When Frank Lloyd Wright Seems Wrong: Visiting Taliesin
ANNETTE ON THE ROAD: At Taliesin, Architect Frank Lloyd Wright's Wisconsin Home
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🎵Soo long, Frank Lloyd Wright… 🎶
There's a reason that song is vague. Paul Simon didn't know much about Frank Lloyd Wright when he wrote it. It was, I read, less of a salute to America’s most famous architect, and more of a snarky goodbye to his soon-to-be-ex singing partner Art Garfunkel, who had once been an architecture student.
Like Paul Simon, I don't know much about Frank Lloyd Wright. But I do love a good house museum, especially one that gives a powerful sense of the late owners’ presence. Two well-known examples: Winston and Clementine Churchill's Chartwell, and FDR’s (but not Eleanor's) Little White House, both of which captured my imagination.
Self-guided tours let me linger and soak up the atmosphere, maybe imagine the ghostly owners. Yeah, I know that’s weird, but cut me some slack, how do you think I write fiction?
So you can see why I'm less enthusiastic about guided tours. But I don’t always get a choice, as happened at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin in Spring Green, Wisconsin.
Our tour guide was (no shock) a Wisconsinite, all kindly cheerfulness and politeness. But that could not disguise that the story she was telling about Frank Lloyd Wright and Taliesin, in respectful, even reverential, tones, actually raised doubts in my mind about the greatness of the man and his work.
I bet that wasn’t the goal.
Frank Lloyd Wright Won't Let Me Use His Loo
I arrived at Taliesin's Visitor Center on a fine sunny morning for the two-hour version of the tour of house and garden, ready to be wowed. And for a ridiculous $58, the most I've ever paid for a house tour, that was reasonable, right?
As usual, I was with my spouse, Hoosen (short for He Who Shall Not Be Named On The Internets, or HWSNBNOTI, aka Hoosen Benoti) and, today, with Hoosen, Jr. our college-age offspring,
We three perused the gift shop while awaiting the shuttle that would take us up to the house. First off: The merch was exceptionally pricy. Even a cool pair of art socks (normally $9 in museum stores) cost $18.95. Since we had shelled out more than $160 for the tour, I guess it was assumed we would all load up on Frank Lloyd Wright stuff regardless of price.
Nope.
When we collected our tickets, we were also informed that there would be no restroom breaks on the tour, or restroom at the house.
This is a Brit’s worst nightmare. Finding a loo is a national obsession.
I looked beadily at the ticket girl. “That seems optimistic, given your elderly audience,” I said. “What about emergencies?” Nope, no restrooms. I got the dismissive reply of a young employee who doesn't make the rules, but who has to listen to the wrinkly people's complaints, and who can't imagine not being twenty forever. Two hours with no loos? At all? Not even a porta potty behind the shrubbery? No wonder they don't have a tea room.
And we're paying how much?
Full Disclosure: At that moment, I was not well disposed to Taliesin. At the very least, it had just failed the hospitality test by which I measure every museum. Also, I have a bladder not unlike Mr. Godfrey’s in Dad’s Army.
Fortunately, it didn't become an issue. But it could have. Which kind of was a worry for the next two hours.
Meet The Fabulous Mr. Mackintosh
Surprise! Before I take you with me round Taliesin, let's talk about this guy first.
Why? Look, I'm no expert in art and design, much less architecture, but I'm a fan of iconic Scottish architect/designer/Edwardian cutie Charles Rennie Mackintosh, who was Frank Lloyd Wright’s contemporary.
So that’s the period knowledge I brought to Taliesin, just a tiny bit of context. Hey, it’s better than nothing. The more context I have, honestly, the more literate I feel, and the better I appreciate a historic site. But I absolutely can't know even a little about everything, and I usually go to historic houses anyway, because why not? I might come away with a new interest.
Mackintosh and Wright had a surprising amount in common, including being irresistible to women.
Born in 1868, Mackintosh was almost exactly one year younger than Frank Lloyd Wright.
Just like Wright, Mackintosh’s designs gained a much greater following after World War II. Sadly, poor Mackintosh wasn’t around to enjoy his renaissance. He died aged 60 in 1928, while Wright lived on and on, even giving TV interviews before finally checking out in 1959.
Mackintosh’s greatest architectural accomplishment, the Glasgow School of Art, fell victim to a devastating fire just days before we were due to visit in 2014. We had tickets and everything. Sniffle.
But I have TWICE toured (and taken afternoon tea at) the restored Willow Tearooms (1903) in Glasgow. I have also TWICE toured The Hill House, which Mackintosh (and his colleague, about whom more shortly) built, decorated, and furnished for publisher Walter Blackie in Helensburgh, near Glasgow. Current adult admission for The Hill House: $18 (take note, Taliesin).
Completed in 1904, The Hill House was well ahead of its time. When you visit, you get a great sense of that , because the Blackie family, although huge fans of modern design, were also sentimentally attached to their dining room furniture.
Walking into the era-appropriate Victorian dining room is startling after touring the hallway and living room. In 1904, visitors to The Hill House must have felt like they were visiting a spaceship. Here's what greets you as you enter:
Yet The Hill House wasn't all Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s work. The driving force in designing the interior, indeed the senior partner in creating what we know as the Mackintosh look, was….
Wait for it…
Mrs. Mackintosh.
What, you thought I was going to say Frank Lloyd Wright?
Sorry to disappoint. No, as usual, it was the invisible spouse. Margaret Macdonald, a celebrated artist of her time, is finally getting credit where it’s due as co-creator of Mackintosh style.
I bring all this up before turning to Taliesin because I want to cast doubt on the Solitary Genius Who's Usually a Guy myth. Because that's not how things work. Not in science. Not in art. Not in architecture.
Any resemblance between Frank Lloyd Wright's work and that of Mackintosh isn't a coincidence. This is not because one was ripping off the other, or because they worked together. I don't know that they were even aware of each other's existence. But you gotta admit, their designs weren't totally dissimilar, and the common idea that Wright alone paved the way for modern design at the turn of the last century? Wrong.
I'm going out on a limb here, so (as ever) don’t just believe me as I ramble. Their work took place in an era where ideas were being exchanged around the nation, and world, and even as we will insist in singling out a single figure and worshipping him (it’s usually a him), we ignore how cultures as well as individuals create. Frank Lloyd Wright brought home two railroad cars of Asian art after finishing the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo, and maybe we need to take seriously that those artists had something to do with his style, too.
This idea, that a lot of the past and present are crowd-sourced, is going to be a theme in Non-Boring History, which, by the way, is also an exercise in collaboration. I could not write all this without the often unsung work of historians, journalists, museum professionals, the loyal dedication of Hoosen Benoti, and, indeed, engaged readers like you.
And with all this in mind, we’ll now return to my tour of UNESCO World Heritage site Taliesin, and its presentation of The Great Man, referred to respectfully, even reverentially, on site as Mr. Wright or FrankLloydWright, like you can't prise his last name away from his first and middle.
An Intro to House and Man
Taliesin is pronounced Tal (rhymes with pal) ee ess in. It’s Welsh, we’re told, and means “shining brow” like the brow of the hill where the house is situated, overlooking the beautiful valley which FrankLloydWright’s Welsh grandparents had originally purchased.
Taliesin has less in common with Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s Hill House than it does with its neighbor The House on the Rock (THOTR) which I visited and wrote about recently.
That’s only a surprise because, well, The House on the Rock is a hilarious roadside attraction, and Taliesin is a Very Serious UNESCO World Heritage Site (Hill House isn’t yet honored as one of those, despite being older than Taliesin and, I’m going to get this out of the way, more impressive.)
Just like THOTR, Taliesin has a prong sticking out of it into space (in this case, a long narrow balcony for birdwatching) which I am not going to dwell on.
Taliesin is, like THOTR, intended to blend with its natural environment.
Like THOTR, Taliesin sprawls, and is bigger than it looks from the outside.
Other features the two places share: They include very low ceilings. There's a lot of Asian theming. Plus they both cost a lot to get in: $30 for THOTR and, just to remind you, $58 for Taliesin.
Neither has a proper cafe. THOTR does pizza, hot dogs, and such. Taliesin (in fairness, thanks to COVID) offers pre-made cheffy sandwiches and so on in the gift shop fridge.
That these two neighboring places should resemble each other is not a surprise: Either THOTR is a homage to Taliesin, or (more likely) it's taking the mickey on a literally massive scale.
Taliesin, in its own way, though, is an even stranger place than THOTR.
At first, the Taliesin tour was as expected. Our little group, in which, except for Hoosen, Jr., I was the youngest, gazed respectfully at a long sloping roof on one wing of the house.
Actually, to show off my deep knowledge of architecture, this roof reminded me of the original Peppermill Casino in Reno, Nevada. That’s probably not a coincidence, since Wright-era architecture took off after WWII, which was when the Peppermill was built. Never went there myself, but some of the adults I knew as a teen in Sacramento were fans, so somebody must have sent me a postcard.
Prompted by our guide at Taliesin, we tried to appreciate how the house blended with the brow of the hill. Yes. Very organic and natural. I guess. I'm not always the most aesthetically sensitive person.
Mind you, I will say the setting for Taliesin is lovely. This green valley was where Wright's grandparents settled in the 1840s, struck by the area’s resemblance to their native Wales. Meanwhile, the Swiss who later settled nearby New Glarus were reminded of Switzerland. That, too.
We strolled along the long sprawling front of the house on the gravel driveway. The guide explained that the location of the front door wasn't obvious, because FrankLloydWright wanted his visitors to walk the length of his house, and admire.
“All very well,” I said, “until someone needs to deliver a pizza.”
Joking aside, I did think it was a bit inconsiderate. This set off a tiny, distant alarm bell in my head. Why do that?
The guide pointed to a second floor overhanging window, alarmingly supported by two wooden buttresses. There, we were told, is the home of a 97 year old woman, who was one of the students at Wright's architecture school, which was until recently housed in Taliesin itself. And she is still there.
Impressive, and also, well, I'll just put it like this, surprising. I've heard of perpetual students, even met them. But this has to be some kind of record.
Before leading us up the steps, the guide then told us about the horrific day in 1914 when, in Wright's absence, Taliesin’s butler went berserk, murdered Wright's partner (shocking stuff in 1914, the unmarried partner, not the murder) and her two kids from her first marriage, and then locked several staffers in the dining room before setting fire to the residence and killing them all.
Our tour group was fascinated, of course. What could have driven Frank Lloyd Wright’s butler to such a desperate and horrific act? Hmm.
And then I remembered something.
“There's a whole book about that!” I piped up. I didn't admit that it's the only book I've actually read about FLW.
The group looked interested, but our guide looked at me oddly, and started talking about a novel she assumed I had meant. But no, the book I read was definitely nonfiction. I thought perhaps she wanted to change the subject. But she did ask for a title. Which I couldn't remember (awkward).
But I have found it:
William R. Drennan, Death in a Prairie House (University of Wisconsin Press)
And look! It's from the University of Wisconsin press, and written by a retired UWM English professor! It’s worthy and academic, I tell you.
Things That Don’t Fit
In a narrow outside passageway, our tour group waited to enter the house. The ceiling of the breezeway was low. Very low.
This, apparently, was part of FrankLloydWright’s cunning plan: The idea was that you would leave this confined low space outside and enter his studio (actually, a big living room) with its vaulted ceilings, and feel released.
I had a problem with this. FrankLloydWright claimed to be 5’ 8”, but was actually 5’ 6”, so in no danger of scraping his head in the breezeway. Hoosen, Jr., easily the tallest of the three of us, was very much in danger of scraping his head. Scalp lacerations seem a poor way to greet your guests. Or lost pizza delivery guys looking for the door, come to that.
We entered a high-ceilinged living room that looked like something from 1980s Sacramento. Again, not a coincidence (see postwar architecture, above). So I shouldn’t have been surprised that I found this room less than thrilling because, well, it’s not like it’s new to me.
Hoosen, Jr., who isn’t that familiar with mid-century modern houses in Sacramento, but is keen on architecture, was starting to look a bit skeptical.
His skepticism grew with learning how a lot of the house and furniture involved plywood. Like this lamp, a copy of which costs about $1000 (not a typo) in the gift shop, but which, up close, and without first being trained in how to view it by art experts, looks a bit . . . lame. Like you would laugh at it at first, until you learned it was by Frank Lloyd Wright, and then you would hastily revise your opinion to avoid looking dimwitted.
About this time on the tour, we learned something that set off another little alarm bell in my head.
In the 1930s, when FrankLloydWright was struggling to make a living during the Depression, he started a graduate school for architecture, all by himself, at Taliesin. In other words, he took apprentices.
Okay, that's interesting. Young adults came to Taliesin, and he taught them architecture. But if you picture him leading a seminar or standing in front of a lecture hall, forget it. No, FrankLloydWright, with his skimpy academic credentials, believed you learn by doing, not studying. Again, fair enough.
So he had his students build extensions to Taliesin. You know, actual building.
Like saws, hammers, going up ladders. To build his house.
Hold it. What?
Now we entered a tiny anteroom of the studio/living room. This was a sort of library/dining/whatever room that was tacked on. This, we learned, was once a separate bedroom with a door where some of the Fellows (students) lived, so they were nearby if the Great Man had ideas in the night and wanted to summon them to work. Apparently, sleeping wasn’t his thing. Or allowed to be theirs.
This was now starting to sound distinctly culty.
I had to remind myself not to make snap judgments. I reminded myself that I needed more context, more cultural relativism, more knowledge, as I pompously explained recently to a friend who implied that Gainsborough might have been a pedophile because he painted Blue Boy. (Um, no, for so many reasons.)
I decided I had to reserve judgment until I knew more, and had read more books about Frank Lloyd Wright.
And yet. I had walked into The Hill House knowing little about Charles Rennie Mackintosh, and was absolutely captivated by the place. Taliesin didn’t captivate me. And I don't think it was just because of the lack of loos.
At the residential wing (twice burned down, once by the deranged butler), a staff member greeted us from the doorway, in a wonderful Wisconsin accent that implied she might shortly serve us Bundt cake because she liked us. She pointed out the kitchen, which we would only see through the outside window, and, disappointingly, showed no evidence of Bundt cakes. The kitchen was seriously tiny for such a big house. Mr. Wright, the staffer said, didn’t like service areas to be large, or much seen.
I was suddenly reminded of Thomas Jefferson, who deliberately hid service areas and the enslaved people who worked in them under his lawn. So unseemly and mundane. Hmm.
We entered another, larger living space. It starred a grand piano (not pictured), where FrankLloydWright liked to tickle the ivories. Notice Wright’s chairs around the table by the fireplace, which look very much like Arts and Crafts, Mackintosh, and other period designs, but for which FrankLloydWright gets credit for solitary genius.
This living room was, our guide informed us, where the Wrights held parties for honored guests. At these gatherings, the Fellows were supposed to develop their social skills (yeah, while pouring wine and offering around canapes on trays, I thought cynically, with NO EVIDENCE WHATSOEVER).
Fellows also provided entertainment on these occasions, by singing, dancing, or playing instruments, which was all intended as part of their education.
I wondered if I might get students like this? I'll teach you the proper way to think like a historian, if you pay me handsomely to live in my basement, build the west wing, and entertain my guests!
The last room we saw (the fourth or fifth living room, I forget) boasted an original 1950s shag carpet in electric blue. If we can blame FrankLloydWright for shag carpet, I say, go for it.
And there, on his bookcase, I spotted it. A bust of Thomas Jefferson.
The tour guide, noticing me taking a picture, said Mr. Wright admired Jefferson for being the architect of his own home, Monticello. Honestly, I wondered if Wright envied his large staff of enslaved people.
I can’t help having cynical thoughts on house tours, and especially on reverential house tours.
But the thing about this Taliesin tour was that, despite this worship, if you had arrived ready to develop respect for Frank Lloyd Wright, man and architect, there was a pretty good chance you were going to leave a little discomfited. We certainly did.
One problem is that the house is falling apart. Consider the room held up by wooden buttresses. And then the bottom row of stone steps from driveway to house that is sinking. And the leaking roof.
And those low ceilings.
In the shag carpet room, Hoosen, Jr. again scraped his head on the ceiling.
Maybe low ceilings were a brilliant, inspiring idea.
Or maybe, just maybe, Frank Lloyd Wright was really bad at measuring things.
I came to Taliesin with the vague idea that I was a budding Wright fan who just needed to become more knowledgeable.
I left thinking that maybe I had fallen for the Josiah Wedgwood treatment: Important and influential people say Wright is uniquely talented, a great man, and therefore he is.
I left, in fact, with the distinct impression that Frank Lloyd Wright was actually an overrated jerk.
And I wasn’t alone. Hoosen, Jr, who was similarly disappointed by the house and unimpressed by what we learned about Wright as teacher, has inherited his mother’s bluntness, but, fortunately, his father’s tact.
When we were safely off the premises, however, Hoosen, Jr. intoned, as if narrating a documentary, “In 1929, architect Frank Lloyd Wright disappeared up his own [butt].” Some of my readers are delicate, so I have censored what Hoosen, Jr. actually said.
He also complained that he'd been expecting magnificent architecture, and instead was sold the Winchester Mystery House.
Things Fall Apart
So this was something else that Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Frank Lloyd Wright have in common: Their houses fall apart.
They were innovative, you see. They used cutting-edge techniques and state-of-the-art materials, like cement instead of traditional lime. That didn’t work out too well. Here’s what is happening with The Hill House. They had to enclose it because it was damp and leaky. Imagine: A house that leaks in rain. In Scotland.
Similarly, some of Wright’s innovative houses have also turned into decrepit money pits. It all sounds like a metaphor for the 20th century, really.
But before you dismiss me as an ignorant fool (and you might be right, or Wright, for that matter), recall that I freely profess my ignorance, and did not intend to scoff. I am still prepared to be impressed by other examples of Wright’s work, say, Falling Water, or Taliesin West (in Arizona), and promise I will read more about Wright before I go.
I am also capable of separating admiration for architectural design from engineering skill, and from the man himself.
It would be nice to visit Taliesin again one day, when COVID is done, when the visitor facilities are improved and/or the price lowered. I would like to tour with a serious look at the architecture, or else to learn about a famous but flawed man.
Or to at least hear some context about other architects and designers of the period.
If we want actual knowledge, and not the info lite we get from the internet, Cliff Notes, TED talks, house tours, or, indeed, Non-Boring History, then we have to read books. House tours inspire and entertain, but they’re not really how we learn except in the most superficial ways, and if we're interested in real learning, we should be willing to work a bit on it. If not, that’s OK.
But that's really the only way to tell Wright from wrong.
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This was AMAZING. Thanks for this fascinating and hilarious description. I will admit to not knowing a whole lot about FLW other than that his furniture is almost always uncomfortable and he was crap at designing roofs. I also know that my dad is always on me to go visit the Dana-Thomas house in Springfield, Illinois (largely because anyone named Dana is likely to be related) and now I am more curious than ever, especially because it's free! But for now, there's a virtual tour if you want to spread your FLW wings a bit further. (I should watch it myself). https://dana-thomas.org/
This was great - so funny! At least FLW doesn't seem to have been as bad as Eric Gill ... I never knew that Art Garfunkel studied architecture. You are a fountain of wonderful facts, Annette ...