Frank Lloyd Wright

I ploughed through this. It’s the most vivid portrait I’ve seen of the apprenticeship itself. The chronology is a bit confusing at first–perhaps the book design could have made more clear that he’s jumping back and forth between his own beginnings and FLLW’s. The traffic cop encounter with Alexander Woolcott, the travels in the car as FLLW’s driver–great stuff. There could be more from Tafel as an architect–he was there on the great ones, such as Fallingwater and the Johnson Wax HQ.

This is the most recent book I’ve read but not too much jumps to mind. Why is that? No, it comes back, the account of being on the actual trips back and forth to Arizona, the fleshing out of the anecdotes he tells in the documentary (carrying the plans, etc). It’s the most vivid portrait I’ve seen of the apprenticeship itself, something I guess I’ve only seen obliquely, but it makes sense here. The chronology is a bit confusing at first, perhaps a different design might have made more clear that he’s jumping back and forth between his beginnings and FLLW’s. The Alexander Woolcott adventure with the traffic cop, travels in the car as FLLW’s driver (why didn’t FLLW drive himself?), that stuff is good. Great to have the book really. There could be more from Tafel as an architect. But boy he was there on the great ones – Fallingwater, Johnson Wax HQ.

Originally entitled My Father, Who Art on Earth, there are gems here that you can’t get from any of the other masses of FLLW books. I welled up when in Venice, when entering St Marks, it reminds John Lloyd of nothing else but his own childhood playroom. Just how great we can get?

Originally entitled “My Father, Who Art on Earth”, which I much prefer, but it’s too obscure, I guess. Well it starts out with manic jilted prose but after a while settles in to being more normal, so I wonder, was this an attempt to be a bit Portrait of the Artist or what.

Some gems here that you can’t get from any of the other masses of FLLW books. In Venice, when entering St Marks, it reminds him of nothing else but his own childhood playroom. This brought me to well up with the fabulousness of just how great we can be. What a gift to one’s children.

And the account here too, like Tafel’s to follow, of not paying, though for John it seems more of an issue than it was with Tafel, or at least, more of an ongoing one. They both worked on the Imperial Hotel I think, but neither much mentions the other.

And yes, more insight: he looks at things out the corner of his eye, not directly at things. Is that possible? Hard to believe. Maybe at certain stages, yes, to get the more holistic view, but at some point surely he could not resist. Maybe he held back. John Lloyd doesn’t say. “I don’t have to drink a tub of dye to know its color.” Hoo boy, a reprimand, considering my nose-hair pulling stances.

There is space and greatness between the sentences here. It feels distilled rather than stretched. Yet we have no view of the sons, don’t know what they looked like, can’t tell which is which.

Rich and poignant really all round. All this plus an account of FLLW arriving at heaven–and tut-tutting at the architecture.

A tad hagiographic but this one left me with a good feeling that unlike most Rizzoli books the text actually matters as well. Gorgeous drawings.

As an architectural scholar, Scully writes less about the man than the buildings.

Maddex has made a career out of recycling and reordering Wright’s own writing, commissioning some nice photos, and presto, another book. It’s coffee-table, as the Amazon reviewers say of her stuff. Nonetheless, I did learn here that the magazine House Beautiful had an ongoing relationship with Wright.

I was moved to read this again almost as soon as I finished it the first time. It feels nice to give the fine compliment of rating it higher the second time around. I can feel his exquisite designs through the prose of the pages, and if that’s so, what more can one ask for?

I drop to 4 from 4.5 stars, which would be extremely high for this sort of book, because I don’t think Maddex covers FLLW’s underpinnings for sometimes preferring small. Like valuing a difficult site, a successful job of making a small place feel big is better than actual big because it involves magic. True that? Maybe not quite, but if the question even comes up, you’ve done well. All the principles laid out in the book I already knew, but she covers them with examples, and I don’t think there’s another book with the same pretty darn important angle.

The style shows the influence of Emerson and Nietzsche, which is great–it’s the iconoclast speaking. There is much mention of America and democracy, more than of humanity writ large. And how refreshing–or provocative–his constant unrelenting simple disdain for the ancient Greeks.

Well, it’s the only book I think by the man, he was too busy the rest of his adult life doing the thing rather than writing about it. It does show a wee bit, as do the influence of Emerson and Nietzsche. Which is a good thing, it’s the iconoclast speaking, but he doesn’t quite elucidate the chain of reasoning to the very end, as in, how does this all contribute to making us happier. Maybe he doesn’t because he believes it’s self-evident; the integrities he speaks of and describes, they are sufficient in themselves as good to rub off as good. He says somewhere that the new architecture either prophecies or is an expression of the great new age to come, and it seems that even he can’t quite make up his mind, though I think the corroboration and his own experience tells him that yes, architecture is important, the rooms we live in are important. They are good for the spirit and the spirit is the part of us that most permeates the rest. Hmm, already I’m writing much more about this book in this forum than any other I’ve ever read. Well, I love the man, I love the hallowed yet neither sacred nor profane feeling of his homes. Oak Park, Taliesin, Fallingwater, Hollyhock, the ones I’ve seen. What a canvas he had, the entire country. Makes me feel increasingly alienated from Britain. Once again, even now, though nothing like as much as Italy, life feels like limbo.

He mentions American and democracy a lot. Is it an affectation, or simply how he thought and what he thought about. A big patriot as well. It’s unusual except for politicians for people these days to speak so much about America. He mentions it more than he does humanity, I’m pretty sure. And houses and pictures I had not seen in other publications. Stuff not as striking, but this book is about Usonian stuff, the more affordable stuff.

For the first time I’ve elevated it to 4 here. His constant unrelenting simple disdain for the Greeks – how refreshing.

What a book to love. It’s a Dover, first off, my favorite publishers. Cheap and important. The cover makes the same-old view dramatic again. And somehow the book feels like the place. How is that possible? Perhaps it’s because the photos are in black and white, so that I feel almost more exposed to the bones of the thing than I did when visiting. The back picture is perfect as well: the guest house living room. What lies between? The entrance loggia. My my my. What can be so cheesy is so perfect and lush. And the hint of the magical steps.

Lovely pics–I’m increasingly believing that Maddex has chosen some of the seminal stuff. It’s a book I return to often, albeit almost exclusively for the pictures.