
S.F. fountain's 95-year-old creator returns: ‘I'm here to save that piece of art'
The creator of the giant Vaillancourt Fountain at San Francisco's Embarcadero Plaza is aware that he may never see it restored to its former glory with water gushing through its white concrete pipes and channels.
But dry and dingy as it is, the monumental artwork has been there for nearly 55 controversial years, and Armand Vaillancourt says it can last another 55 at least.
That is why Vaillancourt, 95, made the six-hour flight from Montreal to San Francisco this week.
'I'm here to save that piece of art,' he said in a thick Quebecois accent while sitting in the sun Tuesday admiring his work.
The 40-foot-tall, 710-ton fountain, installed in 1971 next to the Embarcadero Freeway, has survived a legion of critics over the decades who decried its blocky Brutalist aesthetic. It also survived the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, which damaged the freeway beyond repair.
But its supporters, including Vaillancourt, fear it may not survive the pending transformation of the park that surrounds it.
An ambitious $30 million project is underway to dramatically redesign Embarcadero Plaza, formerly known as Justin Herman Plaza, and link it to the adjacent Sue Bierman Park. The effort was announced last November by then-Mayor London Breed, and endorsed by the Board of Supervisors in March.
A preliminary rendering published with the announcement did not show the fountain. That got the attention of Vaillancourt's daughter Oceania, who informed her father.
The project is still in the planning phase. No design decisions have been made, no public hearings have been held, and Vaillancourt said no representative of the city has reached out to him.
But he did not like what he did not see on the renderings. So he booked his own flight and booked his own preemptive hearing this week with the staff of the San Francisco Arts Commission, which owns the sculpture as part of the Civic Art Collection.
'They made the new plan and my monumental sculpture is not there,' said Vaillancourt.
He described his message to city staff as, 'Be reasonable. Let that artwork live forever.'
'This survived a 7.1 earthquake with no damage, not a scratch, but they never took care of it,' he said. 'There's nothing wrong with it except the dirt.'
San Francisco Recreation and Park Department officials told the Chronicle that they had met with Vaillancourt on Wednesday. 'It was an initial conversation focused on listening and exploring ways we might work together going forward,' said spokesperson Tamara Aparton.
She said the park department spent an average of $100,000 per year on maintenance of the fountain, which includes repairing persistent leaks and clogged drains, servicing the pumps, removing debris and cleaning graffiti.
But the only recent sign of attention Vaillancourt said he could see was a high fence on the Embarcadero side, an apparent attempt by the city to keep people from sleeping on the sculpture. While he was there Tuesday, a security guard came and rousted people who seemed to be setting up camp.
He had not visited the fountain in eight years, and his first reaction upon seeing it was to utter: 'Wow.'
'The joy,' he said. 'It is so powerful.'
The fountain's sheer size is part of its artistic power — and a major issue in deciding its fate. Part of the civic discussion is whether it can be moved to another location in the city, or put into storage.
Vallaincourt laughed at that idea.
The fountain, which took him four years to build, is anchored to a foundation 40 feet deep and has steel cables running throughout. It was intended to shift and sway but never break, and did not even burst a pipe during the Loma Prieta quake.
However, it eventually blew a pump, and last summer the water was turned off. It would cost millions to repair, but Vaillancourt said it would cost millions more to demolish the fountain and backfill the huge crater that would leave behind.
He endorses whatever plan the city has for the plaza, which is likely to remove the brick and replace it with grass and trees or other natural elements. He said the fountain will go perfectly amid all of this, provided it is sandblasted to return it to its original white luster, and the water is turned back on. (When it was installed, the flow at 30,000 gallons a minute was intended in part to drown out the traffic noise from the adjacent freeway.)
'If you keep the sculpture like it is, people cannot enjoy it,' he said. 'When the water is on, the kids run through it. It's a big toy in a sense.'
The redesign and renovation is a partnership between the Recreation and Park Department, the Downtown SF Partnership and BXP (formerly Boston Properties), the commercial real estate firm that owns the four Embarcadero Center office buildings east of the plaza.
One community outreach meeting has been held by the park department, and a second one is to be scheduled sometime this spring or summer.
Vaillancourt said he has done his own community outreach and claimed that 'all of the people we talk to, engineers and architects and all that, they say do anything in the park but don't touch Vaillancourt Fountain.'
Skateboarders, who like to thrash up the concrete benches, don't want it touched. Neither do the members of the Northern California chapter of Docomomo US, a nonprofit dedicated to preserving the architecture of the modern movement.
They will host an informal picnic at 4 p.m. Friday at the fountain, with Vaillancourt promising to attend and engage in any form of conversation or debate.
With his distinctive flowing white hair and beard, he describes himself as a 'small tiger,' and though he will be 96 in September, 'all my life I've never said I'm tired,' he said.
Then he leaned back to admire his creation and started singing a song that was popular when he was building it, with his wife, Joanne, and son Alexis looking on.
'All we are saying, is give peace a chance.'
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


San Francisco Chronicle
24-05-2025
- San Francisco Chronicle
S.F. fountain's 95-year-old creator returns: ‘I'm here to save that piece of art'
The creator of the giant Vaillancourt Fountain at San Francisco's Embarcadero Plaza is aware that he may never see it restored to its former glory with water gushing through its white concrete pipes and channels. But dry and dingy as it is, the monumental artwork has been there for nearly 55 controversial years, and Armand Vaillancourt says it can last another 55 at least. That is why Vaillancourt, 95, made the six-hour flight from Montreal to San Francisco this week. 'I'm here to save that piece of art,' he said in a thick Quebecois accent while sitting in the sun Tuesday admiring his work. The 40-foot-tall, 710-ton fountain, installed in 1971 next to the Embarcadero Freeway, has survived a legion of critics over the decades who decried its blocky Brutalist aesthetic. It also survived the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, which damaged the freeway beyond repair. But its supporters, including Vaillancourt, fear it may not survive the pending transformation of the park that surrounds it. An ambitious $30 million project is underway to dramatically redesign Embarcadero Plaza, formerly known as Justin Herman Plaza, and link it to the adjacent Sue Bierman Park. The effort was announced last November by then-Mayor London Breed, and endorsed by the Board of Supervisors in March. A preliminary rendering published with the announcement did not show the fountain. That got the attention of Vaillancourt's daughter Oceania, who informed her father. The project is still in the planning phase. No design decisions have been made, no public hearings have been held, and Vaillancourt said no representative of the city has reached out to him. But he did not like what he did not see on the renderings. So he booked his own flight and booked his own preemptive hearing this week with the staff of the San Francisco Arts Commission, which owns the sculpture as part of the Civic Art Collection. 'They made the new plan and my monumental sculpture is not there,' said Vaillancourt. He described his message to city staff as, 'Be reasonable. Let that artwork live forever.' 'This survived a 7.1 earthquake with no damage, not a scratch, but they never took care of it,' he said. 'There's nothing wrong with it except the dirt.' San Francisco Recreation and Park Department officials told the Chronicle that they had met with Vaillancourt on Wednesday. 'It was an initial conversation focused on listening and exploring ways we might work together going forward,' said spokesperson Tamara Aparton. She said the park department spent an average of $100,000 per year on maintenance of the fountain, which includes repairing persistent leaks and clogged drains, servicing the pumps, removing debris and cleaning graffiti. But the only recent sign of attention Vaillancourt said he could see was a high fence on the Embarcadero side, an apparent attempt by the city to keep people from sleeping on the sculpture. While he was there Tuesday, a security guard came and rousted people who seemed to be setting up camp. He had not visited the fountain in eight years, and his first reaction upon seeing it was to utter: 'Wow.' 'The joy,' he said. 'It is so powerful.' The fountain's sheer size is part of its artistic power — and a major issue in deciding its fate. Part of the civic discussion is whether it can be moved to another location in the city, or put into storage. Vallaincourt laughed at that idea. The fountain, which took him four years to build, is anchored to a foundation 40 feet deep and has steel cables running throughout. It was intended to shift and sway but never break, and did not even burst a pipe during the Loma Prieta quake. However, it eventually blew a pump, and last summer the water was turned off. It would cost millions to repair, but Vaillancourt said it would cost millions more to demolish the fountain and backfill the huge crater that would leave behind. He endorses whatever plan the city has for the plaza, which is likely to remove the brick and replace it with grass and trees or other natural elements. He said the fountain will go perfectly amid all of this, provided it is sandblasted to return it to its original white luster, and the water is turned back on. (When it was installed, the flow at 30,000 gallons a minute was intended in part to drown out the traffic noise from the adjacent freeway.) 'If you keep the sculpture like it is, people cannot enjoy it,' he said. 'When the water is on, the kids run through it. It's a big toy in a sense.' The redesign and renovation is a partnership between the Recreation and Park Department, the Downtown SF Partnership and BXP (formerly Boston Properties), the commercial real estate firm that owns the four Embarcadero Center office buildings east of the plaza. One community outreach meeting has been held by the park department, and a second one is to be scheduled sometime this spring or summer. Vaillancourt said he has done his own community outreach and claimed that 'all of the people we talk to, engineers and architects and all that, they say do anything in the park but don't touch Vaillancourt Fountain.' Skateboarders, who like to thrash up the concrete benches, don't want it touched. Neither do the members of the Northern California chapter of Docomomo US, a nonprofit dedicated to preserving the architecture of the modern movement. They will host an informal picnic at 4 p.m. Friday at the fountain, with Vaillancourt promising to attend and engage in any form of conversation or debate. With his distinctive flowing white hair and beard, he describes himself as a 'small tiger,' and though he will be 96 in September, 'all my life I've never said I'm tired,' he said. Then he leaned back to admire his creation and started singing a song that was popular when he was building it, with his wife, Joanne, and son Alexis looking on. 'All we are saying, is give peace a chance.'
Yahoo
13-05-2025
- Yahoo
Inside Frieze New York's Most Exclusive Dining Experience
Sometimes it can feel like cinematic depictions of fine dining, from The Bear to The Menu, wildly exaggerate—whether for comedic or dramatic purposes—the attention to detail and passion that goes into crafting a truly unique culinary experience. However, that's not always true. For Luca Pronzato, sommelier, entrepreneur, and now founder of Paris-based dining experience We Are Ona, sharing a meal on an 100-foot-long Brutalist table can encapsulate all of the above. Having initially cut his teeth working at the world-famous NOMA in Copenhagen as well as chef Atsushi Tanaka's AT in Paris, Pronzato gathered his 12 years of experience and set out to forge a new multidisciplinary pathway in the culinary arts. Since then, We Are Ona has quickly cemented a name for itself, staging immersive dining experiences for luxury brands including Valentino, Chanel, Saint Laurent, Jacquemus, and Alaïa. In 2025, after opening successful outposts in London and Milan, We Are Ona has set its sights on a permanent flagship in New York. The group has returned to New York City to stage one of its signature events at the trendy WSA building in conjunction with Frieze New York. This time, Pronzato tapped Alexandre de Betak, the multi-disciplinary artist and founder of iconic runway production company Bureau Betak, to craft a sculpture that evokes the austere landscape of New York's financial district. Alongside de Betak, Pronzato also tapped world-renowned food truck chef Sho Miyashita. Since founding his own restaurant in Paris, Haikara, the chef has become known for blending his love of Japanese street food, such as tempura, with the spirit of traditional Parisian bistros. In combination, the unique trio brings an innovative and passionate touch to the forefront of luxury dining experiences. The pop up is available for booking for a short time only, from now until May 15th. You Might Also Like The 15 Best Organic And Clean Shampoos For Any And All Hair Types 100 Gifts That Are $50 Or Under (And Look Way More Expensive Than They Actually Are)


New York Times
28-03-2025
- New York Times
Everything That Led to the Making of a Celery Bag
I was brought up in a religious family in Buenos Aires. Every Sunday, I'd go to church with my grandma. This picture (below center) was taken at my first communion, in 1982. I'd never worn a tie before; I think I had on velvet trousers. Even at age 10, I was opinionated about how my family dressed, saying things like, 'Maybe you should wear that with a jacket.' I also paid attention to what the statues were wearing, the textures of their garments and the expressions on their faces. That's where my fascination with religious iconography came from. In my apartment in Paris, I have a collection of pieces that belonged to churches (below bottom left). I found these [relics] in the basement of a little store in Puglia, Italy, and was like, 'OK, this I need.' I like the mystery of things that have had a life before me. This is the dining room in my apartment (above right). The 1970s Brutalist table is by the American designer Paul Evans. The mirrored light on the ceiling is by [the Italian designer] Gaetano Sciolari, also from the 1970s. I found the letters 'R' and 'Y' at a flea market in Paris. They were part of a set that spelled 'Harmony,' but that was too long — and my partner's name is Ryan [Benacer, a stylist and fashion archivist]. In my living room, I have a collection of mannequins that I dress with the latest finds for our [clothing] archive. Ryan and I like to put out three to four at a time so that when we're having breakfast, I can see, say, a Martin Margiela look next to me. This is a Comme des Garçons look (above top left) from spring 2023; I love how [the designer Rei Kawakubo] combines fashion and art without fear. As a teenager, I was a goth. I loved the Cure, and then I became obsessed with [the Australian dark-wave band] Dead Can Dance (above right). When I first started thinking about a career, fashion felt odd for a guy, and I was still discovering my sexuality. I studied architecture at the University of Buenos Aires. When I turned 21, though, I went to London, where my passion for clothing really solidified. I worked as a bartender and saved money in a sock for four years, and eventually enrolled at Central Saint Martins. This is a look from my 2002 graduation collection (above center), which was inspired by traditional gaucho clothing (above left). My grandmother had a lot of ponchos that I was interested in; I tried to bring in as much craft as possible, to do it the way the Indigenous Argentines would have done. I won the prize that year for best ready-to-wear collection and was offered a place in the master's program. But then Phoebe Philo, who'd just taken over at Chloé, called me to be her right hand for design, and I moved to Paris for the job. Starting at Moschino was like jumping into a pool of cold water. When I was approached in December 2023, they were like, 'Can you start tomorrow?' But I'd already planned a holiday in Argentina. I said, 'Maybe spending time in the Moschino archive could be enough of a trigger for me to do it. Let's go there tomorrow so that I can give you a brief, and then when I come back in January, let's see how it goes.' [Making this collection for fall 2024] felt very spontaneous, and I was super happy with it. This dress (above center) [incorporates] an artwork by [the brand's founder] Franco [Moschino] (above left). What I'm learning at Moschino is that I can reproduce any object as an accessory. I wanted the model who opened the show to feel like a woman who does things like go to the market for fresh vegetables and bread, so we created three items: a handbag made from a fiber that looks like paper, a baguette bag and this celery bag (above right). This interview has been edited and condensed.