Auditorium Building, Chicago, Illinois, Plaster Details for Balcony c. 1887

Curator: Gazing at this, I immediately sense the ambition, a ghost of grandeur lurking within these delicate pencil lines. Editor: Indeed. What we're seeing here is a drawing, dating back to around 1887, by Adler & Sullivan—plaster details, specifically for the balcony of the Auditorium Building in Chicago. Intricate work on paper. Curator: The ghostly impression isn't accidental, I think. These are plans, futures dreamt up but not yet solid. And look at that relentless geometry intertwined with almost frantic organic detail—vines erupting from right angles, controlled chaos. Editor: Precisely! Observe how this tension reflects the period itself. Industrial revolution forging ahead, but yearning for a connection to nature. Consider the labor—the draftsman meticulously plotting every curve, every flourish intended for translation into solid, heavy plaster. There's the weight of capital and human effort inherent here. Curator: Makes you wonder about the conversations happening during this drawing's creation, doesn't it? Arguments over ornament, budget realities wrestling with artistic vision... It's a battle etched in pencil. Editor: Yes, it's far from a simple technical exercise. Every single line reveals the division of labor that’s part and parcel of architectural design. We tend to laud the "artist," Sullivan, perhaps overlooking the collective endeavor and material realities—from paper to plaster—making his vision possible. Curator: Still, those little glimpses of what the finished space was to feel like. Sullivan’s organic forms hinting at escape from the city outside into something transporting—a temple of art, but a wild, untamed one. A plaster garden… Editor: It becomes apparent just how crucial craft knowledge was—and remains—to the actualization of architectural intention. I find myself considering the economics driving the commission as much as the finished arches themselves. Curator: A marriage of dreams and… spreadsheets, perhaps. I like to imagine Sullivan hovering, a conductor guiding the hands translating his vision. Editor: In the end, it reveals more about production, ambition, and social structures than we often consider when confronted with the final, ornamented space. Curator: Right—and that, in turn, perhaps enriches the wonder one feels actually standing in that very space, knowing the battle waged for its creation.