The Lamp of Memory: The Ruskinian Tradition as a Case for Museum Architecture.

History of Architectural Theory. December 17, 2016.

 

More often than not, the ‘Ruskinian Tradition’ is mistaken for what many may interpret as a bias for a Gothic architectural style. Oversimplifications like these proceed to neglect his legacy. His great body of work has great architectural and societal impact that reflect a great value for the spiritual and human experience. Although he often wrote through the lens of Gothic Revivalism, his ideas remain refreshing beyond the 20th century. His work expresses a rich establishment of a cultural and historical continuum that in examining the case of the museum, a great appreciation in the value of building tradition and craftsmanship in architecture manifest themselves. Deane and Woodward’s Oxford Museum unfolds a dedication to Ruskin’s agenda that up against its contemporary Crystal Palace, become a physical product of his writings. These ideas are not staled in a Victorian context, as a contemporary take of his catalyst can be explored through David Chipperfield’s Neues Museum Berlin as well. The lasting impact of Ruskin is embellished in ‘The Lamp of Memory’ from The Seven Lamps of Architecture, where craftsmanship, cultural context, and preservation become necessities of museum architecture.

John Ruskin’s intense association with the Gothic style and its tradition has developed a problematic discourse from what he truly expresses as being a ‘Gothic architecture.’ The symbolic representation of his name holds an instinctual association with the style. Although he never practiced as an architect, the scope of influence that he pursued is burdened with this heavy relationship. As Nigel Whiteley argues in ‘Falsehood in a Ciceronian dialect?’ “Ruskin soon regretted the public association of his name with Gothic because ‘Ruskinian’ became a label for any building either more or less in Venetian Gothic style.”[1] The Gothic for him, however, was not a style, it was a mode of practice in architecture.

The principles set forth in what Ruskin defines as a ‘gothic’ practice are deeply integrated with a sense of continuum and respect for culture and building tradition. His agenda is “no less than a religious, social and political culture” with a great care to celebrate God through the essential elements of craft.[2] In his Seven Lamps of Architecture, there is a great emphasis on the worker in establishing a human expression in joy in labor as an essential characteristic of the Gothic. Ruskin romanticizes a dialogue between poetry and architecture that expresses precisely such sentiments in ‘The Lamp of Memory.’

 

“There are but two strong conquerors of the forgetfulness of men, Poetry and Architecture; and the latter in some sort includes the former, and is mightier in its reality; it is well to have, not only what men have thought and felt, but what their hands have handled, and their strength wrought, and their eyes beheld, all the days of their life… there are two duties respecting national architecture whose importance is impossible to overrate; the first to render the architecture of the day historical; and the second, to preserve, as the most precious of inheritances, that of past ages.”[3]

 

In extracting what importance may come out of this excerpt we can establish that the ‘endurance’ of the worker’s craftsmanship becomes the crucial element in empowering architecture as ‘historical’ and worthy of preservation. This becomes essential to what Whitely describes as the ‘Ruskinian Tradition.’ This notion can also be characterized by a preservation of a respected Zeitgeist and context.

Ruskin argues that the freedom of intimate ornament pursued by the craftsman does indeed reflect an important time and place that cannot be reinterpreted. Architecture becomes a permanent physical manifestation of such a fleeting moment. A little over a decade before the publication of The Seven Lamps of Architecture in 1849, Goethe was credited in Johann Peter Eckermann’s Conversations with Goethe for calling architecture ‘petrified music’ in that “the tone of mind produced by architecture approaches the effect of music.”[4] Goethe may have inspired Ruskin’s development of seeing architecture as a manifestation of the spirit of the worker, of their service to God, and what their ‘strength wrought’ in the preservation of these fleeting experiences through architecture.[5] It is in these important elements that Ruskin interprets the Gothic style as an embodiment of these principles, however his legacies span far beyond this association, especially when understanding the development of architecture that has happened since.

The influence of the Ruskinian Tradition can be better understood if we develop the concepts relative to an architectural movement as prominent as that of the Arts & Crafts in the late 19th century for instance. Mark Swenarton in his Artisans and Architects: The Ruskinian Tradition in Architectural Thought believes that ‘The Lamp of Memory’ began to take on a false meaning as a “rallying cry for those who seek a return to architecture with evident history and memory.”[6] However, in being sensitive to Ruskin and his context, a better way to establish what the difference may be is to understand that it more of a susceptibility between what is the inhuman and human experience of architecture. This simplified comparison describes the inhumanity of a modern prefabricated machine-made architecture versus the human manifestation of soul captured by a craftsman. 19th century writers like Morris deeply engaged with Ruskin’s appreciation of craft. Morris’ collaborative work, like the famed Red House for instance, displays a harnessed maturity of Ruskin’s design principles as a prominently non-Gothic building stylistically. Through this, tradition should not be confused with ‘traditional,’ which may be “guided by the ideal of Classicism and fostered by the patrimony of the vernacular.”[7] Although we can agree Morris may have been possibly more of an usher to the modern movement, we can’t forget his emphasis of producing original crafted pieces. It is made evident that the Ruskinian Tradition is more about the expression in craft.

Images A and B: Two plates from The Seven Lamps of Architecture illustrated by John Ruskin. Across the plates Ruskin conveys the great integrity, expression, and variety of the craftsman in Gothic architecture.

Many preserve Ruskin’s influence through the example of the Gothic church. In Gothic architecture there is a ‘rudeness’ of the craftsmen, seen by Ruskin as a ‘Christian humility.’ According to him this confesses ”the imperfection of the workman” by natural “imperfection of the subject.”[8] These imperfections in the Gothic capture a great sense of individual craft and expression that allow churches to sprout great variety of religious devotion (Images A & B). Although there is much more to be said about Ruskin and his admiration of the Gothic church, it has a stagnancy and specific context that hinders us from seeing more of a relevance to more contemporary applications of architecture. Effectively, the Ruskinian Tradition is best understood in the context of the museum because it provides us with the ability to preserve our memories and histories that are marveled in the expression of culture and craft.

We might aim to see architecture as being a part of a developing dialogue that preserves a specific moment in time. Perhaps a better way to look at it would be to understand architecture as trickled down through the generations. We can learn distinct aspects about a culture by looking at it’s architecture. In many ways we may judge whether or not it is successful on a basis of its lasting presence within an ever-changing setting. After all we preserve the buildings that we value the most, for it is the lasting monumentality of architecture that instantly describes where we came from and how we became to be. There is an emphasis that the “stress is on the continuing power of witness within the artifact” and that Ruskin is remarkably consistent over the long time span of his writing in his support of the “healing influence of tradition,” as expressed by John Illingworth, who in his Ruskin and Tradition: The Case of Museums, argues primarily for the importance of transmission of tradition across generations.[9] Again, these concepts are reinforced by Ruskin.

 

“…it is in that golden stain of time, that we are to look for the real light, and color, and preciousness of architecture; and it is not until a building has assumed this character, till it had been entrusted with the fame, and hallowed by the deeds of men, till its walls have been witnesses of suffering, and its pillars rise out of the shadows of death, that its existence, more lasting as it is than that of the natural objects of the world around it, can be gifted with even so much as these possess of language and of life.”[10]

 

The Zeitgeist of architecture remains significant in the transitional state of our world, especially when we preserve remnants of our histories in a museum. Our cultures may develop, but we are always left with what they once were. In other words, if an architecture still remains it must be relevant. Although we cannot call for an example solely by Ruskin himself, we have the work of Deane and Woodward, who as Eve Blau believes, practiced a pure manifestation of the ‘Ruskinian Gothic,’ or better identified within the ‘Ruskinian Tradition.’[11] More specifically, the example of the Oxford University Museum of Physical Sciences (Oxford Museum), erected in 1855, finds itself as a brainchild of ‘The Lamp of Memory.’ In order to understand the case of the Oxford Museum as a relevant subject, we must identify the underlying context in which it was built. As Blau states in Ruskinian Gothic: The Architecture of Deane and Woodward, Ruskin’s influence was “both direct and indirect” in the unfolding of this key victory for the Gothic Revivalists in an industrializing 19th century Britain.[12]

In looking at the context of the Oxford Museum, we can infer that it was clearly a bold response to a rapidly-industrializing Britain. We should not forget that the emergence of mass production and structural iron began to rapidly enter the architectural world at the time, quickly fostering an urge to replace traditional practices with technology. Again, this museum should not be veiled as ‘traditional’ even though it might fetishize prior and more ‘cultural’ aesthetics because it presents the attitude of the Ruskinian tradition as a set of design principles. His ideologies reinterpret the aesthetics of the Gothic for an acknowledgment of Zeitgeist in craft. In fact, it is useful to understand the underlying differences between the Oxford Museum and the Crystal Palace, erected just a few years before, to strengthen this notion.

In theory, one might argue that the fundamental functions of the two buildings are similar; an envelope to the cultural artifacts it contains. However, they propose entirely different statements beyond the Crystal Palace’s temporariness. There is an immense disconnect between the construction and materiality of the Crystal Palace and what it contains. To associate the Crystal Palace as a lasting piece of architectural permanence in the cultural continuum is not appropriate, as it has no cultural significance. It served more as a greenhouse for exhibits. There is no doubt that it is to be looked upon as a triumph of engineering and a pioneer of iron construction. We cannot recognize a cultural expression of craft in material through machine-made parts and according to Illingworth, it was a “building with no sense of historical reference to the material of its construction.”[13] Drawing on Ruskinian principles would never propose such a pre-fabricated way to display such cultural artifacts.

The Oxford Museum on the other hand manifests itself as a vehicle to transfer culture from one generation to another; a piece of architecture, as defined by his principles. Ruskin’s direct involvement with the museum truly helped secure the success of the project. Even though we do indeed see this as an act of Gothic Revivalism, it becomes somewhat irrelevant in that it helped free Ruskin’s association from “historicism, ecclesiology, and antiquarianism.”[14] This has less to do with the fact that it is secular but rather that it nurtures a dialogue between the embellishment of culture and craft, and its industrial-age context as a marriage between the recognition of technological advancements and the importance of the expression of the craftsman. The main facade, embellished by stone carver, James O’Shea, draws on quintessentially British principles, inspired by “northern Medieval cloth and town halls” with “steep gabled roofs, central towers, dormers, and regular fenestration.”[15] However, the application of these traditional stylistic values are merely a face to the Ruskinian Tradition as a method of practice.

It is most effective to focus on the craft, concerning the cultural context. Without going into the detailed articulations of the Gothic ornament presented, there ironically exists a deeper appreciation of Ruskin’s design principles as expressed in the dialogue between the iron and glass courtyard atrium with the more purely gothic elements of the main building. Although Ruskin never fully appreciated Deane and Woodward’s introduction of a more industrialized prefabricated atrium (Image C), the marriage of these different expressions ironically strengthens the notion of a Ruskinian tradition. For many reasons, Ruskin despised the industrial purity of the Crystal Palace, as there is little to argue for in using such a building for a display of cultural artifacts, as it fails to recognize the “transmission of tradition” that makes a museum an embodied example of his principles.[16] In the Oxford Museum, however, even with the use of some prefabricated iron, the importance of a lasting Zeitgeist defined by culture, craft, and context, is actually quite present and harmoniously connected through this dichotomy of different architectural expressions.[17] This building possesses the capacity for us to understand the jarring changes in Victorian Britain at the time as a fusion between human expression and technological capability. It is true, that since Ruskin’s time, prefabricated iron and steel have become important elements to our own architectural culture, yet it is hard to argue that this doesn’t indeed reflect an instance of what both Goethe and Ruskin may agree is an act of frozen or ‘petrified music.’ This can be further explained by comparing the two projects through articulation.

Arguing that the Crystal Palace might infer any sense of Ruskinian Tradition would be inappropriate for a few reasons. Firstly, using a predefined and prefabricated pieces as full means to employ an architectural expression under a Ruskinian light completely neglects any reference to craftsmanship. The only reason why we can overlook the prefabricated ‘evils’ in the case of the Oxford Museum atrium is because it is only used in the same way you would structurally assemble any other material like brick or stone, with the case that it has its own harmonious place amongst an expression of other materials. This is because every iron column is unique and articulated with different and purposeful ornament crafted on site, ‘uniting artistic ironwork with the present tubular construction.’[18] Thus, this becomes an extension of the craft language set forth in the main stone structure. Secondly, the Oxford Museum is a successful embodiment of Ruskinian principles is due to its accurate cultural expression of the time. As Blau mentioned in Ruskinian Gothic, the Oxford Museum freed Ruskin from his intensified Christian associations and helped develop a strong appeal to a secular cultural language. From engaging with the museum, we can instantly learn many things about the context in which it was built, as well as the cultural Zeitgeist it begins to express. The passing of culture and craft from one generation to another portrays many of the most important philosophical principles of what a museum needs to be. The Crystal Palace could arguably display a historical context related to the dawn of industrialization and prefabrication in architecture, but it lacks any other architectural qualities worth preserving beyond that (Image D). We are removed from its cultural context, an opposition to the fundamental principles of museum architecture, as sought by Ruskin. Although it can be argued that the content within it may be what is most important that we learn from, we still can’t begin to understand the underlying purposes for which it stands other than a mere display of technological achievement. The only things we can gain from examining it are issues of prefabrication and construction rather than architecture. In theory, there is no reason to preserve the Crystal Palace as a cultural artifact, as every part of it could be replicated many times over.

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Image C: The decorated iron columns in the Oxford Museum interior courtyard present a variation in craft as an extension of the themes set forth in the primary gothic language of the main building pictured behind. The prefabricated columns are integrated as another building material to become another opportunity for expression as seen in the column capitals. (Photo by Eric Leyland)

Image D: Unlike the Oxford Museum, the Crystal Palace pictured to the left, embraces prefabrication as a theme neglecting any opportunity for variance and expression for the craftsman. The architect can fully conceive the final product without co-ownership of the laborers and building tradition. (Photo found by Dean Nicholas)

We now begin to understand how architecture can be valued and preserved, much like the cultural artifacts it may contain. Like what it encases, architecture is preserved on the idea that it is valuable to learn from its historical contexts, whether it is rooted in craft or reflected in the lost Zeitgeist of the time in which it was built. It is necessary to explore this importance as expressed in Ruskin’s last point in ‘The Lamp of Memory.’

 

“Neither by the public, nor by those who have the care of public monuments, is the true meaning of the word restoration understood. It means the most total destruction out of which a building can suffer: a destruction accompanied with false description of the thing destroyed. Do not let us deceive ourselves in this important matter; it is impossible, as impossible as to raise the dead, to restore anything that has ever been great of beautiful in architecture. That which I have above insisted upon as the life of the whole, that spirit which is given only by the hand and eye of the workman, never can be recalled… And as for direct and simple copying, it is palpably impossible. What copying can there be of surfaces that have been worn half an inch down? The whole finish of the work was in the half inch that is gone.”[19]

 

There is an inevitable comparison of preserving architecture with the way we preserve artifacts. Ruskin is arguing against the principle of ‘restoring’ what once was. Due to the inherent individual spirit of of the craftsman in the specific time, he claims it is ‘palpably impossible’ to artificially recreate that which cannot be restored to its fullest extent. The same principle applies to the instance of an excavated and shattered artifact. Can you learn more from it by reproducing a meaningless copy of it when stripped from its original creator? On the other hand, reproducing a structure like the Crystal Palace is completely feasible, as every part of it has no individual context and is merely assembled as a kit of industrialized parts. There is no craft or emotion in its display. The Oxford Museum as an embodiment of continuum of culture is a great basis to judge ‘The Lamp of Memory’ as a successful model for museums, but in examining the issues of preservation against restoration we can draw from the great contemporary example of David Chipperfield’s Neues Museum in Berlin.

Chipperfield’s strategy to preserve Prussian architect Friedrich Stüler’s Neues Museum Berlin for reuse is a prime example of best practice in Ruskinian conservation, with great reference to ‘The Lamp of Memory.’ Ellis Woodman in his review of the Neues Museum Berlin divides the importance architectural artifact and value into two sections; “craftsmanship and decay.” To Ruskin a building’s worth is not merely predetermined by the architect’s vision but rather understanding the role time plays “as embodied both in the performances of those that made the building and in the history of that work’s undoing.”[20] Chipperfield’s 1994 competition entry text displayed a great sense of respect to the Stüler’s work in that there was an “intuitive feeling that the Neues Museum should be restored and that this restoration should be as complete and authentic as possible.”[21] Reinterpreting Stüler’s vastly decorated and varied interiors tailored to the artifacts would have displayed a lack of principles and morals crucial to the design problem of a Ruskinian museum. However, Chipperfield’s approach didn’t merely work around a series of intact fragments but rather he found it crucial to give new light to the existing fabric through reinforcing the strong spatial and volumetric qualities that the museum may have lost in its destruction. He was “driven by the the idea that the spatial context and materiality of the original structure should be emphasized” and that “the contemporary reflects the lost but without imitating it.”[22] He did indeed establish a set of smoother and more contemporary forms in both their material finish and massing but the sophistication in the dialogue between the two strengthens Stüler’s original ‘considered composition’ so that the experiences could be relived through the lens of more relatable and contrasting conservation effort. Every detail prepared by Chipperfield was judged on a case-by-case basis. In one instance Woodman observed “where areas of fresco have been lost, the stucco has not been reinstated but the exposed bricks have been colour-washed to soften the contrast with the adjoining paintwork” (Image F).[23] Perhaps the most prominent example of his interventions to the Neues Museum was Stüler’s ‘lavish’ central stair case, which was destroyed entirely, and in over a year of developing alternatives, Chipperfield concluded that it could never be copied (Image E). Instead he pursued to put in “a ghost of the lost form,” establishing the original shape, reduced to an undecorated polished concrete, which would be seen as a prominent aesthetic used in much of our contemporary practice.[24] Ruskin’s ideals are present throughout every inch of this project.

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Images E and F: Pictured on the left is Chipperfield’s “reflection of the lost” grand central staircase reimagined through it’s original massing. By establishing a harmonious contrast of the original against the new additions, it displays a respect for the original expression as Stüler intended. This can also be seen on the right with the intention of restoring the spatial qualities that Stüler had envisioned. (Photos taken by Christian Richters)

Chipperfield pledges his full responsibility as an architect in understanding that it is indeed “impossible to raise the dead” and that “the hand and eye of the workman, never can be recalled” as preached by Ruskin over a century before his time. In many ways, the museum is preserved as the cultural artifact itself, honoring the craft with an unharmed, respected, and celebrated help in Chipperfield’s homage to the Ruskinian tradition.

The museum as a piece of architecture manifests itself naturally under the influence of Ruskin’s ‘The Lamp of Memory.’ It is difficult to ignore notions of craftsmanship, cultural context, and preservation of architecture in the case of the museum and thus the Ruskinian Tradition establishes an important and parallel dialogue that should be addressed in dealing with it as a building type. The industrial revolution tore a great divide between many of Ruskin’s cultural principles versus those that argue in favor of prefabrication and mass-production in architecture. Not to say that these definitions exist in opposing spheres, but as we have seen, even with the influence of Ruskin in the Oxford Museum or the Neues Museum there can exist a marriage of these principles. That being said, Ruskin evidently holds a high stature in being a crucial figure to any architecture that holds its importance within a cultural continuum, and regardless of the context, ‘The Lamp of Architecture’ remains highly relevant. Cornelius Baljon’s review of The Seven Lamps of Architecture expresses a key element that strengthens the successes of ‘The Lamp of Memory’ in the fact ‘that what we build should look as if it were made to last forever, remains in place.’[25] This portrays the importance of the guiding principles of a lasting craft, respect for culture, and permanence in architecture, especially in the case of the museum.

 


[1] Whiteley, Nigel, ‘’Falsehood in a Ciceronian Dialect’?: The ‘Ruskinian’ Tradition, Modernism, and the Rise of the Classical Tradition in Contemporary Architecture’ in The Lamp of Memory: Ruskin, Tradition and Architecture, ed. Michael Wheeler and Nigel Whiteley (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1992), 179-180.

[2] Whiteley, Nigel, ‘’Falsehood in a Ciceronian Dialect’?: The ‘Ruskinian’ Tradition, Modernism, and the Rise of the Classical Tradition in Contemporary Architecture’ in The Lamp of Memory: Ruskin, Tradition and Architecture, ed. Michael Wheeler and Nigel Whiteley (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1992), 180.

[3] Ruskin, John, ‘The Lamp of Memory,’ in The Seven Lamps of Architecture (New York: Hill and Wang, 1989), 169-170.

[4] Eckermann, Johann Peter, and John Oxenford, J.W. Goethe: Conversations with Eckermann (1823-1832) (San Francisco: North Point, 1984), 188.

[5] Swenarton, Mark, Artisans and Architects: The Ruskinian Tradition in Architectural Thought (New York: St. Martins, 1989), XVIII.

[6] Swenarton, Mark, Artisans and Architects: The Ruskinian Tradition in Architectural Thought (New York: St. Martins, 1989), XV.

[7] Whiteley, Nigel, ‘’Falsehood in a Ciceronian Dialect’?: The ‘Ruskinian’ Tradition, Modernism, and the Rise of the Classical Tradition in Contemporary Architecture’ in The Lamp of Memory: Ruskin, Tradition and Architecture, ed. Michael Wheeler and Nigel Whiteley (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1992), 191.

[8] Ruskin, John, ‘Nature of the Gothic,’ in The Stones of Venice (New York: Hill and Wang, 1960), 171.

[9] Illingworth, John, ‘Ruskin and Tradition: The Case of Museums,’ in The Lamp of Memory: Ruskin, Tradition and Architecture, ed. Michael Wheeler and Nigel Whiteley (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1992), 40.

[10] Ruskin, John, ‘The Lamp of Memory,’ in The Seven Lamps of Architecture (New York: Hill and Wang, 1989), 177.

[11] Blau, Eve, ‘The Oxford Museum,’ in Ruskinian Gothic: The Architecture of Deane and Woodward, 1845-1861 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 48.

[12] Blau, Eve, ‘The Oxford Museum,’ in Ruskinian Gothic: The Architecture of Deane and Woodward, 1845-1861 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 48.

[13] Illingworth, John, ‘Ruskin and Tradition: The Case of Museums,’ in The Lamp of Memory: Ruskin, Tradition and Architecture, ed. Michael Wheeler and Nigel Whiteley (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1992), 48.

[14] Blau, Eve, ‘The Oxford Museum,’ in Ruskinian Gothic: The Architecture of Deane and Woodward, 1845-1861 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 49.

[15] Blau, Eve, ‘The Oxford Museum,’ in Ruskinian Gothic: The Architecture of Deane and Woodward, 1845-1861 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 56.

[16] Illingworth, John, ‘Ruskin and Tradition: The Case of Museums,’ in The Lamp of Memory: Ruskin, Tradition and Architecture, ed. Michael Wheeler and Nigel Whiteley (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1992), 44.

[17] Ruskin, John, ‘The Lamp of Memory,’ in The Seven Lamps of Architecture (New York: Hill and Wang, 1989), 177.

[18] Vernon, Horace Middleton, and K. Dorothea Ewart, A History of the Oxford Museum (Oxford: Clarendon, 1909), 179.

[19] Ruskin, John, ‘The Lamp of Memory,’ in The Seven Lamps of Architecture (New York: Hill and Wang, 1989), 184.

[20] Woodman, Ellis, ‘David Chipperfield Architects’ Neues Museum Berlin,’ Building Design Online (March 6, 2009, accessed September 22, 2016), <http://www.bdonline.co.uk/david-chipperfield-architects-neues-museum-berlin/3135293.article>.

[21] Woodman, Ellis, ‘David Chipperfield Architects’ Neues Museum Berlin,’ Building Design Online (March 6, 2009, accessed September 22, 2016), <http://www.bdonline.co.uk/david-chipperfield-architects-neues-museum-berlin/3135293.article>.

[22] Chipperfield, David, and Rik Nys, David Chipperfield Architects (London: Thames and Hudson, 2012), 198.

[23] Woodman, Ellis, ‘David Chipperfield Architects’ Neues Museum Berlin,’ Building Design Online (March 6, 2009, accessed September 22, 2016), <http://www.bdonline.co.uk/david-chipperfield-architects-neues-museum-berlin/3135293.article>.

[24] Woodman, Ellis, ‘David Chipperfield Architects’ Neues Museum Berlin,’ Building Design Online (March 6, 2009, accessed September 22, 2016), <http://www.bdonline.co.uk/david-chipperfield-architects-neues-museum-berlin/3135293.article>.

[25] Baljon, Cornelius, ‘Interpreting Ruskin: The Argument of the Seven Lamps of Architecture and the Stones of Venice,’ The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 55, No. 4 (Autumn, 1997), 408.