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\"This comprehensive history of the Museum of Modern Art's architecture and design department under the leadership of the highly influential curator Arthur Drexler assesses the department's impact on the shape and direction of twentieth-century architectural discourse\"--Provided by publisher.

Collaborative Form attempts to show the nature and limits of works of art that are made up of two or more artistic forms. The first task of this book is to analyze and interpret a set of such combinations. Each chapter treats one collaborative work and attempts to show that the principles of collaboration are the same, whether the components are poetry and graphic works as in Lettera Amorosa by Rene Char and George Braque, poetry and music as in Herzgewachse by Maurice Maeterlinck and Arnold Schoenberg, or more complex sets that include painting, music, dance, lighting, and drama as in Der gelbe Klang by Wassily Kandinsky, Morder, Hoffnung der frauen by Oskar Kokoschka, and Triad by Alwin Nikolais. Hines breaks down disciplinary barriers and then emphasizes the effects of the interactions between the arts. The first step, in methodology, is that of refusing to make a priori commitments to the critical methodologies of the arts involved. Each art is treated from its own perspective, and each interpretation attends to interactions of the arts rather than to the contribution of any one art. Once the collaborative works are examined, the book shows that such works are similar to other art forms. They obey the laws of temporal necessity, non-addition, multiple interpretation, and unity that any poem, painting, or musical composition might be said to obey. Unlike other arts though, collaborative forms are unique examples of the combinative effects of the arts. In the process of interpreting individual works and attempting to summarize this form, we are forced to see beyond the conventions of the constituent arts.

This easy-to-follow 'cookbook' guides hand surgeons and radiologists through the process of diagnosis and treatment Mobile ultrasonography is revolutionizing the way hand surgery patients are managed. Ultrasound of the Hand and Upper Extremity: A Step-by-Step Guide is the first book on this field that is intended for practicing hand surgeons and the radiologists who work with them. A stepwise, practical guide specially designed for quick reference, with bullet-point text, informative figures, and detailed clinical examples, this book and its accompanying videos are ideal for the busy clinician. Edited by John R. Fowler and Nandkumar M. Rawool, with contributions by other experts with long experience in ultrasound techniques, this book features a reader-friendly chapter structure that describes the appropriate setup, anatomic landmarks, probe and patient positioning, comparative normal anatomy, relevant pathologic anatomy, and available injection techniques for 14 anatomic areas and conditions. Key Highlights * Full-color photographs to depict proper patient and probe positioning for optimal results * Expert advice on ultrasound machine settings for achieving the best images in various structures * Labeled ultrasound images of deformities and normal anatomy for comparative clinical use * Thirteen instructive videos highlight ultrasound techniques for a range of structures and pathologies This unique guidebook for upper limb ultrasound methods is the essential primary reference for all practicing hand surgeons and residents, as well as orthopedic surgeons, sports medicine specialists, and radiologists who must provide their patients with unrivaled care using state-of-the-art equipment and techniques.

While social concerns would be eagerly developed by planners and architects of the 1920's and 30's, his esthetic commitment to historical forms would be resuscitated only in the 60's and 70's by the postmodern school of radical eclecticism. The leading defender of modernism, meanwhile, was [Louis Sullivan]'s disciple Frank Lloyd Wright (1869-1959). Wright's literary style owed much to Sullivan and their common hero, Whitman. Both architects could soar to the level of poetry, but they could also compromise the effect in mannered redundancy. Both also tended to rail too stridently against enemies. There were significant differences in their writing as well. While Sullivan's bore the mark of the earnest Victorian, one senses in the style of his disciple a writer with an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. ''I have been black and blue in some spot, somewhere, almost all my life,'' Wright confessed, ''from too intimate contact with my own furniture.'' I N his autobiography and other writings, Wright was frequently more effective when he was not writing about his own or his contemporaries' architecture but describing the natural world. ''Why is any cow, red, black, or white, always in the right place for any picture in the landscape?'' he asked. ''Like a cypress tree in Italy, she is never wrongly placed. Her outlines quiet down so well into whatever contours surround her. A group of her in a landscape is an enchantment.'' Even as a chauvinistic ''modern'' and ''American'' architect, Wright could speak and write convincingly, as in his seminal essay ''The Art and Craft of the Machine,'' first delivered as a talk at Jane Addams's Hull House in 1901. ''The machine is here to stay,'' he said. ''It is the forerunner of the democracy that is our dearest hope. There is no more important work before the architect now than to use this normal tool of civilization to the best advantage instead of prostituting it as he has hitherto done in reproducing with murderous ubiquity forms born of other times and other conditions and which it can only serve to destroy.'' In the 60's and 70's, the other side of Mr. Johnson's architectural identity kept re-emerging. ''I am a historian first and an architect only by accident,'' he admitted in 1960, ''and it seems to me that there are no forms to cling to, but there is history.'' As his own work went into a period of stripped but unabashed classicism and then in the 70's and 80's into more explicit quotations of historical references, he was accused, as he had been in his Miesian days, of jumping on the bandwagon of the latest trends. While he enjoyed confounding critics with the mock admission that he had sold out, he had also helped, particularly in his writings, not only to articulate the meaning of ''modernism'' but to define and orchestrate the postmodern revolt. B UT however influential Mr. Johnson's writings were, the great manifesto of the incipient revolution came from an architect of the next generation, Robert Venturi, in his now classic treatise, ''Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture'' (1966). ''I am for messy vitality over obvious unity,'' Mr. Venturi said. ''Architects can no longer afford to be intimidated by the puritanically moral language of orthodox Modern architecture.'' He then juxtaposed a series of telling dualities, the first adjective in each case a statement of his own position, the second that of the modern movement he was attacking: ''I like elements that are hybrid rather than 'pure,' compromising rather than 'clean,' distorted rather than 'straightforward,' ambiguous rather than 'articulated,' perverse as well as impersonal . . . conventional rather than 'designed,' accommodating rather than excluding, redundant rather than simple, vestigial as well as innovating, inconsistent and equivocal rather than direct and clear. . . . I include the non sequitur and proclaim the duality. . . . Blatant simplification means bland architecture.'' Then he announced, ''Less is a bore.''

In a commendable effort to link local developments with national and international currents, Ms. [Catherine W. Bishir] writes cogent introductions to a parade of styles, movements and building types, telling \"a story that looks to the larger world and what was happening in it while also focusing on the particular realities and individual sagas . . . of the people whose choices, needs, ideals, and problems shaped and were shaped by the buildings.\" She interprets architecture as the \"presentation of self\" as well as an index of larger cultural patterns. From 1780 to 1830, for example, she writes, \"Classicism maintained its appeal in the culture of the expanding gentry. As the young United States sought to establish its identity as an ideal republic in the midst of debate over slavery, social and religious turmoil, European revolutions, and Napoleonic wars, the classic virtues of ancient Rome and Greece offered Americans a myth that suffused their architecture as well as their literature and rhetoric. Within this classical vision, there was tension between the ideals of republican simplicity and the agrarian life and the emerging social reality of urban opulence and the trappings of aristocracy.\" While there were indeed \"trappings of aristocracy\" throughout the history of North Carolina architecture from the neo-classical to the Victorian neo-Gothic, the most stunning buildings were always the simpler ones, from the huge mills and factories to the houses, barns, dairies, privies and other outbuildings of the rural farms. Log houses, for example, \"were never intended to last long, but as a type they had great longevity, as farmers handed down the knowledge of how to build efficiently and independently. Generation after generation, the rudimentary log house flourished, not as an ancient tree withstanding the decades, but like grasses reseeding themselves year after year.\" While some historians would have lumped such structures into a single chapter on the \"timeless primitive,\" Ms. Bishir returns to them in every chapter, explicating the ways in which they reflected or countered the higher styles of the day. Such juxtapositions continue in her treatment of 20th-century architecture, where one of [Tim Buchman]'s most poignant photographs is of a simple garage behind a 1919 craftsman-style house in Mount Airy. In view of this strong emphasis on artful utilitarian structures, it is puzzling and regrettable that the volume contains no treatment of bridges.

Mr. [Robert Twombly]'s book is the latest in a long line of [LOUIS SULLIVAN] studies. Lewis Mumford's classic, ''The Brown Decades: A Study of the Arts in America, 1865-1895,'' written in the late 1920's, contained an early and influential paean to Sullivan's genius. In his critical pathbreaking biography, ''Louis Sullivan: Prophet of Modern Architecture'' (1935), Hugh Morrison established the framework of much subsequent Sullivan research. The master's admiring disciple, Frank Lloyd Wright, recalled his tutelage under Sullivan in the various versions of his own autobiography, and he focused more explicitly on ''Lieber Meister'' in his brilliantly idiosyncratic ''Genius and the Mobocracy'' (1949). Willard Connely's ''Louis Sullivan, as He Lived'' (1960) was a spirited popular interpretive biography. Valuable studies of Sullivan's ideas in their various cultural contexts have included Sherman Paul's ''Louis Sullivan: An Architect in American Thought'' (1962) and Narciso Menocal's ''Architecture as Nature: The Transcendentalist Idea of Louis Sullivan'' (1981). Throughout this book one finds examples of lucid analysis and writing, but in the long middle chapters on the buildings, the effect is frequently fragmentation. The architect himself once described his Schiller Building as being forged ''in one jet.'' Mr. Twombly's book seldom gives that impression. In the lineup of note cards, Sullivan's genius occasionally gets lost. It is the old problem of the forest and the trees. In these chapters particularly, Mr. Twombly also compromises his generally felicitous writing style with academic tics of the ''as we shall see'' variety. THE most compelling parts of the book are, in fact, the last chapters, which chronicle Sullivan's decline. Here Mr. Twombly draws heavily on his subject's own late writings and comes up with insights that might have enriched the entire book. Numerous factors - including Sullivan's late, short and unsuccessful marriage, as well as certain themes in his decorative ornament - suggest to the author that the architect was homosexual. ''Sullivan preferred male to female anatomy as the object of study,'' he argues. ''His few student sketches of women were usually unflattering, but his loving attention to men's bodies . . . indicates his predilections. . . . Throughout his youth he idolized a series of older men, never women, and at the Sistine Chapel learned from Michelangelo the power and possibility of being male, of being super-male. . . . As an adult, all his friends were men, his boxing, his clubs, and architecture were exclusively male preserves,'' and before and after his short marriage ''he showed little interest in women . . . excepting casual encounters with [ the ] safely married and unavailable.'' In this connection, Mr. Twombly also cites Sullivan's description of H. H. Richardson's Marshall Field & Company wholesale store as a ''virile force,'' a building with ''red blood; a real man, a manly man . . . an entire male.''

The Northern Spotted Owl, a threatened species that occurs in coniferous forests in the western United States, has become a well-known environmental symbol. But how is the owl actually faring? This book contains the results of a long-term effort by a large group of leading researchers to document population trends of the Northern Spotted Owl. The study was conducted on 11 areas in the Pacific Northwest from 1985 to 2008, and its objectives were both to evaluate population trends and to assess relationships between reproductive rates and recruitment of owls and covariates such as weather, habitat, and the invasion of a closely related species, the Barred Owl. Among other findings, the study shows that fecundity was declining in five populations, stable in three, and increasing in three areas. Annual apparent survival rates of adults were declining in 10 out of 11 areas. This broad, synthetic work provides the most complete and up-to-date picture of the population status of this inconspicuous forest owl, which is at the center of the complex and often volatile debate regarding the management of forest lands in the western United States.