Frank Lloyd Wright at the Guggenheim Museum

The main reason we went to New York a couple of weeks ago was to see the first exhibition ever held at the Guggenheim museum featuring its architect, Frank Lloyd Wright. The exhibit commemorated the 50th anniversary of the building, which was completed 6 months after Wright died in 1959, at age 91. Original drawings, models (too few of these) and documents spiraled up the museum’s ramps.

A New Yorker article about the exhibit notes that "staff at the Guggenheim like to refer to the building as the most important object in the museum’s collection...." That is so true. We certainly go there to enjoy the building itself as much as the artwork it contains.

And if you believe the story told by the tour guides at Talesin, Wright's home in Wisconsin, the building was inspired by another object, this conch shell, which to this day sits on a shelf in his home. (I photographed it a few weeks ago through a window, since you're not allowed to take interior photos.)


It was strange and exciting to see Wright’s own drawings of the Guggenheim displayed in that very building itself. It was like walking into an M.C. Escher drawing. (Frink always says he wants to put an LCD TV with a video of a crackling fire in a fireplace over the real fireplace. Or one of those videos of fish swimming next to the fishtank. He's a clever lad, that Frink.)

It was also interesting to compare how the design evolved and changed – how the site selection, the other projects Wright was working on, and the negotiations with the client (who in the case of the Guggenheim, had a mind of her own) changed the artistic vision. Wright, for example, wanted the building’s exterior to be red. In another version, the widest part of the spiral was at ground level.

For architecture buffs and FLW groupies, the actual drawings, often larger than those in books, provided a lot more detail about the plans for buildings, both those that were built, those that were outrageously and brutally demolished (like Tokyo’s Imperial Hotel), and those that were never built (like a huge, spacey Jetsons-mod theater complex and park Wright designed for Bagdad.) Some of the drawings had never been reproduced or displayed before.

Speaking of the Imperial Hotel, here's a photo (from Wikipedia Commons.)



(My Aunt Fern and Uncle Edmond actually stayed there in the 60s, and when I get a scanner, I'll upload Uncle E's slides of this magnificent building.) Ahead of its time (built 1923), it was designed to withstand an earthquake. In a weird twist of fate, at the opening ceremony, one of the worst earthquakes in Tokyo's history struck. While buildings throughout the city crumbled and burned, Wright's hotel was unscathed.

I bet the Japanese are kicking themselves for their short-sightedness in tearing it down. Today, a single plate from the cafe sells for hundreds of dollars and chairs for thousands apiece. People would pay a premium to stay in one of the world's greatest structures. Tourists flock to the bit that remains in a museum. Until we can afford to fly to Japan, the closest Frink and I will ever come is this urn from the hotel, now in the Metropolitan Museum. It stands more than 5 feet tall. And our reproduction Cabaret china from the hotel's less formal cafe. But I digress.

The exhibit also included some computer animations, walking you visually through building. There was a cool "exploded" modle hung on wires of the Jacobs I, one of the most important Usonian houses. (Basically Usonian houses were built for regular folks, whom Wright felt deserved art and beauty as much as the wealthy. They featured a lot of wood and windows, great open spaces (Wright invented the "great room" concept), space-saving built-in furniture, and heated Cherokee red concrete floors.)

I'm getting a little better at looking at blueprints and such, but I am the kind of person who can't imagine spaces very well. (When some people want to rearrange the furniture, they can map it out or even imagine how it will look in their heads. I have to actually move the furniture and see it to decide if it looks good. Usually it doesn't. So then I have to move it back.) More models and animations would have made the exhibit even more enjoyable. Also, I wish they had included more photos of the finished buildings. Because FLW is our hobby, I've seen many of the actual buildings, but a lot of the visitors to the exhibit may not have.

In terms of collecting more objects to clutter our home, we were really restrained. We bought only two books, including the exhibit catalog. And of course I saved the free exhibit pamphlet. It featured this curtain, from the Hillside Theater at Taliesen, Wright’s home in Spring Green, Wisconsin. Seeing the curtain out of context, hung web.

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Great Frank Lloyd Wright Find at Auction

A few weeks ago, we went to a local auction house. We coveted this pretty pair of Arts and Crafts candlesticks. We had agreed on an upper limit of $200, so we stopped bidding when it reached that price. The other buyer got them for....$200. Which is probably just as well. Who knows how high they would have been willing to go? Plus, we have too much stuff as it is. But they sure would have looked nice on our dining table.

Theyalso had a lot of books, including a bunch on Frank Lloyd Wright. We (especially Frink) have lusted after the the collectible Selected Drawings Portfolio, issued in 3 volumes in a limited edition of 700 copies by Horizon Press. These are huge 17 x 21 books with loose leaf, colored reproductions of the presentation drawings Wright gave to prospective clients. Some are for buildings that were never realized. The books are listed online for $1500 or more apiece. The auction house estimate was $600-800. Even that was way more than we could afford. But after losing the candlesticks, we stuck around to see what would happen.

We bid on several other FLW books, usually competing with the same two buyers. One guy, a stocky, long-haired fellow in a white t-shirt, was very determined. We were sitting in the back of the room, he was in front. When the FLW books came up, he just held his paddle steadily aloft, not raising and lowering it like everyone else, not looking around to see who else was bidding. If this was meant to intimidate, it did. We had set our upper limit on everything, generally $60, and when the bids reached that point, we stopped. (Thanks to Frink: I tend to get overly competitive and excited in auction situations, but Frink has a very steady and cautious approach.) So, White Shirt Guy got several lots of books for $60. We did win one book that sells online for $150-200 (a steal at $50.)

Then the 3 volumes of portfolios came up. Now, we had no delusions that we would be able to afford one, but had discussed what our upper limit would be if, by a fluke, they went for less than the estimate. We settled on $300. In the pitch of excitement and confusion, we dropped out and the first volume went for $275 to White Shirt Guy. Then volume two came up, and we bid. Amazingly, we got it for under $275!! Volume 3, which is usually the most expensive of the three, went to the other person who was bidding for the great price of $400. But we left very happy. And determined not to eat out or otherwise spend money for the next couple of months.

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A Tale of Two Chapels

On our recent road trip to visit my great-aunt and see a Frank Lloyd Wright tower, Frink and I also toured two spectacular chapels designed by architect E. Fay Jones. Jones was an apprentice of Wright's who worked primarily in the Ozarks. I wasn't surprised to learn that when he was a high school student, Jones designed tree houses. Tall and narrow, his chapels soar among the trees, bringing the forest inside through walls of windows. With their dramatic, exposed trusses crisscrossing across their ceilings, these light and airy chapels look like they were designed by wood elves. At any moment I expected Galadriel or Legolas to come gliding in.

The more famous of the two is Thorncrown Chapel, near Eureka Springs, Arkansas. The members of the American Institute of Architects voted it their 4th favorite building in America. From a structural standpoint, Thorncrown is probably the more spectacular of the two chapels. And yet, we enjoyed our visit to The Mildred B. Memorial Cooper Chapel in Bella Vista, Arkansas more.

Even though the chapel is a mere quarter of a mile from a shopping center, the town feels far away. We parked in the little lot in the woods and walked down a tree-lined path to the chapel. We were the only people there, and it was utterly quiet. When we opened the heavy door and entered, we were enveloped by the serenity and simple beauty of the chapel, a gothic cathedral with all its walls replaced by glass. We sat in the pews and admired the soaring arches and the light flowing through the windows (although it was a cloudy, winter day). Even though we were there to admire the architecture, it was an extremely spiritual experience. The architecture itself inspired awe and quiet contemplation.





























Our subjective experience of Thorncrown was different, and I've spent a lot of time trying to pinpoint exactly why. The building itself is stunning. And yet, from the moment we approached the chapel, the experience felt less satisfying. First, there was the tall blue sign right near the door telling us to be seated in the chapel. It felt more like an order than an invitation. What's more, the sign stuck out jarringly in our pictures of the building. (We turned it sideways so we snap a couple of sign-free photos.)

When we entered, there was a staff member sitting near the door in a folding chair. Although she was friendly and welcoming, the mere presence of a monitor felt a little oppressive. I completely understand the desire to protect this architectural masterpiece, and to encourage respect for a place of worship. As someone who loves to visit cathedrals, I am often appalled at how rude and disrepectful other tourists can be, taking photos when explicitly told not to, imposing on people's prayers and contemplation by talking loudly, and wearing inappropriate clothing.

But the fact is, the entire time we were in the Cooper chapel, we whispered and were respectful, even though we were entirely alone, and even though there are no regular religious services conducted there to our knowledge. The building itself inspired our awe and respect. At Thorncrown, it was as if our "best behavoir" was not demanded by the spirituality of the space itself, but by the presence of the hostess, who seemed not so much guarding the chapel or welcoming guests, but maintaining a certain sanctity. It didn't help that she was one of those ostentatiously serene people who make you wonder exactly where the line is between sanctity and sanctimonius. She stressed that the chapel was an active place of worship and that "we don't want to be known as a wedding chapel" (a statement belied by their website, which prominently promotes Thorncrown as a wedding chapel.) The didactic impression was reinforced by the chapel's brochure. I didn't save it, but as I recall it was a bit insistent in its Christianity and its stressing of how spiritual the chapel is. It was ironic: When we were left alone to experience the chapel on our own terms, the feeling was one of incredbile spirituality. When we were told how spiritual the place was, the experience was precisely the opposite.

No doubt, devout Christians would probably have a different perspective on this. But for us, appreciation of a beautiful building is itself a kind of sanctity. Jones certainly knew this. Writing about Thorncrown, he wrote that “I saw opportunity here to create architecture. The distinction I am making is that all building isn’t architecture, just as all writing isn’t literature or poetry, even though the spelling, grammar, and syntax might be correct. There is something in architecture that touches people in a special way, and I hoped to do that with this chapel.”

Cooper acknowledges the "special way" the architect and his building touch you by inviting you to visit it as a structure. There is a path the winds through the forest so you can admire the chapel from every angle. Cooper seems to be saying, "I don't care what brought you here. Enjoy it." Thorncrown seemed to say, "I'm glad you're here. Now be spiritual." Even though Thorncrown's website touts the awards and accolades the building has earned, we felt a little guilty being there for the architecture, almost like our mere presence defiled the place.

Perhaps if we hadn't just visited Cooper a few hours before, we wouldn't have noticed a thing uninviting about Thorncrown. And in seeking to explore and explain the source of our different feelings in visiting these two chapels, I have probably exaggerated and overstated the case a bit. Thorncrown Chapel is an astonishingly lovely place, and we plan to return often to experience it in different seasons. If you're ever in Arkansas, I hope you'll get the chance to visit both of these amazing works of art.

Here's a Wikipedia Commons photo of Thorncrown in the flush green of summer (and without the attendant sitting in the entryway).

Links:
Mildred B. Coooper Memorial Chapel
Thorncrown Chapel
E. Fay Jones on Wikipedia Read more!

The Wright Stuff

Today's post is in honor of Frank Lloyd Wright, who died 50 years ago today. Frink and I are mad about Frank. If this were a perfect world, the object accompanying this post would be our very own Frank Lloyd Wright house (especially this one); but, sadly our budget only extends far enough to cover a shelf full of books about the architect and a few reproduction presentation drawings, lamps, vases, and tchotskies.

One of my favorite pieces is this lamp, a knock-off of a lamp that appears in various Wright structures, including his own home, Taliesen. I love the mini-cantilevers and the warmth of the wood.

Our Frank obsession began over a decade ago, before we were even a couple. We were office mates in grad school, and one year we both had plans to visit friends in D.C. We decided to carpool. As we were passing through Pennsylvania, I glanced at the map and saw a little red label marked “Fallingwater.”

“Isn’t that the house built over a waterfall?” I asked.“I didn’t know that was around here.”


Frink and I had both seen pictures of Fallingwater so we took a detour to see it. It was a life-changing experience. All the pictures in the world cannot do justice to the beauty of this building (although these paintings, by Spanish artist Félix de la Concha come close). At first, you’re struck by the sheer audacity of the design. Who but Frank would stand looking at this hilly, rocky, site on a creek and think, to heck with the view -- My house will be the view! Mere mortals would situate the house so that it looks at the waterfall. But I? I shall make the house part of the waterfall!

As you study the house, other features start to come into focus--the way the cantilever floats above the cascade, the way the line between inside and outside is erased by mitered windows and the stairs that lead from the living room into the water. That visit started our education in all things Wright. We began touring other major homes, especially the Dana-Thomas home in Springfield, Illinois, which we visited half a dozen times before it was shamefully closed by the disgraced. disgraceful ex-governor Blagojevitch.

I especially love the "Usonians" designed for teachers, artists, professors and other regular working folk. These small homes show that it is possible to design houses that have a small footprint and yet are beautiful, serene, and inspiring. Most of the Usonians have red concrete floors, expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that bring the outside in, and ingenious (if sometimes uncomfortable) built-in furniture that makes use of every inch of space with warm wood that doubles as art.

Several Usonians are available as overnight rentals. When we stay in them, we rarely leave the house (except to take photos from the outside.) We move from room to room, looking at the angles -- every perspective offers a new surprise -- and watching the play of light and shadows as the sunlight streaming through the clerstory windows changes through the course of the day. As Frink says, being in a Frank Lloyd Wright home makes you want to live a better life. Certainly, it would make you live a more pared down one. Except for the houses built for wealthy clients, Wright's homes don't have room for a lot of junk.

Our obsession with Frank has educated our eyes and as taught us to see buildings in a new way. As the years have passed, we've become huge fans of mid-century modern buildings and we've discovered the work of other architects. Two favorites are Santiago Calatrava and E.Fay Jones. How can you not love a museum that looks like it's going to fly away on its (movable!) wings? (This photo is from Wikipedia Commons; ours didn't do it justice.)

And how about a chapel in the forest that looks like it was designed by elves? We just toured this E. Fay Jones building, the Mildred B. Cooper chapel. It's not far from another Jones chapel, Thorncrown, which is on the list of the 100 best buildings in America, but I like this one better. We had horrible light during our visit, which was in winter. We plan to go back when the trees have leafed out.

Wright homes you can stay in:

Penfield House

Muirhead House

Bernard Schwartz House

Haynes House

The Seth Peterson Cottage (we haven't stayed here yet; they book about a year in advance.)

Update: Here's an interesting brief tribute to FLW.

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Books, Brochures, Bartlesville

Several new objects came home with us after last weekend's road trip through Arkansas and Oklahoma, most of them books or pamphlets from The Price Tower, Frank Lloyd Wright's only skyscraper. Wright called the tower "a tree that escaped the crowded forest." Its main form (the trunk) is a square, made more interesting by the intersecting squares (branches) that bisect it at rotated angles, creating triangular balconies and stairwells. This book, which we bought at the Arts Center on the ground floor, has an interesting history of its construction.






The current exhibit at the Arts Center, "Fallingwater en Perspectiva," features oil paintings of what is probably the most famous home in America. The artist, Félix de la Concha, is from Spain. This lucky (and talented) guy got to spend 14 months in residence at Fallingwater, painting it from dozens of perspectives over the span of several seasons. The brochure shows him with one of a series of paintings that, when hung side-by-side, create a 360-degree view of the living/dining room, each from different, slightly over-lapping angles. Stretched across an entire wall of the gallery, this grouping was stunning and a bit dizzying. (The curator complained that it was hard to hang because the paintings were at all sorts of odd angles.) This photo was taken from the exhibit website, which has many other images from the exhibit. (Click on the photo for a larger view.)

I love collecting brochures like this from places I visit. Even if I take scads of photos of a place, when I stumble across a tattered and yellowed brochure years later, it brings back memories -- who I was with, what the weather was like, what kind of flowers were in bloom, details of artworks and facts that I've long forgotten. Even better, brochures don't cost anything and don't take up much room.


Frink, on the other hand, is a collector, especially of coffee mugs, which take up A LOT of space. (If all the neighborhood Starbucks lose their coffee cups in an earthquake, we've got them covered. Someday I'll write a post about our dueling Oscar & Felix personalities when it comes to collecting things.) Frink hoped to buy a mug showing the Price Tower or its cool Wright-designed logo. (The originals are hard to find and beyond our means. Six cups sold at auction recently for $3,000 and two plates sold for $1000 each.) But, aside from some pens and a poster of Wright's presentation drawing, the giftshop didn't have anything depicting Price Tower or its logo. The guide said the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation claims copyright on all plans and images of his work. For this reason, visitors aren't allowed to photograph the interiors. It seems strange that the owners of the actual building aren't allowed to sell souvenirs showing their own property. But we followed the rules and didn't take interior photos (except of our room--shhh, don't tell anyone.) I did find some excellent pictures online if you're interested.


We also picked up a guide to Bruce Goff's architecture in Oklahoma, and a DVD about Shin'enKan, a home he designed in Bartlesville that was destroyed by arson in 1996. Goff was an architect who worked primarily in the Midwest in an astonishing array of styles, from Prairie to Art Deco to what I call Dean-Martin-Meets-James-Bond Martini Modern. Shin'enKan, a hip bachelor pad built for a wealthy young client, was definitely Martini Modern.
















Goff had an affection for recycling found objects long before it was trendy, and a key feature of Shin'enKan was aqua blue glass, left over from glass manufacturing. It was shattered into faceted chunks, which Goff incorporated into the walls of many of his buildings.



This blog has some amazing photos of Goff's designs, including this photo of the lost house in Bartlesville.

For more on our visit to The Price Tower and Bruce Goff's Oklahoma buildings, please visit my travel blog. Read more!