A Case Against Frank Lloyd Wright: Architect

Few would dispute that Frank Lloyd Wright is a giant of architecture. We need not delve deeply into his life and career. Any decent bookstore features two shelves worth of books on the man, leading a casual browser in the Architecture section to believe that Wright is the only architect who matters. We all know as much about him as we want to, and even a disinterested person knows who he is and why he matters. So, I don’t have to do a Ken Burns on you; I only want to question Wright’s classification as a Great Architect.

What prompts this questioning was an article from Preservation magazine called “Holding Up Fallingwater.” It illustrated the structural rehabbing of the terraces and framework of the iconic house that Wright designed in 1936. The lower concrete terrace sagged from level by as much as 7” (visible to the naked eye), and when warned by engineers in 1995 of “possible massive structural failure and collapse,” the conservators jacked up the building so it wouldn’t fall apart while they figured how to save the architectural milestone.

They also dealt with water leaks in the roof seams, window seals and skylights. The continual water damage had wrought cracking walls, peeling paint, warping doors and rotting artworks. $11 million was needed to restore what was once the vacation home of a man who reportedly referred to the place as “Rising Mildew”, and has been open as a public museum since 1964.

Floors were ripped out so concrete-anchoring blocks with steel cables could be inserted to keep the structure from sagging any further. The irony of this particular repair was surely not lost on any surviving engineers and contractors who ignited the wrath of Wright in 1936 when they questioned the lack of support rods in his structural specifications. To avoid further irritating the architect – who threatened to quit if they didn’t do it his way – the builders simply snuck in twice as many steel enforcing rods as called for when Wright had his back turned. It still wasn’t enough, apparently, but you could only cram in so many extra rods while Frank was out to lunch.

Due to unorthodox construction and materials, most of Wright’s houses require constant maintenance against water damage. Movie producer Joel Silver lived in the Los Angeles Storer House, designed by Wright in 1924. He had to solve the problem of water leaking through his concrete walls. From an April 1998 Architectural Digest article on the house:
“In fact, Wright’s tendency to sacrifice practical considerations to aesthetic ones led him to admit that the labor needed for his singular concrete-block system made it too expensive for affordable housing. In any event, ideas like ruling out sealers so that a rough finish for the textile blocks could be achieved were highly impractical; the walls leaked – as did the roof – because of equally eccentric flashing applications. These and other problems were eventually solved through a process of trial and error of which Silver says matter-of-factly, ‘Wright lives with me. If you fight him, you lose.’”

From Architecture magazine, November 1989:
“Leaks are a given in any Wright house. Indeed, the architect has been notorious not only for his leaks but his flippant dismissals of clients’ complaint. He reportedly asserted that, ‘If the roof doesn’t leak, the architect hasn’t been creative enough.’”

When researching the engineering defects and customer complaints of Wright-designed residences, I can’t shake the stereotype of a pretentious and bratty artiste abusing the largess of monied patrons who are willing to tolerate such behavior in hopes that their social status will reflect the golden light of artistic genius. This is a commonly accepted personality trait of Great Artists.

Architecture is most certainly an art, but one with inherent limitations because it concerns making structures that people use and depend on. The artistic aspirations of a building must successfully meld with the client’s intended function for it and the builders’ ability to construct it firmly and accurately (also known as the Vitruvian triad of beauty, commodity and firmness).

Creating a building is much like shooting a film with the architect as director, the engineer as producer, the carpenters as the film crew and the client as the audience who will pay to view the finished product. This cooperative concept was accurately summed up by professor and inspiring analytical thinker Witold Rybczynski in his book Looking Around:
“…a building exists not solely as a vehicle for the skills or expression of the architect but as an object with a function… This prevents the architect from developing what is usually the hallmark of an artist: a consistent personal style. Or, at least it should.”

A large percentage of Wright’s visionary reputation centers on his complete control of every design detail. From roof to throw rug to how the furniture he designed should be placed in a room, no aspect of his houses could exist unless he said so. The concerns and needs of clients and builders were ignored and treated like the football a small boy threatens to take back if his playground pals won’t let him be full-time quarterback.

His art was the most important concern and his contempt for the residents who would eventually live in the piece was palpable. If seen from the viewpoint of the sculptor dismayed by the pigeon poop and lounging people on his statue, you can empathize with the artist whose work is compromised. But if a patron then tried to live on this commissioned sculpture, we’d laugh at their lunacy and side with the artist who never intended the statue to be used in such a manner. This is how it is with Wright’s houses.

The architectural community sides with the artistic brilliance of Wright, and his vision has forever altered the celebrity and prestige of the profession. The creative ideals and standards Wright perfected continue to be an inspirational starting-point for many modern architects. Wright claimed he was chiefly concerned with making houses that would encourage spiritual comfort for the families living within. There are enough documented complaints from bewildered owners to prove he failed at this lofty goal. Families have come to learn that it’s not just a bum house that requires constant maintenance, but rather the care and feeding of an important work of art.

That people with plenty of money and patience could be taught to overlook practical failings for the sake of art was a monumental discovery. Wright achieved artistic perfection despite the pesky requirements of owners; he proved that architecture could exist as an uncompromised high art, divorced from the practicality that had previously accompanied it for centuries.

To subsequent architects, his technical failings matter not when compared with his artistic brilliance. This may be why many practitioners seem perfectly happy to have demoted the physical sciences necessary for sound buildings in order to concentrate solely on design. Wright was Ground Zero of this concept.

As a longtime fan of Wright, I too often find the intense visual pleasure of his work ruined by his crappy track record and his disregard of adhering to sound architectural principles. He was a lousy architect, but an outstanding and pioneering artist. I am tired of balancing incredulity and admiration, and I see only one solution.

With all humility (i.e., I don’t have an architectural or art degree!), I’m requesting a reclassification of Frank Lloyd Wright from The Greatest Architect to The Greatest Artist of the 20th Century. My case is based on the following points:

He forever changed the rules and boundaries of a classical art form. He didn’t let the limitations of the ancient craft of architecture reign in his creativity. Architecture was merely a springboard to hurl him over the boundaries and onto a new plain. If great art inspires others to explore further and forge new paths of expression, he qualifies just from the hordes of architects who have followed in his steps.

He created revolutionary art with new materials. Rather than pencil, paint, stone or clay, he used real world, life-sized three-dimensional building materials. Paper or canvas was not the proper place for realizing his ideals; only mixed media could bring his vision to light. The frames for his work measure thousands of square feet mounted directly to the earth, and no one since has been able to use his medium with such assurance and adeptness.

He designed and built his own art galleries. Not only did he get funding to create amazing pieces that were arranged in powerful installations, but he also designed the perfect buildings to show them in. Many patrons pushed the bounds of propriety by living in his galleries, but they often came to their senses before mussing the essence of his works.

His galleries become museums. After removing their personal belongings, patrons donate these galleries to foundations who turn them into museums dedicated to preserving his art for the delight and education of present and future generations. That we are able to view his works in their entirety, and that they continue to profoundly move us, proves the museum designations a sound historical decision.

The opportunity to own any of his works is increasingly rare and expensive. Wright was insistent that every piece of his work remained as it was designed and placed. To get rid of a table or a light fixture was akin to chopping a toe off Michelangelo’s David. Many have accepted this as a wise artistic decision and have left things intact. But when the foolish let go of individual pieces, they are snapped up by enlightened and wealthy people who covet them, as any truly great work of art should be. That the pieces retain their beauty and power when removed from the original context is testament to his clarity of vision and mastery of design. A person who owns a Wright piece then displays them as one would any important fine art object. Company would never be allowed to sit in one of his chairs or walk across one of his rugs. That would be as preposterous as using the Mona Lisa as a bulletin board.

These are towering artistic achievements that make Andy Warhol’s pop culture statements look like birthday candles on a cupcake. Analyzing Frank Lloyd Wright from a fine art point of view places him firmly in the pantheon of the giants of art, and with no serious competition for title of The Greatest Artist of the 20th Century.

When we insist upon defining and analyzing him as an architect, the emperor is seen standing naked inside a glass house. It is a disservice to his importance when someone like me can find reason to throw a stone. Having presented this case, I can now put down my slingshot and resume admiring Frank Lloyd Wright.