Falling Water

Although it's been in the best possible way, Thanksgiving weekend in Pittsburgh more or less consisted of two primal elements - eating and exercising. Feasting and attempting to counteract the thigh plumping consumption with vigorous daily activity. Hoping to achieve the improbable result of not gaining a pound even though you are well aware by the residual sugars in your mouth that you have done more than your part to kill three of the five pies served on Thanksgiving Day.

So after two plus days of the eat and run/walk/bounce the baby/throw the football/play lacrosse routine down, I felt like Saturday called for some culture. I felt like I needed a day of enlightenment where I could resurrect and relish in my degree in art and architectural history - a rare degree serving about .005% of the population.

Having previously toured all the museums in Pittsburgh with Peter, and given that it was one of the balmiest November days ever, I decided that we should venture outside of Pittsburgh, into the mountains, and onto the property of Falling Water, Frank Lloyd Wright's pivotal residential masterpiece built for the Kaufmann family in 1939 over Bear Run Falls. So my sister, Peter and I made a day trip out of it.

The little architectural excursion came at a perfect time actually, as I put the final details on the ranch renovation brief for our future contractor. Although nowhere near the scale and genius of Falling Water, there are aspects of our retro home that call to mind Wright - aspects that if redesigned under some of the principles of Falling Water, could help make it more than a box. 

First, the theme of organic architecture perfectly embodied in Falling Water - a retreat where man could truly be one with nature - with the sound, dynamism, and power of the Falls. Wright seamlessly fused inside and out: The woodland springs and landscaping flow naturally into the house; The boulders that the house was built upon almost magically emerge from the limestone floor; And the lines, textures and colors meld with its surroundings as if the home was always meant to be there.

Second, the open floor plan - another Wright signature. Wright was a strong proponent of family centered life, so in his homes he built community spaces free of walls, where the family could be united in space despite being segmented by their various activities. All was centered at the hearth though - the heart of the home - a warming, illuminating, massive element that brought character, charm, and togetherness to the house. 

Wright sought to destroy the box at Fallingwater. He hated 'the box.' (And in it's very nature, surely, would hate our ranch.) Through designing nooks and niches in the house, lowering the ceilings forcing your gaze outside, employing the circle and semicircle to soften the planar lines, and pushing glass and steel straight against the stone to diminish the role of the wall, he freed the house from corners and compartmentalization. Instead you want to continue to move through the house - and with it, from inside to outside, room to room, natural element to natural element.

Finally, Wright used cantilevers, trays more or less, solidified on immense boulders and thrust over the Falls like diving boards, plunging almost miraculously over space. The result is a house nearly floating in air, suspended over the falls. It is magical.

So, from Falling Water to add to the ranch renovation brief:

• Organic, open design that fuses inside and outside. 
• Need ways to destroy the seven or so smaller boxes that make up the big box we live in. 
• We don't have a hearth, but our stove is the heart of the house.
• We lack space - perhaps using a cantilever and adding a tray off the back could open the house up more. 
• Oh, and unlike Falling Water, stay on budget. But if you can find the skilled Falling Water laborers that cost 75 cents an hour, that would be great. 

At the end of our tour, we figured it had been long enough without a meal - we had earned our picnic. So we ate. And then moved on to Ohiopyle to hike it off.

Lo.