Mr. and Mrs. Gehan recently completed this home for themselves in the Preston Hollow neighborhood of Dallas. Mr. Gehan is the founder of a home building company called UnionMain Homes, but this home is like nothing the company builds. The architect, Scott Specht, describes it as being "new brutalist." There's exposed and ribbed concrete walls (which alone are reported to cost ~$720,000). But the sliding planes, cantilevered roof, and expanses of glass are reminiscent of the International Style, and in particular of the Barcelona Pavilion.
At around 8,826 square feet, the house cost about $6 million to build (presumably this excludes the 1.5 acre land cost). That works out to around $680 per square feet, which once again goes to show you why "only the rich can afford this much nothing." Minimalism is expensive. Here's an excerpt from the WSJ: "He [Mr. Gehan] was amazed by the level of detail required and the complication involved in creating a clean and simple aesthetic. That less-cluttered, simpler look will start to make its way into his production houses, he says."
Photos: Specht Architects
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
Mr. and Mrs. Gehan recently completed this home for themselves in the Preston Hollow neighborhood of Dallas. Mr. Gehan is the founder of a home building company called UnionMain Homes, but this home is like nothing the company builds. The architect, Scott Specht, describes it as being "new brutalist." There's exposed and ribbed concrete walls (which alone are reported to cost ~$720,000). But the sliding planes, cantilevered roof, and expanses of glass are reminiscent of the International Style, and in particular of the Barcelona Pavilion.
At around 8,826 square feet, the house cost about $6 million to build (presumably this excludes the 1.5 acre land cost). That works out to around $680 per square feet, which once again goes to show you why "only the rich can afford this much nothing." Minimalism is expensive. Here's an excerpt from the WSJ: "He [Mr. Gehan] was amazed by the level of detail required and the complication involved in creating a clean and simple aesthetic. That less-cluttered, simpler look will start to make its way into his production houses, he says."
Photos: Specht Architects
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
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
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