University of Virginia Library

Leonardo And The Suburbs

The autumn issue of Horizon Magazine
includes two articles—one about a $5-million
Da Vinci masterpiece and the other about
a Northern Virginia housing development—
that tie together in a curiously related way.

The Da Vinci in question is the National
Gallery's portrait of Ginevra di' Benci,
purchased last year by Director John Walker
from the Prince of Liechtenstein for the
largest sum ever paid for a painting.

The housing development is Reston, the
creation of a 20th century Renaissance
man, New York real estate millionaire
Robert E. Simon Jr.

The Florentine painting and the new
city of the Virginia woods are related in
that they stand at opposite ends of an
historical continuum, the end of which is
not yet in sight.

Leonardo painted the strangely beautiful
young woman early in his career in that
remarkable city, Florence, which—along
with the Athens of Pericles and the London
of Samuel Johnson—must have been the most
exciting city man has ever lived in. He
painted Ginevra in the 1470's at the height
of the Florentine Renaissance when the
mind of man, in a burst of creativity,
broke through its medieval bonds. Not
only does Leonardo's painting mark
a turning point in Western art, but his
career as an inventor and engineer—as seen
in the fascinating notebooks—puts him at the
head of the modern development of science
and technology.

We in 1967 stand at the opposite end
of this still evolving pattern, and we are
the beneficiaries of its wonders—antibiotics,
airplanes, electricity, satellites and guided
missiles. There is considerable doubt, however,
whether or not the quality of life has
improved since the Florence of the Medicis.

The quality of urban life is particularly
in question. Our cities have become uninhabitable.
Their hearts are packed with
smog-belching automobiles and frantically
hurrying businessmen by day; they are
deserted at night. The ugliness of industrial
society is everywhere evident—even in such
a pleasantly residential city as Richmond—
and the blight eats its way into the green
countryside, leaving scars in the form of
filling stations, hamburger joints, used car
lots, garish motels, neon signs and row after
row of cheap, monotonous housing developments.

This is where Reston comes in. The creation
of Mr. Simon's fertile mind, it demonstrates
his belief that there is some future
for the city, given imaginative planning
and some concern for human—rather than,
say, automobile—needs.

Although the Reston project is in its
infancy, the 2,000 people who already live
there (out of a projected population of
75,000) seem to love it. Bored with suburbs,
these commuters to nearby Washington
appreciate the fact that Reston is safe, that
there is a genuine community spirit, and
that a resident can walk from his town house
overlooking the lake or his detached house
in the woods to the village center to shop
or dine without ever crossing a street.

Although Reston should be paying Mr.
Simon a handsome return in 20 or so
years, he was content to put quality before
profit in designing the community. He
chose handsome materials, careful landscaping,
elegant design. The buildings are
arranged naturally in clusters following the
contours of the land. Thousands were spent
on original sculpture, for children to play
on and adults to admire. Specialists in
psychology, sociology, recreation and
religion were consulted so as to provide
the most livable accommodations.

Whether Reston will be a model for more
new cities or will soon be a quaint anomaly
in the great Eastern urban sprawl remains
to be seen. There are few Robert Simons,
and for the average suburbanite Reston
may prove too unconventional. But the
example has been set, and the hope remains.

Any student visiting Washington should
go the National Gallery to see the haunting
beauty of the Ginevra. He should also visit
Reston, a few miles away in the Northern
Virginia woods, to see an urban beauty
regrettably lacking throughout most of this
country.