For nearly 100 years, Girl Scouts and their enthusiastic supporters have helped ensure the success of the iconic annual cookie sale — and they’ve had fun, developed valuable life skills, and made their communities better places every step of the way.

Juliette Gordon Low founded the United States Girl Scouts in 1912, and the Mistletoe Troop in Muskogee, Oklahoma first began baking cookies in its high school cafeteria as a service project shortly thereafter. The Girl Scouts began selling cookies to finance troop activities around 1917.

In July 1922, The American Girl magazine, published by Girl Scouts of the USA, featured an article by Florence E. Neil, a local director in Chicago, Illinois. Miss Neil provided a cookie recipe that had been given to the 2,000 Girl Scouts in her council. She estimated the approximate cost of ingredients for six- to seven-dozen cookies to be 26 to 36 cents. The cookies, she suggested, could be sold by troops for 25 or 30 cents per dozen.

In 1933, Girl Scouts from the Greater Philadelphia Council baked cookies and sold them from the windows of the city’s gas and electric company. The price was just 23 cents for a box of 44 cookies, or six boxes for $1.24! These girls developed their marketing and business skills and raised funds for their local Girl Scout council. A year later, Greater Philadelphia took cookie sales to the next level, becoming the first council to sell commercially baked cookies.

In 1935, the Girl Scout Federation of Greater New York raised money through the sale of commercially baked cookies. Buying its own die in the shape of a trefoil, the group used the words “Girl Scout Cookies” on the box. In 1936, the national Girl Scout organization began the process of licensing the first commercial bakers to produce cookies that would be sold nationwide by girls in Girl Scout councils.

Enthusiasm for Girl Scout Cookies spread nationwide. By 1937, more than 125 Girl Scout councils reported holding cookie sales. In 1951, Girl Scout Cookies came in three varieties: Sandwich, Shortbread, and Chocolate Mints (now known as Thin Mints). By 1966, a number of additional varieties were available. Among the best sellers were Chocolate Mints, Shortbread, and Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies. Girl Scout Cookies for sale during the 1970s included Thin Mints, Do-si-dos, and Trefoils, plus four other choices.

Early in the twenty-first century, several more improvements were made to the cookie program. New cookie box designs, introduced in fall of 2000, were bold and bright, capturing the spirit of Girl Scouting. Two licensed bakers produced a maximum of eight varieties, and all cookies were kosher. And, much to the excitement of our youngest Girl Scouts, Daisies started selling cookies. Daisies will benefit greatly from participating in this valuable activity.

For nearly 100 years, Girl Scouts and their enthusiastic supporters have helped ensure the success of the iconic annual cookie sale — and they’ve had fun, developed valuable life skills, and made their communities better places every step of the way.

Juliette Gordon Low founded the United States Girl Scouts in 1912, and the Mistletoe Troop in Muskogee, Oklahoma first began baking cookies in its high school cafeteria as a service project shortly thereafter. The Girl Scouts began selling cookies to finance troop activities around 1917.

In July 1922, The American Girl magazine, published by Girl Scouts of the USA, featured an article by Florence E. Neil, a local director in Chicago, Illinois. Miss Neil provided a cookie recipe that had been given to the 2,000 Girl Scouts in her council. She estimated the approximate cost of ingredients for six- to seven-dozen cookies to be 26 to 36 cents. The cookies, she suggested, could be sold by troops for 25 or 30 cents per dozen.

In 1933, Girl Scouts from the Greater Philadelphia Council baked cookies and sold them from the windows of the city’s gas and electric company. The price was just 23 cents for a box of 44 cookies, or six boxes for $1.24! These girls developed their marketing and business skills and raised funds for their local Girl Scout council. A year later, Greater Philadelphia took cookie sales to the next level, becoming the first council to sell commercially baked cookies.

In 1935, the Girl Scout Federation of Greater New York raised money through the sale of commercially baked cookies. Buying its own die in the shape of a trefoil, the group used the words “Girl Scout Cookies” on the box. In 1936, the national Girl Scout organization began the process of licensing the first commercial bakers to produce cookies that would be sold nationwide by girls in Girl Scout councils.

Enthusiasm for Girl Scout Cookies spread nationwide. By 1937, more than 125 Girl Scout councils reported holding cookie sales. In 1951, Girl Scout Cookies came in three varieties: Sandwich, Shortbread, and Chocolate Mints (now known as Thin Mints). By 1966, a number of additional varieties were available. Among the best sellers were Chocolate Mints, Shortbread, and Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies. Girl Scout Cookies for sale during the 1970s included Thin Mints, Do-si-dos, and Trefoils, plus four other choices.

Early in the twenty-first century, several more improvements were made to the cookie program. New cookie box designs, introduced in fall of 2000, were bold and bright, capturing the spirit of Girl Scouting. Two licensed bakers produced a maximum of eight varieties, and all cookies were kosher. And, much to the excitement of our youngest Girl Scouts, Daisies started selling cookies. Daisies will benefit greatly from participating in this valuable activity.

For nearly 100 years, Girl Scouts and their enthusiastic supporters have helped ensure the success of the iconic annual cookie sale — and they’ve had fun, developed valuable life skills, and made their communities better places every step of the way.

Juliette Gordon Low founded the United States Girl Scouts in 1912, and the Mistletoe Troop in Muskogee, Oklahoma first began baking cookies in its high school cafeteria as a service project shortly thereafter. The Girl Scouts began selling cookies to finance troop activities around 1917.

In July 1922, The American Girl magazine, published by Girl Scouts of the USA, featured an article by Florence E. Neil, a local director in Chicago, Illinois. Miss Neil provided a cookie recipe that had been given to the 2,000 Girl Scouts in her council. She estimated the approximate cost of ingredients for six- to seven-dozen cookies to be 26 to 36 cents. The cookies, she suggested, could be sold by troops for 25 or 30 cents per dozen.

In 1933, Girl Scouts from the Greater Philadelphia Council baked cookies and sold them from the windows of the city’s gas and electric company. The price was just 23 cents for a box of 44 cookies, or six boxes for $1.24! These girls developed their marketing and business skills and raised funds for their local Girl Scout council. A year later, Greater Philadelphia took cookie sales to the next level, becoming the first council to sell commercially baked cookies.

In 1935, the Girl Scout Federation of Greater New York raised money through the sale of commercially baked cookies. Buying its own die in the shape of a trefoil, the group used the words “Girl Scout Cookies” on the box. In 1936, the national Girl Scout organization began the process of licensing the first commercial bakers to produce cookies that would be sold nationwide by girls in Girl Scout councils.

Enthusiasm for Girl Scout Cookies spread nationwide. By 1937, more than 125 Girl Scout councils reported holding cookie sales. In 1951, Girl Scout Cookies came in three varieties: Sandwich, Shortbread, and Chocolate Mints (now known as Thin Mints). By 1966, a number of additional varieties were available. Among the best sellers were Chocolate Mints, Shortbread, and Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies. Girl Scout Cookies for sale during the 1970s included Thin Mints, Do-si-dos, and Trefoils, plus four other choices.

Early in the twenty-first century, several more improvements were made to the cookie program. New cookie box designs, introduced in fall of 2000, were bold and bright, capturing the spirit of Girl Scouting. Two licensed bakers produced a maximum of eight varieties, and all cookies were kosher. And, much to the excitement of our youngest Girl Scouts, Daisies started selling cookies. Daisies will benefit greatly from participating in this valuable activity.

For nearly 100 years, Girl Scouts and their enthusiastic supporters have helped ensure the success of the iconic annual cookie sale — and they’ve had fun, developed valuable life skills, and made their communities better places every step of the way.

Juliette Gordon Low founded the United States Girl Scouts in 1912, and the Mistletoe Troop in Muskogee, Oklahoma first began baking cookies in its high school cafeteria as a service project shortly thereafter. The Girl Scouts began selling cookies to finance troop activities around 1917.

In July 1922, The American Girl magazine, published by Girl Scouts of the USA, featured an article by Florence E. Neil, a local director in Chicago, Illinois. Miss Neil provided a cookie recipe that had been given to the 2,000 Girl Scouts in her council. She estimated the approximate cost of ingredients for six- to seven-dozen cookies to be 26 to 36 cents. The cookies, she suggested, could be sold by troops for 25 or 30 cents per dozen.

In 1933, Girl Scouts from the Greater Philadelphia Council baked cookies and sold them from the windows of the city’s gas and electric company. The price was just 23 cents for a box of 44 cookies, or six boxes for $1.24! These girls developed their marketing and business skills and raised funds for their local Girl Scout council. A year later, Greater Philadelphia took cookie sales to the next level, becoming the first council to sell commercially baked cookies.

In 1935, the Girl Scout Federation of Greater New York raised money through the sale of commercially baked cookies. Buying its own die in the shape of a trefoil, the group used the words “Girl Scout Cookies” on the box. In 1936, the national Girl Scout organization began the process of licensing the first commercial bakers to produce cookies that would be sold nationwide by girls in Girl Scout councils.

Enthusiasm for Girl Scout Cookies spread nationwide. By 1937, more than 125 Girl Scout councils reported holding cookie sales. In 1951, Girl Scout Cookies came in three varieties: Sandwich, Shortbread, and Chocolate Mints (now known as Thin Mints). By 1966, a number of additional varieties were available. Among the best sellers were Chocolate Mints, Shortbread, and Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies. Girl Scout Cookies for sale during the 1970s included Thin Mints, Do-si-dos, and Trefoils, plus four other choices.

Early in the twenty-first century, several more improvements were made to the cookie program. New cookie box designs, introduced in fall of 2000, were bold and bright, capturing the spirit of Girl Scouting. Two licensed bakers produced a maximum of eight varieties, and all cookies were kosher. And, much to the excitement of our youngest Girl Scouts, Daisies started selling cookies. Daisies will benefit greatly from participating in this valuable activity.

For nearly 100 years, Girl Scouts and their enthusiastic supporters have helped ensure the success of the iconic annual cookie sale — and they’ve had fun, developed valuable life skills, and made their communities better places every step of the way.

Juliette Gordon Low founded the United States Girl Scouts in 1912, and the Mistletoe Troop in Muskogee, Oklahoma first began baking cookies in its high school cafeteria as a service project shortly thereafter. The Girl Scouts began selling cookies to finance troop activities around 1917.

In July 1922, The American Girl magazine, published by Girl Scouts of the USA, featured an article by Florence E. Neil, a local director in Chicago, Illinois. Miss Neil provided a cookie recipe that had been given to the 2,000 Girl Scouts in her council. She estimated the approximate cost of ingredients for six- to seven-dozen cookies to be 26 to 36 cents. The cookies, she suggested, could be sold by troops for 25 or 30 cents per dozen.

In 1933, Girl Scouts from the Greater Philadelphia Council baked cookies and sold them from the windows of the city’s gas and electric company. The price was just 23 cents for a box of 44 cookies, or six boxes for $1.24! These girls developed their marketing and business skills and raised funds for their local Girl Scout council. A year later, Greater Philadelphia took cookie sales to the next level, becoming the first council to sell commercially baked cookies.

In 1935, the Girl Scout Federation of Greater New York raised money through the sale of commercially baked cookies. Buying its own die in the shape of a trefoil, the group used the words “Girl Scout Cookies” on the box. In 1936, the national Girl Scout organization began the process of licensing the first commercial bakers to produce cookies that would be sold nationwide by girls in Girl Scout councils.

Enthusiasm for Girl Scout Cookies spread nationwide. By 1937, more than 125 Girl Scout councils reported holding cookie sales. In 1951, Girl Scout Cookies came in three varieties: Sandwich, Shortbread, and Chocolate Mints (now known as Thin Mints). By 1966, a number of additional varieties were available. Among the best sellers were Chocolate Mints, Shortbread, and Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies. Girl Scout Cookies for sale during the 1970s included Thin Mints, Do-si-dos, and Trefoils, plus four other choices.

Early in the twenty-first century, several more improvements were made to the cookie program. New cookie box designs, introduced in fall of 2000, were bold and bright, capturing the spirit of Girl Scouting. Two licensed bakers produced a maximum of eight varieties, and all cookies were kosher. And, much to the excitement of our youngest Girl Scouts, Daisies started selling cookies. Daisies will benefit greatly from participating in this valuable activity.

For nearly 100 years, Girl Scouts and their enthusiastic supporters have helped ensure the success of the iconic annual cookie sale — and they’ve had fun, developed valuable life skills, and made their communities better places every step of the way.

Juliette Gordon Low founded the United States Girl Scouts in 1912, and the Mistletoe Troop in Muskogee, Oklahoma first began baking cookies in its high school cafeteria as a service project shortly thereafter. The Girl Scouts began selling cookies to finance troop activities around 1917.

In July 1922, The American Girl magazine, published by Girl Scouts of the USA, featured an article by Florence E. Neil, a local director in Chicago, Illinois. Miss Neil provided a cookie recipe that had been given to the 2,000 Girl Scouts in her council. She estimated the approximate cost of ingredients for six- to seven-dozen cookies to be 26 to 36 cents. The cookies, she suggested, could be sold by troops for 25 or 30 cents per dozen.

In 1933, Girl Scouts from the Greater Philadelphia Council baked cookies and sold them from the windows of the city’s gas and electric company. The price was just 23 cents for a box of 44 cookies, or six boxes for $1.24! These girls developed their marketing and business skills and raised funds for their local Girl Scout council. A year later, Greater Philadelphia took cookie sales to the next level, becoming the first council to sell commercially baked cookies.

In 1935, the Girl Scout Federation of Greater New York raised money through the sale of commercially baked cookies. Buying its own die in the shape of a trefoil, the group used the words “Girl Scout Cookies” on the box. In 1936, the national Girl Scout organization began the process of licensing the first commercial bakers to produce cookies that would be sold nationwide by girls in Girl Scout councils.

Enthusiasm for Girl Scout Cookies spread nationwide. By 1937, more than 125 Girl Scout councils reported holding cookie sales. In 1951, Girl Scout Cookies came in three varieties: Sandwich, Shortbread, and Chocolate Mints (now known as Thin Mints). By 1966, a number of additional varieties were available. Among the best sellers were Chocolate Mints, Shortbread, and Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies. Girl Scout Cookies for sale during the 1970s included Thin Mints, Do-si-dos, and Trefoils, plus four other choices.

Early in the twenty-first century, several more improvements were made to the cookie program. New cookie box designs, introduced in fall of 2000, were bold and bright, capturing the spirit of Girl Scouting. Two licensed bakers produced a maximum of eight varieties, and all cookies were kosher. And, much to the excitement of our youngest Girl Scouts, Daisies started selling cookies. Daisies will benefit greatly from participating in this valuable activity.

Sherlock Holmes’ ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.

“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”

“To forget it!”

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

“But the Solar System!” I protested.

“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently: “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”

Sherlock Holmes’ ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.

“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”

“To forget it!”

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

“But the Solar System!” I protested.

“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently: “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”

Sherlock Holmes’ ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.

“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”

“To forget it!”

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

“But the Solar System!” I protested.

“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently: “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”

Sherlock Holmes’ ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.

“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”

“To forget it!”

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

“But the Solar System!” I protested.

“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently: “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”

Sherlock Holmes’ ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.

“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”

“To forget it!”

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

“But the Solar System!” I protested.

“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently: “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”

Sherlock Holmes’ ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.

“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”

“To forget it!”

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

“But the Solar System!” I protested.

“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently: “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”

The history of architecture is a true record of man’s efforts to leave behind something representing himself and his ideals. Don’t mistake the term “architecture” as meaning just any building; the erection of structures devoid of beauty is mere wood or steel, a trade and not an art. Only when the idea of beauty is added to that of use does a structure take its place among works of architecture. We may, then, define architecture as the art which seeks to harmonize utility and beauty, form and function, together.

The function of architecture take many forms. Architects have created buildings for shelter, worship, as embellishments for cities, homes of governments, and places for families to gather. Architecture engages the services of a larger portion of the community and involves more money than any other occupation except perhaps agriculture. The Empire State Building, for example, was completed in 1931 for approximately $41 million (about $500 million in today’s terms). It did not make a profit until 1950, which earned it the nickname the “Empty State Building.” Quite a long-term investment for a piece of architecture!

The Empire State Building also makes a clear statement about the ideas of the early 1930s. It was constructed in true Art Deco style, shaped in tiered layers like a cake, and it had a roof that was capable of allowing multiple zeppelins to dock at once. Sadly, this futuristic fad never caught on, but the point is made nonetheless: buildings are a freeze-frame of the ideas and values of the time in which they were built.

It is the function of the architectural historian to trace the origin, growth, and decline of the architectural styles which have prevailed in different ages and civilizations. Where would we be without the columns typical of the Romans? What about the desired “open floor plan” that is today’s modern home? Each style morphs into another, gradually, as the years go by, an evolution as subtle as our own. To study architectural styles is therefore to study beliefs and values of civilizations throughout history.

The history of architecture is a true record of man’s efforts to leave behind something representing himself and his ideals. Don’t mistake the term “architecture” as meaning just any building; the erection of structures devoid of beauty is mere wood or steel, a trade and not an art. Only when the idea of beauty is added to that of use does a structure take its place among works of architecture. We may, then, define architecture as the art which seeks to harmonize utility and beauty, form and function, together.

The function of architecture take many forms. Architects have created buildings for shelter, worship, as embellishments for cities, homes of governments, and places for families to gather. Architecture engages the services of a larger portion of the community and involves more money than any other occupation except perhaps agriculture. The Empire State Building, for example, was completed in 1931 for approximately $41 million (about $500 million in today’s terms). It did not make a profit until 1950, which earned it the nickname the “Empty State Building.” Quite a long-term investment for a piece of architecture!

The Empire State Building also makes a clear statement about the ideas of the early 1930s. It was constructed in true Art Deco style, shaped in tiered layers like a cake, and it had a roof that was capable of allowing multiple zeppelins to dock at once. Sadly, this futuristic fad never caught on, but the point is made nonetheless: buildings are a freeze-frame of the ideas and values of the time in which they were built.

It is the function of the architectural historian to trace the origin, growth, and decline of the architectural styles which have prevailed in different ages and civilizations. Where would we be without the columns typical of the Romans? What about the desired “open floor plan” that is today’s modern home? Each style morphs into another, gradually, as the years go by, an evolution as subtle as our own. To study architectural styles is therefore to study beliefs and values of civilizations throughout history.

The history of architecture is a true record of man’s efforts to leave behind something representing himself and his ideals. Don’t mistake the term “architecture” as meaning just any building; the erection of structures devoid of beauty is mere wood or steel, a trade and not an art. Only when the idea of beauty is added to that of use does a structure take its place among works of architecture. We may, then, define architecture as the art which seeks to harmonize utility and beauty, form and function, together.

The function of architecture take many forms. Architects have created buildings for shelter, worship, as embellishments for cities, homes of governments, and places for families to gather. Architecture engages the services of a larger portion of the community and involves more money than any other occupation except perhaps agriculture. The Empire State Building, for example, was completed in 1931 for approximately $41 million (about $500 million in today’s terms). It did not make a profit until 1950, which earned it the nickname the “Empty State Building.” Quite a long-term investment for a piece of architecture!

The Empire State Building also makes a clear statement about the ideas of the early 1930s. It was constructed in true Art Deco style, shaped in tiered layers like a cake, and it had a roof that was capable of allowing multiple zeppelins to dock at once. Sadly, this futuristic fad never caught on, but the point is made nonetheless: buildings are a freeze-frame of the ideas and values of the time in which they were built.

It is the function of the architectural historian to trace the origin, growth, and decline of the architectural styles which have prevailed in different ages and civilizations. Where would we be without the columns typical of the Romans? What about the desired “open floor plan” that is today’s modern home? Each style morphs into another, gradually, as the years go by, an evolution as subtle as our own. To study architectural styles is therefore to study beliefs and values of civilizations throughout history.

The history of architecture is a true record of man’s efforts to leave behind something representing himself and his ideals. Don’t mistake the term “architecture” as meaning just any building; the erection of structures devoid of beauty is mere wood or steel, a trade and not an art. Only when the idea of beauty is added to that of use does a structure take its place among works of architecture. We may, then, define architecture as the art which seeks to harmonize utility and beauty, form and function, together.

The function of architecture take many forms. Architects have created buildings for shelter, worship, as embellishments for cities, homes of governments, and places for families to gather. Architecture engages the services of a larger portion of the community and involves more money than any other occupation except perhaps agriculture. The Empire State Building, for example, was completed in 1931 for approximately $41 million (about $500 million in today’s terms). It did not make a profit until 1950, which earned it the nickname the “Empty State Building.” Quite a long-term investment for a piece of architecture!

The Empire State Building also makes a clear statement about the ideas of the early 1930s. It was constructed in true Art Deco style, shaped in tiered layers like a cake, and it had a roof that was capable of allowing multiple zeppelins to dock at once. Sadly, this futuristic fad never caught on, but the point is made nonetheless: buildings are a freeze-frame of the ideas and values of the time in which they were built.

It is the function of the architectural historian to trace the origin, growth, and decline of the architectural styles which have prevailed in different ages and civilizations. Where would we be without the columns typical of the Romans? What about the desired “open floor plan” that is today’s modern home? Each style morphs into another, gradually, as the years go by, an evolution as subtle as our own. To study architectural styles is therefore to study beliefs and values of civilizations throughout history.

The history of architecture is a true record of man’s efforts to leave behind something representing himself and his ideals. Don’t mistake the term “architecture” as meaning just any building; the erection of structures devoid of beauty is mere wood or steel, a trade and not an art. Only when the idea of beauty is added to that of use does a structure take its place among works of architecture. We may, then, define architecture as the art which seeks to harmonize utility and beauty, form and function, together.

The function of architecture take many forms. Architects have created buildings for shelter, worship, as embellishments for cities, homes of governments, and places for families to gather. Architecture engages the services of a larger portion of the community and involves more money than any other occupation except perhaps agriculture. The Empire State Building, for example, was completed in 1931 for approximately $41 million (about $500 million in today’s terms). It did not make a profit until 1950, which earned it the nickname the “Empty State Building.” Quite a long-term investment for a piece of architecture!

The Empire State Building also makes a clear statement about the ideas of the early 1930s. It was constructed in true Art Deco style, shaped in tiered layers like a cake, and it had a roof that was capable of allowing multiple zeppelins to dock at once. Sadly, this futuristic fad never caught on, but the point is made nonetheless: buildings are a freeze-frame of the ideas and values of the time in which they were built.

It is the function of the architectural historian to trace the origin, growth, and decline of the architectural styles which have prevailed in different ages and civilizations. Where would we be without the columns typical of the Romans? What about the desired “open floor plan” that is today’s modern home? Each style morphs into another, gradually, as the years go by, an evolution as subtle as our own. To study architectural styles is therefore to study beliefs and values of civilizations throughout history.

The history of architecture is a true record of man’s efforts to leave behind something representing himself and his ideals. Don’t mistake the term “architecture” as meaning just any building; the erection of structures devoid of beauty is mere wood or steel, a trade and not an art. Only when the idea of beauty is added to that of use does a structure take its place among works of architecture. We may, then, define architecture as the art which seeks to harmonize utility and beauty, form and function, together.

The function of architecture take many forms. Architects have created buildings for shelter, worship, as embellishments for cities, homes of governments, and places for families to gather. Architecture engages the services of a larger portion of the community and involves more money than any other occupation except perhaps agriculture. The Empire State Building, for example, was completed in 1931 for approximately $41 million (about $500 million in today’s terms). It did not make a profit until 1950, which earned it the nickname the “Empty State Building.” Quite a long-term investment for a piece of architecture!

The Empire State Building also makes a clear statement about the ideas of the early 1930s. It was constructed in true Art Deco style, shaped in tiered layers like a cake, and it had a roof that was capable of allowing multiple zeppelins to dock at once. Sadly, this futuristic fad never caught on, but the point is made nonetheless: buildings are a freeze-frame of the ideas and values of the time in which they were built.

It is the function of the architectural historian to trace the origin, growth, and decline of the architectural styles which have prevailed in different ages and civilizations. Where would we be without the columns typical of the Romans? What about the desired “open floor plan” that is today’s modern home? Each style morphs into another, gradually, as the years go by, an evolution as subtle as our own. To study architectural styles is therefore to study beliefs and values of civilizations throughout history.

In this adaptation from the opening of a short story, a famous artist lectures a group of students in her home studio.

Excerpt from “The Walls Bleed Beautifully”

The home studio was light and airy, welcoming, and, until recently, full of vibrant life. There, six loyal students had gathered for a final lecture. In the center, bathed by sunshine from the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, sat the artist in her wheelchair. No one seemed to take note of her husband, who had remained in the back of the room near the door.

(Line 5) The youngest student had the honor of asking the final question. “Ma’am, what do you think is the most important thing in art?”

The artist paused to reflect. Her bright gray eyes, sunken as they were, surveyed the canvases surrounding her. Many were recent pieces, a last burst of creativity as the disease had progressed.

(Line 10) “Sometimes art,” she said in a small, hoarse voice. “Sometimes the message you want to convey is best expressed by the absence of a thing.”
The students dutifully recorded their mentor’s words of wisdom. Soon after, it was time for final goodbyes. The artist gave out gifts – brushes, fresh canvas, imported paints, and the like.

(Line 15) “Make good use of them.”

When the last student had left, the husband stood and went to his wife’s side. She squeezed his hand. “I guess that’s it, then?”

The husband squeezed her hand in return, but only gently so as to not bruise her. “Don’t worry. You taught them well.”

(Line 20) Their eyes met. “It’s not them I worry about.”

The husband nodded. “I know.”

The artist rolled her wheelchair into the hallway, where she paused by a closed door. Opening it revealed a small bedroom with eggshell white walls. Its lone window looked out upon a magnificent oak tree. There was nothing else.

(Line 25) “I would have loved to have painted this room,” she said in a rare moment of self-pity when, lately, she’d been pouring all her emotion into her work.

“Darling, don’t do this to yourself.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It would have been a beautiful nursery.”

“I’m sure it would have.” Taking hold of the wheelchair’s handles, the husband pushed

(Line 30) his wife into the kitchen where, maybe, a cup of tea would make her feel better.

In this adaptation from the opening of a short story, a famous artist lectures a group of students in her home studio.

Excerpt from “The Walls Bleed Beautifully”

The home studio was light and airy, welcoming, and, until recently, full of vibrant life. There, six loyal students had gathered for a final lecture. In the center, bathed by sunshine from the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, sat the artist in her wheelchair. No one seemed to take note of her husband, who had remained in the back of the room near the door.

(Line 5) The youngest student had the honor of asking the final question. “Ma’am, what do you think is the most important thing in art?”

The artist paused to reflect. Her bright gray eyes, sunken as they were, surveyed the canvases surrounding her. Many were recent pieces, a last burst of creativity as the disease had progressed.

(Line 10) “Sometimes art,” she said in a small, hoarse voice. “Sometimes the message you want to convey is best expressed by the absence of a thing.”
The students dutifully recorded their mentor’s words of wisdom. Soon after, it was time for final goodbyes. The artist gave out gifts – brushes, fresh canvas, imported paints, and the like.

(Line 15) “Make good use of them.”

When the last student had left, the husband stood and went to his wife’s side. She squeezed his hand. “I guess that’s it, then?”

The husband squeezed her hand in return, but only gently so as to not bruise her. “Don’t worry. You taught them well.”

(Line 20) Their eyes met. “It’s not them I worry about.”

The husband nodded. “I know.”

The artist rolled her wheelchair into the hallway, where she paused by a closed door. Opening it revealed a small bedroom with eggshell white walls. Its lone window looked out upon a magnificent oak tree. There was nothing else.

(Line 25) “I would have loved to have painted this room,” she said in a rare moment of self-pity when, lately, she’d been pouring all her emotion into her work.

“Darling, don’t do this to yourself.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It would have been a beautiful nursery.”

“I’m sure it would have.” Taking hold of the wheelchair’s handles, the husband pushed

(Line 30) his wife into the kitchen where, maybe, a cup of tea would make her feel better.

In this adaptation from the opening of a short story, a famous artist lectures a group of students in her home studio.

Excerpt from “The Walls Bleed Beautifully”

The home studio was light and airy, welcoming, and, until recently, full of vibrant life. There, six loyal students had gathered for a final lecture. In the center, bathed by sunshine from the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, sat the artist in her wheelchair. No one seemed to take note of her husband, who had remained in the back of the room near the door.

(Line 5) The youngest student had the honor of asking the final question. “Ma’am, what do you think is the most important thing in art?”

The artist paused to reflect. Her bright gray eyes, sunken as they were, surveyed the canvases surrounding her. Many were recent pieces, a last burst of creativity as the disease had progressed.

(Line 10) “Sometimes art,” she said in a small, hoarse voice. “Sometimes the message you want to convey is best expressed by the absence of a thing.”
The students dutifully recorded their mentor’s words of wisdom. Soon after, it was time for final goodbyes. The artist gave out gifts – brushes, fresh canvas, imported paints, and the like.

(Line 15) “Make good use of them.”

When the last student had left, the husband stood and went to his wife’s side. She squeezed his hand. “I guess that’s it, then?”

The husband squeezed her hand in return, but only gently so as to not bruise her. “Don’t worry. You taught them well.”

(Line 20) Their eyes met. “It’s not them I worry about.”

The husband nodded. “I know.”

The artist rolled her wheelchair into the hallway, where she paused by a closed door. Opening it revealed a small bedroom with eggshell white walls. Its lone window looked out upon a magnificent oak tree. There was nothing else.

(Line 25) “I would have loved to have painted this room,” she said in a rare moment of self-pity when, lately, she’d been pouring all her emotion into her work.

“Darling, don’t do this to yourself.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It would have been a beautiful nursery.”

“I’m sure it would have.” Taking hold of the wheelchair’s handles, the husband pushed

(Line 30) his wife into the kitchen where, maybe, a cup of tea would make her feel better.

In this adaptation from the opening of a short story, a famous artist lectures a group of students in her home studio.

Excerpt from “The Walls Bleed Beautifully”

The home studio was light and airy, welcoming, and, until recently, full of vibrant life. There, six loyal students had gathered for a final lecture. In the center, bathed by sunshine from the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, sat the artist in her wheelchair. No one seemed to take note of her husband, who had remained in the back of the room near the door.

(Line 5) The youngest student had the honor of asking the final question. “Ma’am, what do you think is the most important thing in art?”

The artist paused to reflect. Her bright gray eyes, sunken as they were, surveyed the canvases surrounding her. Many were recent pieces, a last burst of creativity as the disease had progressed.

(Line 10) “Sometimes art,” she said in a small, hoarse voice. “Sometimes the message you want to convey is best expressed by the absence of a thing.”
The students dutifully recorded their mentor’s words of wisdom. Soon after, it was time for final goodbyes. The artist gave out gifts – brushes, fresh canvas, imported paints, and the like.

(Line 15) “Make good use of them.”

When the last student had left, the husband stood and went to his wife’s side. She squeezed his hand. “I guess that’s it, then?”

The husband squeezed her hand in return, but only gently so as to not bruise her. “Don’t worry. You taught them well.”

(Line 20) Their eyes met. “It’s not them I worry about.”

The husband nodded. “I know.”

The artist rolled her wheelchair into the hallway, where she paused by a closed door. Opening it revealed a small bedroom with eggshell white walls. Its lone window looked out upon a magnificent oak tree. There was nothing else.

(Line 25) “I would have loved to have painted this room,” she said in a rare moment of self-pity when, lately, she’d been pouring all her emotion into her work.

“Darling, don’t do this to yourself.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It would have been a beautiful nursery.”

“I’m sure it would have.” Taking hold of the wheelchair’s handles, the husband pushed

(Line 30) his wife into the kitchen where, maybe, a cup of tea would make her feel better.

In this adaptation from the opening of a short story, a famous artist lectures a group of students in her home studio.

Excerpt from “The Walls Bleed Beautifully”

The home studio was light and airy, welcoming, and, until recently, full of vibrant life. There, six loyal students had gathered for a final lecture. In the center, bathed by sunshine from the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, sat the artist in her wheelchair. No one seemed to take note of her husband, who had remained in the back of the room near the door.

(Line 5) The youngest student had the honor of asking the final question. “Ma’am, what do you think is the most important thing in art?”

The artist paused to reflect. Her bright gray eyes, sunken as they were, surveyed the canvases surrounding her. Many were recent pieces, a last burst of creativity as the disease had progressed.

(Line 10) “Sometimes art,” she said in a small, hoarse voice. “Sometimes the message you want to convey is best expressed by the absence of a thing.”
The students dutifully recorded their mentor’s words of wisdom. Soon after, it was time for final goodbyes. The artist gave out gifts – brushes, fresh canvas, imported paints, and the like.

(Line 15) “Make good use of them.”

When the last student had left, the husband stood and went to his wife’s side. She squeezed his hand. “I guess that’s it, then?”

The husband squeezed her hand in return, but only gently so as to not bruise her. “Don’t worry. You taught them well.”

(Line 20) Their eyes met. “It’s not them I worry about.”

The husband nodded. “I know.”

The artist rolled her wheelchair into the hallway, where she paused by a closed door. Opening it revealed a small bedroom with eggshell white walls. Its lone window looked out upon a magnificent oak tree. There was nothing else.

(Line 25) “I would have loved to have painted this room,” she said in a rare moment of self-pity when, lately, she’d been pouring all her emotion into her work.

“Darling, don’t do this to yourself.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It would have been a beautiful nursery.”

“I’m sure it would have.” Taking hold of the wheelchair’s handles, the husband pushed

(Line 30) his wife into the kitchen where, maybe, a cup of tea would make her feel better.