More than a hundred years ago, San Francisco built a city out of jewels and then tore almost all of it down on purpose.
You are looking at the Panama–Pacific International Exposition of 1915. For ten months, on six hundred acres along the city's northern waterfront, San Francisco raised an entire fantasy metropolis of palaces, colonnades, fountains, and towers, and invited the world to walk through it. Nearly nineteen million people did.
What makes it almost unbelievable is the timing. Only nine years earlier, in 1906, San Francisco had been flattened by one of the worst earthquakes and fires in American history. Much of the city had burned to the ground. The exposition was the city's answer to the world: not only have we survived, we can build something more beautiful than anything you have ever seen.
At its heart stood the Tower of Jewels, 435 feet of triumphal arch and tower rising over the fairgrounds. Its surface was hung with more than 100,000 small cut-glass "jewels," each dangling on a tiny hook so it would tremble in the wind. By day they flashed in the sunlight. At night, more than fifty spotlights were turned on them, and the entire tower shimmered above the bay like something out of a dream. People had never seen anything like it...
Around it spread a city of wonders. The Palace of Fine Arts, a vast Roman ruin reflected in its own still lagoon, designed to evoke the beautiful melancholy of a vanished civilization. The Palace of Machinery, so enormous that an airplane was once flown inside it. Grand courts and avenues lined with sculpture, all built in a soft, unified palette of color, glowing under the new technology of indirect electric light.
And nearly all of it was designed to disappear. When it closed in December 1915, the dream city was systematically pulled down.
Only one structure was saved. The Palace of Fine Arts, the most beloved of them all, was considered too beautiful to lose. Decades later it was rebuilt, and it still stands in San Francisco today, the last survivor of an entire city that existed for less than a year...
Perhaps that’s what haunts us most: not that we built temporary palaces, but that we chose not to keep them. We built beauty knowing we would destroy it, as if beauty itself were disposable. Roger Scruton once said: "There is a deep human need for beauty, and if you ignore that need in architecture, your buildings will not last, since people will never feel at home in them."
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