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John Sugden (1922-2003) was one of the most important Utah architects of the 20th century. Born in Chicago in 1922, he studied at the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT) under the legendary Mies van der Rohe, and worked at Mies's firm from 1945 to 1952 before moving to Utah.
For those who may not be familiar, Mies is a big deal in the architectural community. Some of his most noteworthy projects include the Farnsworth House (which hosted a 100th anniversary collaboration between Braun and the late Virgil Abloh in 2021); the Barcelona Pavilion (and its accompanying chair); Crown Hall at IIT (which is high on my list of buildings to visit); the Seagram Building in New York; and, of course, the Toronto-Dominion Centre complex.
Sugden moved to Utah in 1952. He would then spend the rest of his career defining what the International Style — a major architectural movement that dominated modernism from the 1920s to the 1970s — could be in a mountain context, while educating the next generation of architects at the University of Utah's Graduate School of Architecture.
His first major project in Utah was a house for his mother: the Roberta Sugden House in Salt Lake City (1955). It is a classic steel-and-glass structure that takes obvious cues from the Farnsworth House but that was adapted to the Utah landscape. Today, it remains an icon of Mid-Century Modernism in the city.
His own home and studio followed in 1984. Referred to as "The Glass Cube," or the Mountain House Studio, it is located in Park City (just down the street from Parkview Mountain House in Summit Park). A perfect 33 x 33 x 33 foot cube, the home marks an important turning point for architecture and design in the area.
By the 1980s, modernism had entered into a mid-life crisis in urban settings. Architects and designers were beginning to reject its austerity and lack of ornamentation in favor of a new movement: Postmodernism.
But in the Wasatch Mountains, and outside of perhaps only Aspen, the International Style had yet to truly make its mark. Mountain homes simply did not look like this; they were heavy and rustic, and they had gabled roofs. Sugden changed that. His home/studio was the opposite of this: light, transparent, flat-roofed, and industrial in its orientation.
It's also worth mentioning that the construction of the Glass Cube roughly aligns with the rebirth of Park City. By the early 1950s, it was a dying ghost town in the mountains. Many of the silver mines that had made it a wealthy place at the end of the 19th century had already shuttered, and the city was without an economic purpose.
The first ski operations opened in 1963 under the banner of Treasure Mountain Resort. However, it was a makeshift operation, and it would not be until 1971 that Aspen-developer Edgar Stern would acquire Treasure and transform it into Park City Mountain Resort.
By 1974, he had successfully lured the US Alpine Ski Team to the city. And by 1981, he had moved on to even grander ambitions with the opening of his latest project down the street: Deer Valley Resort. It was also around this time (1982) that Toronto-based Noranda stopped all work and closed the last mining operations in the city.
Then came Sugden's modernist Glass Cube in 1984.
Today, the Summit Park area is filled with countless new and under-construction modern homes, designed by award-winning firms such as Klima Architecture and Brach Design. No two homes are the same, and there's a palpable willingness to experiment. It feels like an architectural playground, and I like to think that it all started with John Sugden's simple glass cube.
A few months ago, one of my old professors from architecture school -- Phu Hoang -- reached out to me through this blog. That's one of the benefits of writing publicly -- it becomes your calling card. In this case, it had been at least 16 years since I was in his design studio.
We connected over a call. He told me about his and Rachely's firm, MODU Architecture. And he let me know that he's no longer teaching at Penn. He is now the Head of Architecture of the Knowlton School at Ohio State University.
Then, following the call, he was kind enough to send me a copy of his new book, Field Guide to Indoor Urbanism:
John Sugden (1922-2003) was one of the most important Utah architects of the 20th century. Born in Chicago in 1922, he studied at the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT) under the legendary Mies van der Rohe, and worked at Mies's firm from 1945 to 1952 before moving to Utah.
For those who may not be familiar, Mies is a big deal in the architectural community. Some of his most noteworthy projects include the Farnsworth House (which hosted a 100th anniversary collaboration between Braun and the late Virgil Abloh in 2021); the Barcelona Pavilion (and its accompanying chair); Crown Hall at IIT (which is high on my list of buildings to visit); the Seagram Building in New York; and, of course, the Toronto-Dominion Centre complex.
Sugden moved to Utah in 1952. He would then spend the rest of his career defining what the International Style — a major architectural movement that dominated modernism from the 1920s to the 1970s — could be in a mountain context, while educating the next generation of architects at the University of Utah's Graduate School of Architecture.
His first major project in Utah was a house for his mother: the Roberta Sugden House in Salt Lake City (1955). It is a classic steel-and-glass structure that takes obvious cues from the Farnsworth House but that was adapted to the Utah landscape. Today, it remains an icon of Mid-Century Modernism in the city.
His own home and studio followed in 1984. Referred to as "The Glass Cube," or the Mountain House Studio, it is located in Park City (just down the street from Parkview Mountain House in Summit Park). A perfect 33 x 33 x 33 foot cube, the home marks an important turning point for architecture and design in the area.
By the 1980s, modernism had entered into a mid-life crisis in urban settings. Architects and designers were beginning to reject its austerity and lack of ornamentation in favor of a new movement: Postmodernism.
But in the Wasatch Mountains, and outside of perhaps only Aspen, the International Style had yet to truly make its mark. Mountain homes simply did not look like this; they were heavy and rustic, and they had gabled roofs. Sugden changed that. His home/studio was the opposite of this: light, transparent, flat-roofed, and industrial in its orientation.
It's also worth mentioning that the construction of the Glass Cube roughly aligns with the rebirth of Park City. By the early 1950s, it was a dying ghost town in the mountains. Many of the silver mines that had made it a wealthy place at the end of the 19th century had already shuttered, and the city was without an economic purpose.
The first ski operations opened in 1963 under the banner of Treasure Mountain Resort. However, it was a makeshift operation, and it would not be until 1971 that Aspen-developer Edgar Stern would acquire Treasure and transform it into Park City Mountain Resort.
By 1974, he had successfully lured the US Alpine Ski Team to the city. And by 1981, he had moved on to even grander ambitions with the opening of his latest project down the street: Deer Valley Resort. It was also around this time (1982) that Toronto-based Noranda stopped all work and closed the last mining operations in the city.
Then came Sugden's modernist Glass Cube in 1984.
Today, the Summit Park area is filled with countless new and under-construction modern homes, designed by award-winning firms such as Klima Architecture and Brach Design. No two homes are the same, and there's a palpable willingness to experiment. It feels like an architectural playground, and I like to think that it all started with John Sugden's simple glass cube.
A few months ago, one of my old professors from architecture school -- Phu Hoang -- reached out to me through this blog. That's one of the benefits of writing publicly -- it becomes your calling card. In this case, it had been at least 16 years since I was in his design studio.
We connected over a call. He told me about his and Rachely's firm, MODU Architecture. And he let me know that he's no longer teaching at Penn. He is now the Head of Architecture of the Knowlton School at Ohio State University.
Then, following the call, he was kind enough to send me a copy of his new book, Field Guide to Indoor Urbanism:
The typical approach to modern building design is to have clearly defined boundaries between interior and exterior spaces. The outside is the outside. And the inside is a climate-controlled space that is, for the most part, sealed to the outside.
Most of us spend the vast majority of our lives in these latter spaces. In fact, since the advent of modernism and the International Style over a century ago, the general idea has been that these spaces can and should be mostly the same.
HVAC systems make it so that you don't really need to worry about context or the environment. What works in Toronto can work in Phoenix. You just need to dial up your cooling loads.
This is so much the case that whenever I'm in a city with a fairly benign climate, such as somewhere in California, I always find myself fascinated by the fluidity between interior and exterior spaces. It's such a foreign concept to me that it stands out: "Wait, how is this not sealed?
Indoor urbanism, on the other hand, makes the argument that this binary approach is the wrong way to think about spaces. Here's an excerpt from a recent Metropolis article about MODU:
They call this approach “indoor urbanism,” which privileges the blurred boundary between what has traditionally been considered interior space and exterior space. This in-between space–straddling open and closed, artificial and natural–deserves architects’ keen attention, especially as the planet warms. “Indoor urbanism recognizes that architecture and cities are situated on an environmental continuum, as a matter of degrees rather than absolutes,” write Hoang and Rotem in Field Guide.
Examples of this thinking can be found throughout their work. This project in Jackson, Wyoming is one of my favorites both because I love Jackson and because it's a cold and snowy place. And yet, even in this climate zone, their design includes for several "semi-exterior areas" that serve to connect you to nature.
This is a decidedly different way to think about architecture and urbanism. But as our climate crisis intensifies, it's only going to become more relevant.
In a few days, a new exhibit, called the Aluminaire House™ Exhibit, will open in a parking lot of the Palm Springs Art Museum. It will form a new part of their permanent collection. Now, museum goers won't be able to go inside of the house due to accessibility limitations, but they'll be able to look at it from the outside. And this alone is a big deal because this house is a big deal.
Initially constructed in 1931, the house was designed by A. Lawrence Kocher (then the managing editor of Architectural Record) and Albert Frey. Albert was a Swiss-born architect who had just immigrated to New York from Europe, after having worked for the famous Le Corbusier in Paris. And so he was a practitioner of the International Style and this house was a clear representation of that.
Erected in only 10 days, Aluminaire House is thought to be the first all-metal house ever constructed in the United States. Well, metal and glass. And at the time, the overarching objective was to build something cheap, modular, and durable. Something that many are still trying to accomplish to this day.
Not surprisingly, the house was polarizing. Supposedly, architect Philip Johnson picketed in front of it. But this house would go on to become an icon, and it was eventually featured in MoMA's 1932 exhibition, "The International Style -- Architecture Since 1922" -- an exhibition that has been largely credited with introducing European-style modernism to the US.
Albert also ended up moving to Palm Springs later in life, and became known for pioneering something known as "desert modernism." So it's only fitting that this house ultimately end up here. Even if all-metal maybe isn't the best choice of material for a hot desert. If you find yourself in Palm Springs, you should definitely go check it out, or picket in front of it.
Images: Surface Magazine & Palm Springs Art Museum
The typical approach to modern building design is to have clearly defined boundaries between interior and exterior spaces. The outside is the outside. And the inside is a climate-controlled space that is, for the most part, sealed to the outside.
Most of us spend the vast majority of our lives in these latter spaces. In fact, since the advent of modernism and the International Style over a century ago, the general idea has been that these spaces can and should be mostly the same.
HVAC systems make it so that you don't really need to worry about context or the environment. What works in Toronto can work in Phoenix. You just need to dial up your cooling loads.
This is so much the case that whenever I'm in a city with a fairly benign climate, such as somewhere in California, I always find myself fascinated by the fluidity between interior and exterior spaces. It's such a foreign concept to me that it stands out: "Wait, how is this not sealed?
Indoor urbanism, on the other hand, makes the argument that this binary approach is the wrong way to think about spaces. Here's an excerpt from a recent Metropolis article about MODU:
They call this approach “indoor urbanism,” which privileges the blurred boundary between what has traditionally been considered interior space and exterior space. This in-between space–straddling open and closed, artificial and natural–deserves architects’ keen attention, especially as the planet warms. “Indoor urbanism recognizes that architecture and cities are situated on an environmental continuum, as a matter of degrees rather than absolutes,” write Hoang and Rotem in Field Guide.
Examples of this thinking can be found throughout their work. This project in Jackson, Wyoming is one of my favorites both because I love Jackson and because it's a cold and snowy place. And yet, even in this climate zone, their design includes for several "semi-exterior areas" that serve to connect you to nature.
This is a decidedly different way to think about architecture and urbanism. But as our climate crisis intensifies, it's only going to become more relevant.
In a few days, a new exhibit, called the Aluminaire House™ Exhibit, will open in a parking lot of the Palm Springs Art Museum. It will form a new part of their permanent collection. Now, museum goers won't be able to go inside of the house due to accessibility limitations, but they'll be able to look at it from the outside. And this alone is a big deal because this house is a big deal.
Initially constructed in 1931, the house was designed by A. Lawrence Kocher (then the managing editor of Architectural Record) and Albert Frey. Albert was a Swiss-born architect who had just immigrated to New York from Europe, after having worked for the famous Le Corbusier in Paris. And so he was a practitioner of the International Style and this house was a clear representation of that.
Erected in only 10 days, Aluminaire House is thought to be the first all-metal house ever constructed in the United States. Well, metal and glass. And at the time, the overarching objective was to build something cheap, modular, and durable. Something that many are still trying to accomplish to this day.
Not surprisingly, the house was polarizing. Supposedly, architect Philip Johnson picketed in front of it. But this house would go on to become an icon, and it was eventually featured in MoMA's 1932 exhibition, "The International Style -- Architecture Since 1922" -- an exhibition that has been largely credited with introducing European-style modernism to the US.
Albert also ended up moving to Palm Springs later in life, and became known for pioneering something known as "desert modernism." So it's only fitting that this house ultimately end up here. Even if all-metal maybe isn't the best choice of material for a hot desert. If you find yourself in Palm Springs, you should definitely go check it out, or picket in front of it.
Images: Surface Magazine & Palm Springs Art Museum
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