THE PALACE OF FINE ARTS - a brief history

"The Palace was not designed as 'a Valentine for San Francisco.' Maybeck visualized its colonnade streaming with people, finding a reward within the great doors."

The task of creating a Palace of Fine Arts for the 1915 Panama-Pacific International Exposition fell to the architect Bernard R. Maybeck, then fifty years old and known for his innovative ideas. Setting to work on this new project, he chose as his theme a Roman ruin, mutilated and overgrown, in the mood of a Piranesi engraving. But this ruin was not to exist solely for itself to show "the mortality of grandeur and the vanity of human wishes .... " Although it was meant to give delig ht by its exterior beauty, its purpose was also to offer all visitors a stimulating experience within doors.

There are several minor discrepancies evident in this 1912 preliminary drawing, evidently used for pre-fair promotion since construction was not started until the following year. The most noticable "error" is in the design of the Fine Arts Palace on th e left which shows the building with incorporated rather than seperate columns.

In playing host to the Panama-Pacific International Exposition, The Fair, which opened on February 20, 1915, San Francisco was honoring the discovery of the Pacific Ocean and the completion of the Panama Canal; it was also celebrating its own resurrection after the shattering earthquake and fire of 1906.

Every day was a special day at the fair. If the celebration didn't honor the like of Thomas Edison or ex-President Taft, then it was Food Products Day, Ohio Day, Southern California Counties Day, California Bee Keepers Day, or some other civic, fratern al, or other special interest group (so many that some even had to share Days). The celebration often included a special ticket, such as this one for one of the more special days honoring the host city of San Francisco (and featuring our favorite building ).

The problems of choosing the exact site in the city had finally been overcome and groundwork had been going on for some time. Last of the buildings to be erected, on the lagoon and close by a group of Monterey cypresses, was Maybeck's Palace of Fine Arts. With its exhibition hall to house the work of living artists (dominated by the Impressionists), its colonnade, and its rotunda -- plans for all of which had dazzled the Commissioners when the huge brown-paper sketch was put before them -- it fulfilled th e architect's dream: it was as beautiful reflected in the water as it was against the sky. And when the Palace was completed (Roman in style although a freely-interpreted, purely romantic conception, and Greek in decorative treatment) its exceptional har mony gave it instant appeal to the public.

Along the Avenue of Palms with the fair's centerpiece, the Tower of Jewels, in the background. Parks Superintendent John McLaren supervised the transplantation of every growing plant (including full grown trees!) to what had earlier been tidal marshlan d. This, coupled with a meticulous planning in which floral beds were apparently changed overnight, earned him the admiration and acclaim of the horticultural world.

The hall itself covered some three acres of ground and was supported by unusually strong structural beams. The essentially Corinthian colonnade was framed in wood and then covered with staff, a mixture of plaster and burlap-type fiber. So too was the Roma nesque rotunda. Staff was the ideal material for a building of this kind; it was completely pliable and various finishes could make it appear like stone or marble. Although constructed to achieve mood, the Palace was rescued from any danger of superficial ity by a firm underlying geometric pattern.

The Palace of Fine Arts housed artworks from around the world (some of which were sent for safekeeping from the Great War then raging in Europe). Many small sculptures were also scattered around the lagoon, in addition to the major pieces found on the main grounds.

Many of the decorative elements were designed by a young architect in Maybeck's office, William Merchant. Beneath the dome of the rotunda were eight panels in low relief by Bruno L. Zimm, symbolizing Greek culture and its desire for poetic and artistic ex pression. The weeping figures surrounding the boxes on the colonnade were the work of the sculptor Ulric Ellerhusen. Some say they were intended to express Contemplation; others, the melancholy of life without art. These lachrymose ladies were to have bee n partially shrouded by vines watered by their tears, but funds were insufficient to provide all the greenery that Maybeck had wanted. Therefore the boxes at the top of the columns were never planted. Nor were the redwood trees which were to have surround ed the Palace, to add to the romantic atmosphere.

By the closing of the Exposition, on December 4 of the same year, a movement to preserve the Palace was already under way; signatures and money were gathered from the Fine Arts League. For a while the Palace housed a continuous art exhibit, and when the D epression came, W.P.A. artists were commissioned to replace the deteriorated murals on the ceiling of the rotunda.

But as time went by, a strange new life evolved for the exhibition hall. In 1934, eighteen lighted tennis courts were installed and remained there for eight years. During this period, the Palace, without proper maintenance and as a result of vandalism, w as gradually crumbling into a genuine ruin. Then during World War II it was requisitioned by the Army for storage of trucks and jeeps. At the end of the war, when the United Nations was created in San Francisco, limousines used by the world's statesmen c ame from a motor pool there.

Two years after the war's end, the Palace was returned by the Army to the city. By now it had been declared unsafe for public use. Then began a forceful attempt to preserve it as it was -- designed as a ruin, it should remain one. But the building was not strong enough to last. When Maybeck's opinion was solicited, he had this to say:

"I think the main building should be torn down and redwoods planted around--completely around -- the rotunda. Redwoods grow fast, you know. And as they grow, the columns of the rotunda would slowly crumble, at approximately the same speed. The n I would like to design an altar, with the figure of a maiden praying, to install in that grove of redwoods. I should like my Palace to die behind those great trees of its own accord, and become its own cemetery."

But before his death (at age ninety-five, in 1957) there was again a concerted movement to save the Palace, a movement which he fully supported. In a telegram sent by Maybeck to Governor Knight on July 12, 1957, he said:

"The Palace of Fine Arts is probably the last of the traditional pieces of architecture to survive the modern age. Because of its beauty it has become a tourist attraction for the State of California. Kindly sign the bill for its restoration a nd I will be thankful. I have the honor to remain, Very truly yours, Dr. Bernard R. Maybeck, Architect."

In the meantime, from 1947 on, the hall continued to be put to various uses: as a city Park Department warehouse; as a telephone book distribution center; as a flag and tent storage depot; and even as temporary Fire Department headquarters.

By the mid-1960's the Palace became what Maybeck had envisioned - namely a ruin. Most of the statuary was missing heads and many of the urns had been vandelized. The tempory structure, only built to last for two years, was now almost 50 years old and was rotting away.

For several years Assemblyman Caspar Weinberger, supported by other prominent San Franciscans, had patiently pushed the cause of the Palace. Finally, between 1957 and 1959, his efforts were rewarded. Funds from the California State Legislature, the City, and the Palace of Fine Arts League, supplemented by a most generous $2,000,000 donation (and later an additional donation of approximately $2,500,000) from Walter S. Johnson, as well as large contributions from other concerned residents of the city, saved the life of the Palace. By 1962 a plan for its restoration in concrete had been approved by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors.

The columns come crashing down during demolition.

The rotunda is seen here, half demolished.

The work of demolition and reconstruction began in 1964. The rotunda and the columns were toppled to the ground. Nothing was left but the steel structure of the gallery itself. Preparation for rebuilding, at a cost ten times the original and on a permanen t basis, was under way. Soon after, with the over-all supervision of Hans U. Gerson, the buildings were reconstructed in permanent, light-weight, pouredin-place concrete, and steel I-beams were hoisted into place for the dome of the rotunda. All the decor ations and sculpture, including the weeping ladies and the panel from the face of the rotunda (representing Art being attacked by materialists whom the idealists were attempting to hold back), were constructed anew. Column capitals, urns and all figures w ere pre-cast so that the poured concrete would match them exactly. The maidens and their garlands, in circular boxes by the rotunda, had been wantonly vandalized and most of the headless figures had to be made whole again. In the course of reconstruction, the rotunda was reproduced in its entirety; the colonnade was an exact copy of the original but without the north and south end pylons; and the main building was constructed as before, although lacking the earlier ornamentation.

The new rotunda takes shape.

A new dome, built to last, caps the new cement rotunda structure.

By 1966, when 20,000 people visited the unfinished Palace during a public "walk-through," the new structure was close to completion. It had been solidly rebuilt by the best engineers available, the "staff" work being cast, stratified in the casting like s tone, and proof against peeling off. Nevertheless, at the end of the restoration of the Palace, its gallery was still a hollow shell. Though there had been many suggestions for its use, no practical plan had been established. And then, at last, the right solution presented itself.

In 1965, University of Colorado physics professor Frank Oppenheimer was in Europe where he visited science museums such as the one in South Kensington, London, and the Deutsches Museum in Munich. The following year he was invited to a conference in Burlin gton, Vermont on the role of museums in education. It was then that an idea of his began really to crystallize. He was convinced that there was an increasing need to develop public understanding of science and technology, and that a museum could be a plac e where people come to learn and to participate and to explore natural phenomena -- in short, an Exploratorium. He made several trips to San Francisco to discuss the possibility of establishing such a museum here, and his proposals were met with enthusias tic interest. Therefore, in July of 1968, he and his family came here to live, and later that year, at a luncheon at the Palace (where the evergenerous Walter Johnson announced that he would donate $250,000 for a theatre), plans really began to take shape .

The Park and Recreation Commission formally approved the plan to house a museum in the Palace in August of 1969, and with a grant of $50,000 from the San Francisco Foundation, the Exploratorium was under way. Dr. Oppenheimer established his office in a tr ailer in one corner of the great exhibition hall, and the first exhibits -- the Montgomery Glider, the Stanford Linear Accelerator, and the Lockheed Box (now called "Touch the Spring") -- were set up. In September of 1969, with no fanfare and little publi city, the Exploratorium opened its doors. The first visitors discovered the museum largely by accident. But in November, the museum displayed the Cybernetic Serendipity exhibit from England, and word of the Exploratorium's existence began to spread.

The Palace was built with great optimism, and the Exploratorium was also conceived with a sense of optimism. It is rounded on the conviction that an understanding of nature, accompanied by respect for both the arts and the sciences, will eventually help u s solve the problems that now seem so intense and menacing. The Exploratorium's Statement of Broad Purpose sums up the philosophy behind the museum:

The Exploratorium was conceived to communicate a conviction that nature and people can be both understandable and full of newly discovered magic.

Starting with a few temporary exhibits, the museum grew rapidly. In 1980, cramped for space by its collection of exhibits, the museum built a mezzanine within the exhibition hall, adding another 15,000 square feet of exhibit space. By 1983, the Explorator ium had more than 500 exhibits on light and color, sound and music, patterns of motion, language, and other natural phenomena. In February of 1985, Dr. Oppenheimer died. The Exploratorium, having gained an international reputation for excellence and creat ivity under his guidance, became his lasting monument, and continued to thrive. By 1991, the staff had grown to almost 200; the exhibit collection to more than 650. Under the direction of French scientist and educator Dr. Goery Delacote, the museum entere d a new phase of development intended to carry it into the 21st Century.

The Exploratorium has begun expanding its role in exhibit-based public education, becoming a nucleus for interaction between science and the public. To carry out this goal, three Centers have been created within the museum: the Center for Public Exhibitio n, which focuses on the continued development of Exploratorium exhibits and programs; the Center for Teaching and Learning, which encompasses and expands the museum's educational programs; and the Center for Media and Communication, which explores the way s in which the Exploratorium can communicate science to the public -- both at the museum and beyond its walls.

The Exploratorium is a dynamic place. Visitors can see exhibits being made and repaired in the carpentry, machine, welding, and electronics shops, which are visible from the museum floor. Trained high-school students, the museum's "Explainers," help visit ors use and understand the exhibits. On weekday mornings, school groups visit the museum through the Field Trip Program. The Exploratorium hosts concerts, movies, and special exhibits, and publishes books, magazines, and catalogues describing exhibits and the natural phenomena they demonstrate. Each year, over 500,000 visitors come to peer through lenses, look in mirrors, stare through filters, experiment with magnets and electricity, pluck guitar strings, bang drums, spin wheels, swing pendulums, and, in the process, learn more about their environment and themselves.

The Palace's gallery also houses the 1003-seat Palace of Fine Arts Theatre. The theatre, which was added in 1970, is available as a public rental facility. It is operated for the San Francisco Recreation and Parks Department by the Palace of Fine Arts Lea gue, Inc., a nonprofit corporation.

One moonlit evening not long ago, two young artists and a staff member of the museum were walking near the Palace, bemused by its mysterious charm. "I love it!" one of the artists burst out enthusiastically, "It's so romantic!" And indeed it is. Neverthel ess, it is much more than a "grand, classical ruin." Maybeck's wish for it has been fulfilled by the imaginative use of the gallery for an Exploratorium that belongs to everyone. Its colonnade is once again "streaming with people, finding a great reward w ithin its doors."

ABOUT THE ARCHITECT

Bernard Ralph Maybeck (1862-1957) was born in New York City and as a young man was sent to Paris to study his father's art of furniture woodcarving. While there he decided to become an architect and enrolled at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. Returning to this country, he lived first in Florida and in Kansas City before settling in Berkeley, California, where he found the most satisfying milieu in which to work. There he held a teaching post at the university, and over the years became the architect of many pub lic buildings and houses in California. In 1913 he was chosen to erect the Palace of Fine Arts, later receiving a citation for his work from the American Institute of Architects. In 1951, when he was 89 years of age, he was awarded the Gold Medal of the I nstitute, and at this time public interest in him was revived. He died six years later, at the age of 95.

As Esther McCoy points out in her book Five California Architects (Reinhold, 1960), Maybeck was something of an unrecognized genius during most of his lifetime. Dramatic and mystic by nature, he was highly inventive and his solutions were so correct that they have become part of the common architectural find; his contributions to structure were basic. Largeness and boldness of execution, height, and ingenuity in bringing light into his buildings were keynotes of Maybeck's work. Non-conformist by inclinati on, he charmed Californians with houses that hid in the landscape, and he made generous use of exposed beams, unpainted finish, huge fireplaces and clerestory windows. Above all else he loved redwood; he had also a strong feeling for concrete. Using his m aterials with great craftsmanship, at the same time he took full advantage of technology. Throughout his life his great wish was to be understood by the man in the street and to give him a sense of delight.