22.2.07
Organic encounters with FLW
I was guided through Frank Lloyd Wright's Hollyhock House in Los Angeles by a man who in his childhood lived near Oak Park, Illinois, where many of Wright's early structures were built.
That man, Henry Michel, writes in the forward of his self-published book "Basic Frank Lloyd Wright" (1999) that he is an "expert amateur" who has written two other books on Wright's work.
Whether fact or fiction, Michel's tour of Hollyhock House and his tale of Aline Barnsdall, the theatre producer who financed it, was memorable. He hustled through the gardens and rooms chastising tourists who lingered too long or peered into off-limit areas.
I was travelling alone. The others on the tour were similar to those I've seen at other Wright sites: mainly down-to-earth American enthusiasts in untucked shirts, shorts, tube socks and sneakers.
There were a couple of architects who childishly violated all of Michel's rules by waiting until he had marched off to the next gathering point before darting up forbidden stairways or surreptitiously snapping pictures.
Although I wasn't compelled to join them in their anarchist acts, I understood their need to see and capture all the desolate magic of that crumbling place.
Each of the 12 Wright sites I've visited since 2002 has a very distinctive flavor beyond the expected architectural idiosyncrasies.
UTOPIAN IDEALS
When Wright proclaimed a Declaration of Independence from architectural tradition in 1896, he was articulating the utopian vision that would inform his work throughout his career.
Wright’s declaration proposed a political and aesthetic ideology geared toward developing a style of architecture he hoped would transform and improve U.S. society.
A central tenet of Wright's philosophy was that traditional European architecture contained irrelevant ornamental design elements that should be set aside, or reinterpreted, to generate a more organic architecture.
Wright’s ideas for a new style of architecture emerged under the influence of technological changes that were transforming the U.S. into an industrialized and urban society at the turn of the last century. Wright was also influenced by creative European movements such as the Arts and Crafts and International Style.
About half of the 1,000 buildings he designed between 1887 and 1959 were constructed throughout the U.S., Canada and Japan, according to Arlene Sanderson's "Wright Sites" (Princeton, 2001).
Wright believed there was a need to create an architecture unique to the U.S. that would serve to enhance humanity in its surrounding landscape.
He opposed the use of ornament found in traditional architecture exported from Europe to the U.S.—terming it degenerate—and spent his career in pursuit of what he called organic architecture.
In "An Organic Architecture" (1939), Wright said he wanted to meld together form, structure and space in such a way as to create complete entities he believed would transform and uplift society in a manner suited to the liberal idealism he perceived as characteristic of the U.S.
He sought to create structures that would be unified with their surrounding landscape and to incorporate ornamentation into overall design so that they would become enclosed organisms.
DEPARTURE FROM TRADITION
As Wright eschewed what he called the false purpose of traditional ornament, he reinterpreted it. He believed his methods would improve the human condition at large.
In "An Organic Architecture", Wright commented on Michelangelo’s dome on St. Peter's Basilica (1506-1615) in Rome and Christopher Wren’s copycat dome on St. Paul’s Cathedral (1675-1708) in London expressing his belief that traditional architectural ornament serves only to lend a form of false authority to a given structure.
"I declare, the time is here for architecture to recognize its own nature, to realize the fact that it is out of life itself for life as it is now lived, a humane and therefore an intensely human thing; it must again become the most human of all the expressions of human nature," he wrote.
"The 'Classic' [architecture] was more a mask for life to wear than an expression of life itself ... Modern architecture—let us now say organic architecture—is a natural architecture—the architecture of nature, for Nature."
Wright’s efforts to use exterior ornament solely for a functional purpose and to mesh with the natural landscape are reflected in his Prairie period in the early part of the 20th century.
The Prairie houses are built of natural materials and have low roofs and stained-glass windows. They are also characterized by a central garden. The surrounding home creates an enclosure around the garden, which establishes an organic core—a rustic predecessor to Wright’s more streamlined futurist work.
Wright’s later tendency toward designing sleek, science-fiction like, self-contained organic entities emerges in his Usonian period of the 1930s. His utopian aspirations led him to design such futuristic buildings as the Marin County Civic Center and the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (1956). In those buildings ornamentation becomes formalized as a part of the overall structure.
ENCOUNTERING WRIGHT
In 2002, I drove from Madison, Wisconsin, to Taliesin (rebuilt 1925) in Spring Green where Wright lived. I toured the Hillside Studio and theatre. Hooked, I returned the next day to tour the house. There was no admission charge to visit the church and cemetery where Wright is buried, but the cost to tour the other buildings was very high.
On that trip I also saw Monona Terrace (1995, based on 1959 design) in Madison.
When I returned to Madison in June 2006, for a wedding, I stayed at the Monona Terrace Hilton so I could overlook the terrace and the lake. It serves as a giant piazza for Madison residents.
The uncle of my newlywed friends took me on a tour of the Unitarian Meeting House (1947), which was free to the public.
He drove me to the Gilmore House (1908) but it is privately owned and we couldn't go inside.
En route to Madison from Milwaukee by car last year, I made a special trip to the S.C. Johnson Administration Building (1936) in Racine. I got lost several times on the way because I took local roads in order to avoid the major highway. I wanted to drive next to the lake.
There was no charge for the tour of the Johnson building, but visitors have to book ahead. Photography is banned on the grounds and there is an obligatory 20-minute promotional talk on S.C. Johnson's company history and cleaning products.
The so-called Great Workroom, with its ingenious upside-down inverted mushroom-like pillars is still in use, so visitors are corralled in a specific area of the room. The research tower is off limits. It is used for storage because it doesn't meet modern-day safety standards. If you click on the diagram below you can see the detail.
On the drive back from Madison I got lost trying to find the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church (1956) in Milwaukee.
I found myself trapped in a dystopian suburban network of roads driving in circles or figure eights for about an hour. I am not sure if my map was outdated. There were no human beings.
It was more frustrating than driving down the curvy Pacific Coast Highway from San Francisco to Los Angeles by myself in September 2005, but not as scary. That was a white-knuckle drive.
The Greek Orthodox Church does not allow visitors inside unless there are 15 people all clamoring to get in at once so I sated my curiosity by peering in windows and wandering around outside.
While in California I visited the aforementioned Hollyhock House in Hollywood.
I took the ferry to San Rafael from San Francisco, past San Quentin State Prison, to see the Marin County Civic Center (1957). There was no official tour and visitors can go anywhere they like both inside and outside the building. It is truly spectacular. Some of the furniture was made by San Quentin inmates.
In San Francisco, I went to the V.C. Morris Gift Shop (1948). It has an interior spiral slope which is a sort of mini version of the one in the Guggenheim. It's an African artifacts gallery and bookshop.
In 2002, I made a journey by Greyhound bus from Toronto to Madison making stopovers in Detroit and Chicago to see art, architecture and baseball. While in Chicago, I took two walking tours. In the morning I saw historic architecture and in the afternoon modern architecture. The Rookery Building foyer (1905) which Wright remodelled, was on the tour.
I visited the Guggenheim Museum in spring 2006, when I was in New York. I'd been there before, but not when David Smith's sculptures were on show. They provided suitable ornamentation for the giant swirling ramp, which is the focal point of the museum.
Unlike Henry Michel, I can't claim even to be an "expert amateur" when it comes to Wright and his work, but I am deeply addicted to his buildings. Next, I plan to see Mill Run (1935-1948) in Pennsylvania, which is said to be Wright's organic masterpiece because it is built over a waterfall ~
Pictures to come of the other sites once I've scanned them.
17.2.07
A right to learn for learning's sake
By Carl Mollins
The basic mood and spirit that coloured the 70-plus years of Walter Whitfield Mollins, and shaped the gifts of living he spread to so many others, began on the day of his birth in Ottawa.
This writer, his brother, remembers that day near the end of May--a Friday, May 29, 1936, a few weeks before my fifth birthday. Our father came home from the hospital, where our mother had gone for reasons I really didn’t understand. He skipped up the stairs, singing in his musical baritone the announcement to me and my two older sisters that a baby boy had joined the family.
It was pure happiness.
Walt became the life of the family. As well, in reversal of the customary case of the kid brother copying his big brother, Walt in many ways was a model for me.
It was noted, for one thing, that we shared a mutual aversion to shaving. Even in that, Walt’s beard sparked the happier reactions: Folk sometimes compared me to Karl Marx, whereas youngsters often took Walt for Santa Claus.
His sense of humour, pursuit of happiness, his encouragement of that spirit in others, persisted throughout his life and into its final days.
PLAYFUL CHILD BECOMES CULTURED ADULT
His positive mind and manner persevered despite his struggle against the depressive diabetes that struck in early childhood and governed him physically ever after.
In fact, with the diabetic’s need to maintain a balance among daily intakes of insulin and food with exercise, he indulged at an early age in fun and games as a means of burning off excess calories. Many were the laughter-fuelled sessions of skip-rope or hopscotch, of climbing a slippery poplar or, in winter, playing two-person hockey on the home-made backyard rink.
The fun and games contributed in turn to Walter’s active life of happily “doing things,” be it at the piano or with his violin, his paintbrush portraying a landscape, his pen composing a poem, or singing in choirs that toured at home and abroad. Then there was helping Ruffles the dog through a tricks routine.
A good part of the rest of his waking hours would be engaged in fundraising campaigns for charities and performing volunteer services to the community. The most important part of that included his active assistance for the financially or physically or mentally deprived.
LIFE-LONG TEACHER AND VOLUNTEER
Such activity took place both during and following his career as a schoolteacher, an instructor who loved children and worked to help them develop happy lives. Most of his public school efforts consisted of teaching pupils with special needs.
For such pupils, as well as people he later taught voluntarily outside schools, he sought to get them involved, as he was, in the stimulation and enjoyment of participation in the riches of life. In his marriage, he and wife, as a nurse, became a formidable team in caring for underprivileged and ailing neighbours.
Walter not long ago gave voice to his purposes in life in an article by a niece about teaching illiterate people, a project they both pursued. After observing him teaching in Stratford and talking to him about it, she wrote:
“Walter Mollins is working from a belief that everybody has a right to learn for learning’s sake--for the sense of pride, accomplishment and connection that brings, not for any other goal. As he says, everyone has a right to develop a sense of conscious growth . . .
“His approach is to respect and honour people for what they can do. He does not assess based on what they cannot do and try to fill in the gaps. He assesses what they can do and tries to strengthen that and build on it.”
Walter Mollins, in an echo of the day of his birth, thus brought happiness to many people as well as himself and his family. In so doing, he left a great legacy: the hundreds of lives that he enriched in his time. ~
This is a tribute originally given by my father at my uncle's funeral.