schiele, 1911
5 - Patrick Bateman, the mask of the material man, 2000
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