When I flipped through the morning newspaper and stumbled across Arthur Erickson's obituary, one or two disturbing memories were dredged up.
C'est la vie!
Years ago, our professional paths crossed in Vancouver (B.C.) when I was a struggling artist (painter/sculptor) and his star was on the rise in the exciting field of architecture on the picturesque West Coast of Canada.
One day, amid quite a bit of fanfare, it was announced that Erickson had been commissioned by the burgeoning city to design Robson Square (pictured below) in downtown Vancouver.
On the heels of the announcement, Erickson's architectural team put out a call for a dynamic piece of sculpture - to fulfill the role of centerpiece - for the tantalizing project which was going to span over several blocks in what amounted to a lush garden setting.
After reviewing the submission guidelines, it hit me like a bolt of lightning.
If I designed a piece of sculpture that was not only aesthetically-pleasing - but functional as well - surely I would nab the assignment hands-down.
After all, the neon tube light sculpture I conjured up in my creative eye would not only add an eye-catching decorative flourish, but provide much-needed lighting for the breath-taking open space which was to include a world-class skating rink on the landing below.
I hired a competent draftsman to professionally prepare the designs in scale, at which point, I excitedly submitted the professional package to the officials in charge of the competition.
A few weeks after the deadline for entries passed, I was informed by way of a curt letter that my concept for the "Light Sculpture" was rejected on the grounds that the materials involved - neon, transformers, and delicate tubing - were too expensive to render the art piece cost effective for the Robson Street project.
If I recall, the price tag was approximately $30,000.00.
A mere drop in the bucket, when you consider that the city fathers slated millions upon millions of taxpayer dollars to erect what was intended to be a "landmark" architectural gem in downtown Vancouver.
What a disappointment.
But, a few months down the road, the depression over the loss of the commission turned into downright anger.
One day, while I was perusing the morning paper, I happened across a notice that greedy self-absorbed Arthur Erickson had been hired to design one of the subway stations on the newly-approved extension to the existing line.
I was flabbergasted when I read a description of the design he proposed for the space.
Yup!
Erickson's "neon light" proposal for the space "mirrored" my own creation.
That slug literally stole my concept, idea, and design right out from under me.
I dashed to my typewriter (no table-top PC's in those days, folks) and fired off a letter.
In sum, I demanded that Mr. Erickson explain why an individual of his stature and prestige in the architectural arena - blessed with a deep well of creative and financial resources - would have the audacity to steal the work product of a struggling young artist without so much as a nod or a "thank you very much".
You got it.
Erickson didn't even give me the courtesy of a reply.
Ironically, when Robson Square was erected and a gallery had been installed in the mall area downstairs on the street level later, I was asked to exhibit a handful of my sketches and paintings in a group show of local artists.
At that juncture, the original sketches for the neon light sculpture I designed, had been beautifully framed - so, cheeky devil that I am - I displayed the incriminating sketches for all the world to see.
Of course, my intention was diabolical.
I proceeded to pen background info on the neon light sculpture; then, it was summarily posted abreast the three framed drawings, so the ugly issues would be in the forefront.
Natch, I included the details about the design being originally rejected by the team of Robson Square architects, then later "lifted" by Erickson without my permission for use at the subway station just a hop-and-a-skip outside of the city.
The allegations were hung in plain view; consequently, thousands of visitors to the gallery read 'em over a four week period.
In spite of the embarrassing finger-pointing, I never heard a peep out of Erickson.
Curiously, there were no complaints from friends or business associates, or requests that the "offending" tell-all be removed from the Robson Square gallery.
Nuff said!
The unscrupulous builder also rubbed quite a few architects the wrong way, too, due to his lack of integrity and ethics.
For example, Erickson was inclined to politic and back-stab in social circles, with the specific aim of securing commissions for his firm - and ultimately - exalting his name and reputation in the community at large.
For example, after the incident with me, he put his "foot in it" when he accepted a commission from Pierre Elliot Trudeau to design the Canadian Embassy in Washington (D.C.), in spite of the fact the judges chose another Architect's stunning design for the prestigious project.
In spite of an outcry (and scandal) that followed, Erickson didn't even have the integrity - or the decency - to bow out gracefully so that the winning entrant could take the reins and erect the showcase Canadians were entitled to.
Bad Karma must have caught up with Mr. Erickson, because the building he imagined the crown jewel in his lofty empire - was hailed in most quarters as lacklustre and a critical failure.
Questions were also raised over the years about his lack of foresight when he it came to the obvious.
For instance, Erickson pigheadedly pushed forward his designs for the "Museum of Anthropology" (a structure primarily crafted in glass that any fool with an ounce of intelligence could have anticipated might leak in torrential rainfalls) in spite of the fact he knew full well the flawed design was being erected in a region of the Pacific Northwest known for its unrelenting stormy blasts.
Yup.
It leaked profusely, on occasion.
Shortly after those embarrassing scenarios loudly sounded sour notes around the architectural landscape, his professional career went into a decline.
Sadly, the aging Lothario ended up a pale reflection of himself.
Haunted by his own demons, I expect.
I trust when Erickson met his maker earlier this week - that he was forthright about his sins - otherwise he'll probably return in the next life mere brick and mortar.
