When you go to architecture school, you are indoctrinated to appreciate certain projects, buildings, and houses. One of those pieces of architecture, at least for my generation, is the
When you go to architecture school, you are indoctrinated to appreciate certain projects, buildings, and houses. One of those pieces of architecture, at least for my generation, is the
Completed in 1951 for Dr. Edith Farnsworth (a nephrologist), the house is one of the most celebrated midcentury modern houses in the United States. Today, the former weekend retreat is a museum owned by the National Trust for Historic Preservation. (Information on how to visit can be found, here.)
But what they don't teach you in architecture school is that the house never really worked all that well as, you know, an actual house. And that the client and architect ended up embroiled in legal battles toward the end of construction.
This is part of the story that is told in Alex Beam's new book, Broken Glass, which was recently reviewed by Witold Rybczynski in the Wall Street Journal. Now, Witold isn't a fan of modern architecture to begin with and so the Farnsworth House never stood a chance:
Despite the purposeful appearance of his architecture, Mies was not particularly interested in practical matters. The travertine on the terrace weathered badly, and a poorly designed heating system left sooty stains on the windows. The glass walls resulted in spectacular heating bills in the winter and hothouse temperatures in the summer—there were only two small openable windows. Then there was the problem of condensation on the glass in cold weather. “You feel as though you are in a car in the rain with a windshield wiper that doesn’t work,” Farnsworth complained. A film about the genesis of her house, starring Elizabeth Debicki and Ralph Fiennes, is currently in the works. It will be interesting to see if it will show the doctor squeegeeing her foggy windows.
On his blog, Witold calls Mies an aesthete. Appearance was everything. My personal view is that it's generally good practice to design houses so that they function properly. But icons are icons and the Farnsworth House is certainly an icon. Maybe we should just call it a prototype.
Debating the merits -- or shortcomings, depending on which camp you're in -- of all-glass buildings isn't new. But there seems to be a bit of a resurgence happening right now because of the recent opening of Hudson Yards in New York.
There's an important environmental consideration here: Glass is, as a rule, a poor insulator. But often the other concern with all-glass buildings is their sameness. Witold Rybczynski recently wrote about this on his blog in a post called The Transparency Trap:
Le Corbusier described (modernist) architecture as “the masterly, correct and magnificent play of volumes brought together in light.” Corbusier used glass but he never designed all-glass buildings. Neither did Mies; he added superfluous I-beams to his facades (which also had substantial spandrels). The problem with transparent glass is that it doesn’t hold a shadow, and without a shadow there can be no “play of volumes.” Since minimalist modernist architecture doesn’t offer decoration or ornament, that doesn’t leave much to look at.
Witold isn't usually appreciative of that which is new and I often find myself disagreeing with this critiques. But I like his metaphor of "holding a shadow." Light and shadow are, of course, fundamental to architecture.
Photo by LinedPhoto on Unsplash
Last night I went by the Toronto-Dominion Centre to check out the above public art project by French artist Aude Moreau. The message on the buildings is “LESS IS MORE OR”, which is a play on the architect Mies van der Rohe’s famous adage: “Less is more.” Here, the “or” is meant to make you question it.
All of this is to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Centre. The first tower was completed in 1967 and is one of Mies’ last projects before he died in 1969. His original plan included two towers and the banking pavilion at the corner of Bay and King, but three more towers were later added.
This is Toronto architecture at its absolute best. And it may not have happened without people like Phyllis Lambert. I am so glad it did.
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