Art Deco was characterized by skyscrapers in the United States but in Miami, particularly Miami Beach, it was low scaled. Some of the Art Deco buildings, especially the hotels along Ocean Drive used the finials and spires of skyscrapers, but on buildings that never exceeded eight stories.
Art Deco style in Miami Beach reflected the ocean liners that were the essence of luxury and travel and were intrinsically tied to our tourist economy by the use of wide, long porches with metal rails and porthole windows. The bas reliefs, friezes, iron ornamentation on screened doors, and etched glass windows reflected the South Florida vernacular. This vernacular of untamed mangrove foliage, alligators, and rare birds of the Everglades must have seemed exotic to the rest of the nation, since Florida is the only state that is sub-tropical, but it spoke to what defined the state.
During the Depression the commission of public buildings was relegated to the W.P.A. throughout most of the U.S. However, Miami Beach saw a flurry of activity with the investment of private funds for the creation of small hotels that catered to the middle class, a virtually unheard of occurrence during the Great Depression. Streamline Moderne emerged during this time by capitalizing on the aerodynamic designs of Art Deco but simplified, streamlined, and softened by the rounding of corners.
Appreciation for the Art Deco architecture in Miami Beach did not really come about until 1979 with the creation by Barbara Capitman of the Miami Design Preservation League. Notwithstanding, it has been an uphill battle to save buildings from the wrecking ball. Two of the most important examples of Art Deco and Streamline in Miami Beach were the The Senator hotel and the New Yorker hotel, both imploded in the name of progress. The Senator was the quintessential example of Art Deco architecture. Built in 1939 by L. Murray Dixon with porthole windows, smooth keystone (as the local oolitic limestone is know) tinted in the lightest shade of pink before it fades into white, etched glass, terrazzo floors (once ubiquitous in South Florida and now almost nonexistent), a bas relief pelican fountain, straight-line ledges jutting slightly over the windows to provide shade, and a perfume bottle spire in the center. It suffered the ultimate indignity in 1988 when it was demolished to make a parking lot. The New Yorker was built in 1939 as well by one of the foremost architects in Miami, Henry Hohauser. Rising eight stories high on Collins Avenue with perfectly rounded off corners that made it appear to be hugging itself, its back towards the ocean, with a central parapet that reached up towards the skies it defined the elegance and yet solidity of Streamline architecture. Carefully cloaked under the rights of property ownership it was demolished in 1981.
When these structures are sacrificed to the wrecking ball not only do we lose a part of history and an artistic form that is irreplaceable, but we lose yet another of the bonds that create a sense of place for a city that as a tourist destination has often been transient like the dirigibles that had to be tied down with multiple steel cables off the McArthur Causeway, lest they drift away.
Creating this blog was not difficult, it was the images I struggled with. This image of an old postcard sat on the top of the blog forever, until recently when I was able to move it to its appropriate spot. I think it mostly has to do with losing your fear of doing something wrong and then losing the image completely.
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