Monday, December 20, 2010

Easier seen than done

When last we visited the friable, if fertile structures of Frank Lloyd Wright, at the urging of Philip Johnson, we ran into the Lally column in the living room, against the drooping cantilever. Satan in construction's curious canon, gravity. Impromptu perpendiculars play hell with circula-tion, though glossy they are bossy in their upright concentration.

But now the maintenance of life's materials lands squarely on our desk, to test our own commitment to their conservation. Our beloved Guggenheim is patched and spiffy once again, and various other charities flock to spackle what's left of the Master's crumbling legacy. Yet who can say he hasn't had to make choices in his own priorities of repair, as the taste for things of elegant projection lays claim upon the highest maintenance? The builder's work seems never to be done - and just when one thought one might cash out one's chips, somewhat ahead for the night, there's dawn to light a crumbling cornice, a buckling buttress needing bolstering . .


Yet still the thirst for the heroic is not strained, computer-assisted design going only so far to nourish its requirements. The imagination can tell you only what you want, it can't deliver it on a plate. This tiresome lesson leads many into compromise, and others into trade, but at the end of the day, a thing meets specifica-tions or it does not. 
For a few, the great, unbending arc of time inspires the diligentest use of it; the romance of the thrilling edifice is engineer enough. And we find them, coiled as if a chord to spring a tangent from its center. But even they depend on a solid footing, and that does look like a bother.





Frank Lloyd Wright
Edgar J. Kaufmann House, 1935-39
Bear Run, Pennsylvania


5 comments:

  1. I didnt see any of these young lovelies when i visited, so alas was not tempted.

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  2. Here, at last, I sensed that the chronic pressure of satire, so pitiable in most of these postings, had been lanced enough to flush the cat out of the bag; but evidently not. Very well, then we shall play it straight.

    You know what tempts moi about this supersucky trampoline of a building, Dink? It's the thought of hauling the entire family of Saltimbanques from Picasso's lugubrious canvas, to jump up and down and execute various backflips and somersaults in random harmonic order upon its upper porch, to shatter this soggy pizza crust of an overhang or shear it off, once and for awely-all, just for the ecstatic relief of every boy who's ever ached to smash one of those alluring but prohibited fire alarm boxes, so intimidating an entire city would probably burn around him before yielding to temptation during waking hours. But of course, you're right, temptation's kind of a personal thing. I guess.

    I crave your next visit! I am going to find out what makes you laugh, if I have to sell my last set of shuffleboard plates from the Normandie, just to buy one exquisite joke. Life's too short to blog so long, yes?

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  3. Still much too close to your default condition. I shall find you out, Toms!

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