Sullivan’s famous claim that form follows function is often reduced to a command for bare walls. His own buildings argue otherwise. The structure of a tall office block becomes legible from the street, while ironwork and terracotta pulse with leaves, seeds and spirals.
1856–1883
A designer reaches Chicago
Born in Boston, Sullivan studied briefly at MIT and worked in Philadelphia before traveling to Paris. He settled in a Chicago remaking itself after the 1871 fire, where new steel and elevator technology made height a practical commercial question. His Beaux-Arts exposure gave him a vocabulary to resist as much as to use.
He joined Dankmar Adler’s office and became his partner in 1883. Adler brought engineering, acoustics and business skill; Sullivan led much of the expressive design. Their partnership, and the draftspeople around them, is the proper unit for understanding the early buildings.
1886–1893
A whole city block of uses
The Auditorium Building joined a theater, hotel and offices under one roof. Adler’s acoustic expertise gave the performance space its reach; Sullivan worked through the massing and ornament of a vast, mixed-use project. Its exterior is weighty, while the auditorium’s interior organizes sight, sound and movement for a public audience.
At the Wainwright Building in St. Louis, the partners faced the new office tower. Sullivan gave the repeated office floors strong vertical piers between a distinct base and cap. The result does more than announce height: it lets a passerby see how a commercial building is occupied, floor after floor.
The economic crash of 1893 reduced commissions and Adler and Sullivan separated in 1895. Sullivan continued to design, often without the large civic projects that had sustained the partnership. The Schlesinger & Mayer department store, later Carson Pirie Scott, is a concentrated answer to the commercial street.
Broad lower windows displayed goods and admitted light. At the corner entrance, dense cast-iron vines turn the pedestrian’s pause into an event; the upper floors repeat a disciplined grid. George Grant Elmslie, a gifted draftsman in Sullivan’s office, contributed to the ornamental work. “Form follows function,” in this building, includes attracting shoppers and giving the corner civic presence.
Large Chicago commissions became scarce. Sullivan designed a series of small Midwestern banks, each fitted to its town and site rather than stamped from a universal plan. Their brick masses and striking entrances hold the same conviction that ordinary civic and commercial life deserves careful design.
His 1896 essay on the tall office building remains a useful companion to the work, but the phrase drawn from it can mislead. Sullivan did not discard ornament; he sought forms and patterns that grew from a building’s purpose and structure. Looking at a bank doorway or the Carson store tests the slogan against what he actually built.
Sullivan’s last years included financial difficulty and a narrowing practice. His Autobiography of an Idea, published in 1924, cast his career as an intellectual struggle; it is valuable as a self-portrait but should be read beside the record of Adler’s partnership and office labor.
A System of Architectural Ornament, also published in 1924, shows him building vegetal forms from geometric schemes across successive plates. The work is a direct rebuttal to the later caricature of Sullivan as an enemy of decoration. His pupil Frank Lloyd Wright carried some lessons forward, though Wright’s later fame also obscured the distinctive terms of Sullivan’s own achievement.