Falling for Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater

A room-by-room tour of the UNESCO World Heritage masterpiece in southwestern Pennsylvania, where nature and modern architecture coexist in breathtaking harmony. Plus: What a place to skinny-dip!

Duke and Wally pose by the aptly named Iconic View of the home. The cantilevered terraces unite the indoor and outdoor spaces, blurring the lines between nature and architecture.

Every summer, my parents visit Wally and me in Chicago for a long weekend. We always have a great time together, and this year we decided to mix things up by taking a short trip to Pittsburgh. The four of us had already toured two of Frank Lloyd Wright’s residences, the Martin House in Buffalo and Graycliff in Derby, New York. We chose Pittsburgh because of its proximity to Fallingwater, and since my parents were driving, we set aside a day to experience it together. 

The rushing waters of Bear Run stream were especially feisty after the rain.

Pro tip: Get there early and explore the grounds. When we checked in at the Fallingwater Visitor Center kiosk, one of the staff members provided us with a map and suggested we visit the Iconic View platform. She informed us that it wasn’t part of our tour — and we were glad we made the trek to see it. It’s a short 10-minute walk down the trail to the aptly named viewing platform, which is easy to follow and accessible to most people. This is the money shot folks, and we guarantee that you’ll appreciate the stunning views of Fallingwater, the waterfall and the surrounding landscape.

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LEARN MORE ABOUT THE ORIGINS OF FALLINGWATER, from the geological inspiration to the friendship between Edgar J. Kaufmann and Frank Lloyd Wright. 

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The Edgar J. Kauffman Sr. Residence aka Fallingwater looks picture perfect from any angle. The color of the terraces and the bridge were chosen by Wright to match the underside of a dying rhododendron leaf, or sere.

Fallingwater: The House That Wright Built 

As we rounded the bend in the gravel path the sound of rushing water intensified and filled our ears. There, nestled among the abundant native rhododendrons and trees, was Fallingwater. Perched on a precipice above a rushing waterfall, the historic weekend retreat built for the Kaufmann family was even more awe-inspiring in person than I had imagined. Its cantilevered terraces appeared to float, extending outward like a precarious stack of Jenga blocks moments before toppling.

The original budget for Fallingwater was $35,000, but the final cost (including the guesthouse) ballooned to $155,000. To put this in perspective, an average house cost $5,000 to build in the late 1930s.

We paused on the concrete bridge leading to the main house and stopped to listen to our guide, Rod, who directed us to look at the plunge pool with the bronze sculpture Mother and Child by French artist Jacques Lipchitz set on the edge of the low stone wall enclosing it.

He explained to us that the Kaufmanns liked to get up in the morning and take a dip. Bear Run isn’t a swimming stream, so they would walk down the steps descending from the hatch in the living room and wade into the 4.5-foot-deep pool. Fed by a freshwater spring, its waters remain a brisk 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius) year-round. In fact on her first day at Fallingwater, Elsie Henderson, a Black woman who worked as a cook for the Kaufmann family, got an eyeful. She heard laughter from the kitchen window. When she looked outside she saw Edgar J. Kaufmann, Sr., his wife Liliane, and their guests frolicking in the chilly waters nude and remarked “what have I gotten myself into!”

The bronze sculpture Mother and Child by French artist Jacques Lipchitz depicts a legless mother with a child clinging to her back. It holds pride of place at the plunge pool.

We continued our walking tour and followed Rod to the back of the house, where the main entrance is concealed beneath a rectangular trellis covering the carport. This was by design: Wright wanted the Kaufmann’s to feel sheltered and secure. 

Fallingwater’s kitchen was so renowned for its ultramodern features and functionality that many suppliers were eager to promote the use of their products at the residence.

Fallingwater’s Kitchen of Tomorrow 

Before our group entered the main house we took a detour to the kitchen. Although small by today’s standards it was both functional and beautiful. Wright considered the kitchen to be a workspace, not a gathering place for the family. It was run by the indefatigable Elsie Henderson from 1946 to 1964, when the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy took over the house. 

After working for the Kaufmanns, Henderson went on to cook for the Kennedys in Hyannis Port. She returned to Pittsburgh to live out her life and passed away there in 2021 at the age of 107!

Henderson had an unobstructed view of the West Terrace, which features a cast iron Sung Dynasty (960-1279) Buddha head purchased by the Kaufmanns in 1951. Wright supposedly chose its placement himself. 

The house was completed in the mid-1930s and its kitchen featured modern amenities that were considered modern at the time. For example the countertops and Wright-designed work table were made of Formica, a recently patented laminate material. Kaufmann Sr. learned about it earlier than the general public because it was invented by engineers at Westinghouse Research Laboratories in 1935. The floor is made up of custom colored rubber tiles in Cherokee red, one of Wright’s signature colors. 

The goldenrod enameled steel cabinets in the kitchen came from St. Charles, an Illinois-based company that specialized in factory-made modular units and the preferred choice of Wright. St. Charles was a popular brand at the time, and were known for their high quality and durability. 

The kitchen also included a turquoise-lined Frigidaire refrigerator, a Kitchen-Aid dishwasher, double sinks, double warming trays and a wood-burning AGA Range Cooker, a technological marvel from Sweden and the invention of the Nobel Prize-winning physicist, Gustaf Dalén.

If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. The wood-burning AGA Range Cooker at Fallingwater was always radiating heat, which was probably not very pleasant in the summer.

AGA stoves were very expensive, but they were also very efficient. The stove had to burn all the time, and it didn’t have knobs or settings to adjust the temperature. 

Eventually Henderson complained about the amount of heat radiating from the stove and the Kaufmanns had it replaced with an AGA electric model.

The best seats in the house have a pair of earthenware wine decanters on either side of the built-in living room sofa.

Compression and Release: Entering the Living Room

The Kaufmanns kept a collection of walking sticks outside for guests to use on hikes. After their walks in the woods, guests could return to the house to wash their hands and feet at the small basin located between a pair of Pottsville sandstone support columns outside the entrance. 

Rod pointed out that we were being compressed before being released into the living room, a technique that Wright was well known for. As our group entered the monumental room, we immediately felt a sense of release. The open 1,800-square-foot interior space is the ultimate family gathering space. It has a central, symmetrical raised cove ceiling that uses diffused indirect fluorescent tube lighting. Edgar jr., the only son and child of Edgar J. Kaufmann, Sr., (E.J.), and Liliane, had seen this type of lighting used in a commercial application and requested that Wright integrate it into the design.

The living room also has a dining nook with a built-in table . Although it’s set for four, it could be extended using leaves stored in the buffet behind it.

Rod explained to us that everything inside Fallingwater is original to the Kaufmanns’ use of the home. Many of its objects and furnishings came from their eponymous Pittsburgh-based department store.

The Kaufmanns collaborated with the best suppliers in the country to create a truly unique home. Pittsburgh Plate Glass (PPG) rushed in the glass, while Armstrong supplied the cork flooring and wall tile — both firms headquartered in Pittsburgh. DuPont supplied the paint, Dunlop the foam rubber, Thrush the heating and Hope’s the steel window frames.

To keep unwanted hands off Fallingwater’s treasures, Rod asked our group to avoid leaning against, sitting on or touching anything inside the house.

He added that we’d be using the stairs and since Fallingwater was built before building codes, they’re aren’t any railings. With this in mind, visitors are allowed to use the ledges above the exposed sandstone walls to safely navigate the interior staircases.

Victor Hammer’s The Excursion, an oil portrait of E.J. as a hiker, with a walking stick, commissioned by Liliane in 1929 hangs opposite the dining room table.

There’s a music alcove near the entrance where the Kaufmanns would listen to records on their Capehart stereo turntable, and a reading alcove where they could sit and read. E.J., Liliane and Edgar jr. were academics who enjoyed spending time in their home surrounded by music and books.

The mod-looking Wright-designed banquettes are where the Kaufmanns would listen to music. Note the cabinet to the left that stored the turntable and records.

Facing the windows is a wood library desk designed by Wright and built around one of the room’s stone support columns. It’s a masterpiece of design, and incorporates all four of the main design motifs found throughout the house: horizontal lines, cantilevers, circles and semi-circles. There’s even a lozenge-shaped shelf that echoes the shape of the hatch behind the desk, which leads down to the stream.

While designing Fallingwater, Wright dictated that no rocks or boulders were to be destroyed or removed. His profound respect for nature resulted in a home that’s beautifully integrated into its natural surroundings. The boulder that forms the foundation of the house was incorporated into the room and serves as the hearth. Wright was quoted as saying, “The rock on which E.J. sits will be the hearth, coming right out of the floor, the fire burning just behind it.”

The hearth of Fallingwater with one of the original wooden stump stools used by the Kaufmanns serves as a mini bar.

A round, Cherokee red kettle hangs on the left side of the fireplace, nestled into a concave indentation that fits it perfectly. It was meant to swing out over the fire to serve mulled wine, however it was ultimately relegated to being a conversation piece since the metal was so thick it took 10 hours to heat up.

The spherical cauldron is pretty to look at, but not so great at heating mulled wine. The wrought iron fireplace trident was forged by master metalsmith Samuel Yellen, and is from La Tourelle, the main Kaufmann residence in Fox Chapel, Pennsylvania.

In the dining area, Wright designed the built-in dining table and incorporated leaves into the sideboard that can be attached to the table to accommodate additional guests. Wright had wanted to pair the table with his more formal Barrel Chair, but Liliane prevailed, having purchased rustic three-legged wooden peasant chairs at a second-hand shop in Florence, Italy, which she felt were more appropriate for their country retreat.

Although Wright lost that battle he did design additional custom pieces for the living room, including occasional tables, banquettes, and zabutons (low wood-framed footstools) upholstered in warm hues of golden-yellow and red-orange. The zabutons represent one of the earliest uses of latex foam, a material suggested by Edgar jr. 

Wright’s free-floating elements were easy to move around and, most importantly, never blocked the view of nature outside. And many were made of wood, which the architect described “as the most humanely intimate of all materials.”

To give the flagstone floors throughout the house a wet look, Wright specified Johnson’s Glo-Coat, a wax that created a glossy sheen — drawing a parallel to the river rooks of the stream below. Wright chose that product because he was commissioned to design the Johnson Wax Building in Racine, Wisconsin while completing Fallingwater. Talk about product placement!

Our guide Rod sharing stories with our group about Fallingwater.

After our group had finished exploring the room, Rod shared an interesting story with us about a visitor he had on a previous tour who said, “In 1956, I was a Boy Scout in a local troop here.” A freak tornado had hit the area, and a debris jam built up, causing the stream flowing beneath Fallingwater to overflow into the first floor of the house. “After the flood, Edgar Sr. invited our troop in to help clean up as a service project,” the man has said. 

The visitor went on to explain that Elsie Henderson fed them, and they placed their sleeping bags on the floor of the living room. He continued, “I slept on that rock there,” pointing to one of the waxed flagstones.

The guest bedroom at Fallingwater includes a chromed-metal carafe by the American Thermos Bottle Company and a conté crayon drawing by Diego Rivera.

The Guest Bedroom

We followed Rod up the narrow stairwell that led to the second floor. There are a total of four bedrooms in the main house. Each has its own bathroom, private terrace and fireplace, with the exception of the guest bedroom. The headboard is large enough to accommodate two beds, but because the room is quite small, one bed was removed to make room for tour groups. 

On the wall is Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat, a Conté crayon drawing by Mexican muralist Diego Rivera. This is the only room in the whole house with blinds because Liliane’s private terrace can be seen outside the window.

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READ ABOUT FRIDA KAHLO, one of the most famous Fallingwater guests — and one of the most scandalous as well!

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The narrow passageways on the second and third floors of Fallingwater are, again, designed to create a sense of compression. This helps make the terraces feel even more spacious and inviting when you step outside. With nearly equal square footage inside and out, the spatial quality of the terraces make it obvious that the outdoors are the home’s raison d’être.

The Kaufmanns were initially hesitant when Wright insisted on building the house over the waterfall. They had often visited the site to sunbathe, party and picnic with their friends, and they weren’t sure that they wanted to live so close to the rushing water. Wright was insistent that the house be built in this location. He told Kaufmann, “I want you to live with your waterfall, not just look at it.” He also wanted the sound of the waterfall to be the “music of the house,” and its sound can be heard in every room. 

The built-in wardrobes are made of marine-grade plywood veneered with North Carolina black walnut. Note the sap line which runs vertically, referencing Wright's earth line. The wardrobe also include mildew resistant rattan shelving inside.

Liliane Kaufmann’s Bedroom 

Although Edgar jr. desired to change the narrative surrounding his parents marriage, the room he renamed the Master bedroom was his mother Liliane’s. Separate rooms weren’t unusual for affluent couples in the 1920s and ’30s, as it was seen as a sign of luxury and privacy.

All of the woodwork at Fallingwater use marine-grade plywood, which was chosen because it’s resistant to warping in humid environments. The plywood was veneered with North Carolina black walnut, and was cut and milled by the Gillen Company in Milwaukee, the successor to the defunct Matthews Brothers Company, which Wright had used for his Prairie style houses.

This was done so that the sap line of the walnut tree would run horizontally, referencing Wright’s earth line. The only exception is the doors, where the sap line runs vertically to balance things visually.

The room has a collection of impressive artworks, including Fumeur, a Picasso aquatint, a Tiffany lotus lamp on the desk and Horikiri No Hanashobu (Iris Garden at Horikiri), a Japanese woodblock print by Ando Hiroshige. Sheltered within the niche of Liliane’s fireplace is an Austro-Bohemian Madonna and Child carved around 1420 CE (her favorite piece of art in the home.)

The niche above Liliane’s fireplace was custom-built to fit her favorite work of art at Fallingwater, a 15th century Madonna and Child.

At Rod’s instruction, our group proceeded down the hall and into Edgar Sr.’s bedroom. 

A bust of Edgar jr. by Harlem Renaissance sculptor Richmond Barthé and a Savoy vase designed by Alvar Aalto sit atop the desk in E.J.’s bedroom. The desk has a semicircular cutout that allows the window to open without hitting it.

E.J.’s Bedroom 

Using Juniors naming system Edgar Sr.’s bedroom is sometimes referred to as E.J.’s dressing room or E.J.’s study. The built-in desk features a semi-circular cutout so the corner window can swing open unimpeded. A bust of Edgar jr. by Harlem Renaissance sculptor Richmond Barthé and a Savoy vase designed by Alvar Aalto in 1936 sit on top of the desk. 

One of the most striking features which can be seen from Edgar Sr.’s bedroom is the light screen, which runs vertically through the all three levels of the house. When viewed from the exterior, the vertical shaft of glass serves to balance the structural stone masses and maintain the house’s transparency. Wright was attempting to destroy the box of the traditional American home. He was bucking the International Style of the Bauhaus School in Germany. The casement windows here open outward, allowing their corners to vanish. 

A rustic limestone sculpture by self-taught Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña sits on E.J.’s terrace. The Kaufmanns fell in love with his work when they visited Frida Kahlo’s Casa Azul in Coyoacán, Mexico.

A pair of Japanese woodblock prints, including Kōzuke Sano funabashi no kozu (Old View of the Boat-Bridge at Sano) by Katsushika Hokusai, circa 1830, and Street Scene on the Giroza-Yedo by Ando Hiroshige are on display. Six prints in total were given as gifts by Wright to the Kaufmann family. The original mat of Street Scene on the Ginza-Yedo bears the inscription, “to Junior: at Taliesin, Aug. 14, 1951.”

Wright liked to work with odd numbers. To balance the room, there are three semicircular shelves next to the bed. These symbolically represent the three family members of Fallingwater: E.J., Liliane and Edgar jr. 

The adobe-style steps leading from the terrace outside lead to Edgar jr.’s study and bedroom on the third floor.

The zigzag adobe-style steps leading from the terrace outside Edgar Sr.’s second-floor bedroom to Edgar jr.’s study and bedroom in the third-floor penthouse are more form than function. They likely saw very little, if any, foot traffic, and, incidentally, put unnecessary stress on the terrace below.

A collection of books and sculptural objects grace the shelves of Junior’s third floor study.

Junior’s Bedroom and Study

On the third floor was the lair of the Kaufmanns’ son, Edgar jr. It consists of a stairwell library, a small den used as a drafting studio, and bedroom. The den also features cornerless windows. Junior’s sleeping alcove is at the eastern end of the passage. He preferred to be woken up by the early morning sun that streamed in through the spot created by the design of the bridge over the driveway.

Jean Arp’s abstract white marble Méditerranée II and Lyonel Feininger’s watercolor and ink on paper Church on the Cliffs VII are on view in Edgar jr.’s study.

Junior’s room wasn’t large — but it had a great view of the sunrise.

We exited Junior’s bedroom via a set of stairs and met at the second floor bridge connecting Fallingwater’s main house to the guest house. 

A 28-inch-tall stone statue of the Hindu goddess Parvati from India, circa 750 CE, rests atop a boulder at the end of the covered passageway, accompanied by a freshly cut bunch of rhododendron leaves.

Bridge to the Guest House 

The so-called “bridge” to connect Fallingwater’s main house to the guest house is actually a covered hall about 17 feet long that dead-ends at a boulder was left intact at the end of the passageway. There are five skylights equipped with bulbs so they can double as nightlights. 

We continued up a set of stairs and paused in front of the cast stone statue Serena, another work by Richmond Barthé. The subject is Rose McClendon, a leading African American Broadway actress of the 1920s and the co-founder of the Negro People’s Theatre in Harlem.

While designing Fallingwater, Wright insisted that no rocks or boulders were to be destroyed or moved.

The semicircular cascading concrete canopy resembles folded Japanese origami and extends from the cantilevered trellis of the guest house. The material defies logic and has an incredible lightness, supported only by slender steel posts. The flanges flare out on the way up, but seem to disappear on the way down: Painted Cherokee red, the posts start at almost 7 feet tall and continue to less than 4 feet.

A slatted wood partition wall was used to divide the room without building a wall.

Guest House Living Room

The Guest House at Fallingwater was completed in 1939 and offered additional space and privacy for guests. One of the first things you’ll notice is that the ceilings are noticeably higher than the main house. Or maybe the small, asymmetric fireplace is what catches your eye.

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, an 1877 painting by Jose Maria Velasco, hangs over the guesthouse bed.

Guest House Bedroom 

Rod told us that Liliane actually favored the seclusion and cross ventilation from the clerestory in the north wall of the guest house to her bedroom in the main house in the heat of the summer. 

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, an 1877 painting by Jose Maria Velasco, a mentor of Diego Rivera, hangs over the guesthouse bed. The Kaufmann family acquired the painting around 1937 for $500. It originally hung in Edgar Sr.’s apartment at the William Penn Hotel in Pittsburgh until 1954, when it was moved to its current location.

Fallingwater’s bathrooms feature cork walls and floors, a soft and durable material. The toilets are also low, inspired by Wright’s time in Japan.

Every piece in the Kaufmann family’s collection has a story to tell. There’s a chair in the corner of the guest house bedroom from the home of Irving Washington, author of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The Barrel Chair at the desk is Wright’s adaptation from an earlier design for the Darwin Martin House in Buffalo, New York.

Doors lead out to the 30-foot-long, 6-foot-deep spring-fed swimming pool on the terrace of the guest house. This was the result of a compromise between the Kaufmanns, who viewed swimming and sunning as an indispensable part of their enjoyment at Bear Run, and Wright, who resisted the idea of an artificial pool so close to a natural source of water. 

The swimming pool is spring-fed and located on the terrace of the guest house.

An incredible amount of labor went into the construction of Fallingwater. The main contractor responsible for the masonry work was Walter J. Hall, a self-taught stone mason from Northern Pennsylvania, whose earlier construction, Lynn Hall, a roadside inn outside of Port Allegheny, won him the role. Hall taught the unskilled laborers how to construct walls using Pottsville sandstone. Minimum wage at the time was 25 cents an hour! By the time the guest house was built, the stone masons had honed their skills to perfection.

Our guide Rod was a great storyteller and extremely knowledgeable about the design and construction of Fallingwater. One of the best parts of the In-Depth Guided Tour was that we were able to take pictures both inside and outside of the house. Other tour options don’t allow photography beyond the first floor, so be sure to choose the one that’s right for you.

Whether you love or hate Frank Lloyd Wright the man, there’s no denying that his buildings are impressive. Fallingwater was every bit as fascinating as the photos you see online, and it was a truly unforgettable experience. –Duke

A view of the West Terrace and Sung Dynasty Buddha head.

Fallingwater

1491 Mill Run Road
Mill Run, Pennsylvania 15464
USA

 

Frank Lloyd Wright and Edgar J. Kaufmann: The Collaboration That Became Fallingwater

Dive into the fascinating story behind Fallingwater, from its geological origins to its current status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Kaufmanns on one of the balconies at Fallingwater: E.J., Junior and Liliane

Unlike our visit to Graycliff, another Frank Lloyd Wright-designed home, where the weather forecast called for rain but miraculously cleared up by the time we arrived, the conditions at Fallingwater were not so kind. But the steady mist-like drizzle coming down on the rooftop covering the Visitors Center boardwalk didn’t dampen our anticipation for the afternoon In-Depth Guided Tour of Fallingwater. The nonprofit Western Pennsylvania Conservancy (WPC) offers various tours, which include a one-hour guided house tour, two-hour in-depth tour, brunch tour and sunset tour.

Pro tip: Book your tickets at least two weeks prior to guarantee admission to this popular attraction. Weekends fill up quickly. We booked ours about a month in advance.

Our group gathered in the Visitors Center around our docent, who welcomed us to the UNESCO World Heritage Site and introduced himself as Rod. He asked where everyone was from and if anyone had been to any Wright-designed homes or buildings before. As we shared our stories, it became clear that we were among other individuals who held a reverence for the architect’s prolific and unmistakable style. 

Kaufmann’s was once a legendary (and massive) department store in Pittsburgh. It’s now a Target.

Brought to You by Pittsburgh’s Big Department Store

Edgar J. Kaufmann and his wife, Liliane, the couple who commissioned Fallingwater, were also the owners of a popular Pittsburgh department store located at the corner of 5th Avenue and Smithfield Street. Like Marshall Field’s in Chicago, Kaufmann’s was a regional destination for shoppers to discover the latest in fashion, art and design.

In 2005, Federated acquired the store and continued to operate as Macy’s until 2015, when it closed its doors for good. The first floor has since been transformed into a Target, which opened in the summer of 2022. 

The Kaufmanns were wealthy, but they were also beloved in southwestern Pennsylvania. Their department store brought good taste and good design to the area at prices that people could actually afford. They were popular for their business model: They’d rather sell a hundred items at a penny profit each than sell one item for a dollar profit.

The dramatic cantilevers at Fallingwater are Wright’s way of mirroring the sandstone outcroppings in the area.

From Sea to Timeworn Sandstone: A Brief Geological History of the Site 

Rod offered us green umbrellas to take with us on our journey. “From experience,” he added, “make sure it works. Our umbrellas lead a pretty tough life here.” The color of the umbrellas complemented the natural surroundings, a detail that Wright himself would have undoubtedly appreciated. As we followed Rod down the gravel path leading to Fallingwater, he spoke about the geologic history of the site.

He stopped and gestured to the lush, hilly landscape before us. “As we walk down towards the house, I’d like to provide a brief timeline for you,” he began. “We’re standing at 1,400 feet above sea level due to a cataclysmic event that occurred over 400 million years ago.” He continued, “The tremendous pressure of the continental plates colliding caused the Earth’s surface to fold and buckle, creating the long, winding ridges of the Appalachian Mountains.

“However, 600 million years ago, this region was at the bottom of a sandy, shallow inland sea. Over millions of years, the inland sea drained, and the mountains were worn down by wind, weather and water,” Rod said. “The sedimentary deposit that was left behind was compacted and compressed to form Pottsville sandstone.”

Wright first visited the site of Fallingwater with Edgar Kaufmann Sr. to examine the natural landscape. He saw the weathered, horizontal lines of the sandstone outcroppings and referred to this as the “earth line” — and it became the inspiration for the layered stone walls and cantilevered terraces that mirror the natural environment.

Cantilever, you ask? It’s something that projects horizontally beyond its support, like a diving board, firmly anchored at one end and floating free at the other. You’ll see they feature prominently in the home’s design. 

One of the original wood cabins at what became Camp Kaufmann

Setting Up Camp at Bear Run

The Kaufmanns would flee Pittsburgh’s sweltering summers and infamously smoky air for the rolling hills and clear streams of Fayette County, Pennsylvania. In 1916, E.J. Kaufmann, as Edgar Sr. was known, began leasing a parcel of land at Bear Run from the Pittsburgh Freemasons. The grounds included the former Syria Country Club lodge, which E.J. renamed Camp Kaufmann.

Every summer, a third of Kaufmann’s department store employees would visit and stay in one of the many cabins that dotted the property. The camp was a place for employees to relax and enjoy the outdoors. They would hike, swim, fish and play games.

Not a bad perk: Employees of Kaufmann’s department store could go to the camp in the woods and swim under the waterfall.

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

In 1926, Kaufmann’s department store purchased the land and cabins from the Freemasons. However, the Great Depression forced it to quickly get out of the camp business. So, in 1933, E.J. assumed ownership of the land with the intent of building a modern weekend home. That same year, he showered his mistress Josephine Bennett Waxman with a quarter-million dollars’ worth of diamond and platinum jewels. The affair fizzled, but made headlines when E.J. attempted to return the jewelry to rival department store Horne’s, which sued him for non-payment.

Edgar jr. (left) worked for Wright (center) at Taliesin in Wisconsin. He introduced the architect to his father — and a beautiful partnership was begun.

As fate would have it, his artistically inclined son, Edgar jr., was studying with Wright at the Taliesin Fellowship in Spring Green, Wisconsin. During that time, Junior introduced his parents to the architect, and E.J. and Liliane decided to hire Wright to design their new home.

When Wright was hired to design Fallingwater, E.J. also commissioned him to create his executive office on the top floor of the flagship department store in Pittsburgh. It’s now on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. 

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

A Patronage of Epic Scale 

The Kaufmanns and Wright were kindred spirits. They shared Wright’s conviction that good design could transform the lives of those it touched and believed that architecture should be in harmony with the natural world. Wright was a passionate advocate for organic architecture. He believed that buildings should be designed to complement their natural surroundings, and he often used local materials and natural forms in his designs. He once said, “I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.”

By the time E.J. met the architect, Wright was 67 years old and had not completed a major project in a decade. He was widely considered a has-been by architectural critics — but Fallingwater would mark a turning point in his career.

Talk about a comeback: Wright and Fallingwater on the cover of Time

The woodland retreat in rural southwestern Pennsylvania had already gained international prominence before it was even completed. In January 1938, photographs taken by John McAndrew were exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City and subsequently published in Architectural Forum magazine. Additionally, Wright was featured on the cover of Time with his drawing of Fallingwater behind him, proclaiming it to be his most beautiful work.

After the success of Fallingwater, Wright’s career took off again. He went on to design over 400 projects, including the Guggenheim Museum in New York. Of these, approximately 200 were built, and about 79 have since been demolished or destroyed by fire. Wright died in 1959 at the age of 91.

Wright and E.J. maintained a lifelong friendship and collaborated on many projects, although only three of them were ever realized: Fallingwater, the guest house and Edgar’s executive office.

Not without my dachshund! Liliane liked to bring her six dogs on weekends at Fallingwater.

The Kaufmanns’ main home, La Tourelle, was an Anglo-Norman style country estate in Fox Chapel, an affluent suburb of Pittsburgh. The family had two options to reach their weekend home. They could take a train from Pittsburgh to the depot at the bottom of Bear Run, where the creek flows into the Youghiogheny River. (The last time the B&O line stopped here was in 1975). Or they could be chauffeured by car. Liliane preferred the latter because she liked to travel with her six long-haired show dachshunds.

Before his death, Edgar jr. entrusted Fallingwater to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy so it would always remain open to the public for all time.

Fallingwater: A Landmark Legacy

The house that has become an architectural legend was home to tragedy, though. On September 7, 1952, Liliane died of a sleeping pill overdose at Fallingwater at the age of 64. Three years later, E.J. died of bone cancer at 69. Their son, Edgar jr., inherited Fallingwater. 

The Kaufmanns didn’t have the best marriage. Edgar’s infidelities may have led Liliane to take her own life by overdoing on pills at Fallingwater.

Junior worked at MoMA from 1941 to 1955 and was an adjunct professor of architecture and art history at Columbia University in New York. 

In 1963, he entrusted the house and surrounding 5,100 acres of property, along with a $500,000 endowment, to the WPC to protect, conserve and, most importantly, assure that the home remains open to the public in perpetuity. 

Junior was gay and had a long-term relationship with Paul Mayén, a Spanish architect and industrial designer. Mayén's influence can be seen throughout the sunburst-shaped visitors pavilion, which was built under his supervision in 1980 by the Pittsburgh-based architectural firm Curry, Martin & Highberger. The complex complements its natural surroundings and makes great use of materials such as cedar, glass and concrete. I think Wright would have approved.

Paul Mayén, Edgar jr. and friend on the west terrace at Fallingwater. The men had a relationship for over 30 years.

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. 

Edgar jr. loved Fallingwater and when he visited Pittsburgh, he would often come and secretly lead tours. At the end of each, Rod told us, Junior would shock the group by asking, “Well, what do you think of my house?” –Duke

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RELATED: Frida, Diego and Fallingwater

Frida Kahlo visited Fallingwater (and seduced a fellow guest there!).

Learn more about her and Diego Rivera’s connection to the Kaufmanns and their iconic home.

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s Fascinating Connections to Fallingwater

A seduction at the iconic Frank Lloyd Wright home. The influence of Frida’s home, the Casa Azul. Juan O’Gorman’s insulting mural project. And the Kaufmanns’ role in the Mexican artists’ success. We explore the artistic ties that bind these fascinating personalities.  

Frida standing with The Two Fridas

Imagine visiting Fallingwater, Frank Lloyd Wright’s iconic masterpiece. You’re surrounded by stunning natural beauty, and the architecture is simply breathtaking. 

But what if I told you that two of the most famous Latin American artists, Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, were also friends with the Kaufmann family, who commissioned and lived in the home? It’s a story that’s as fascinating as the house itself.

“When [Levy] returned to his bedroom, there was Frida — waiting for him!”

— Hayden Herrera in "Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo"

E.J., Edgar jr. and Liliane Kaufmann at Fallingwater, their now-legendary weekend home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright

The Kaufmanns: A Family of Taste and Distinction

Edgar Jonas Kaufmann, or E.J. to his friends, was the head of a well-known Pittsburgh department store family. He was a highly respected businessman, aesthete and philanthropist who, along with his wife, Liliane, turned the family retail empire into a center of culture and fashion. 

Fun fact: The surname Kaufmann fittingly means “merchant” in German. 

As lifelong patrons of the arts, E.J. and Liliane enjoyed spending time with architects, artists and other creatives. Their only child, Edgar Kaufmann jr. (the lowercase “jr.” was his preferred abbreviation), inherited his parents’ love of art. He was particularly interested in modernist design, and he believed that functional objects could also be works of art.

Diego Rivera standing with a study of his mural-that-was-never-to-be, Man at the Crossroads. Rockefeller, who commissioned it, found it to be a bit too Communist for his tastes.

The family’s weekend home, Fallingwater, was filled with a formidable collection of artworks and objects. If the Kaufmanns weren’t already familiar with the socialist works of Mexican artist Diego Rivera, they most certainly became aware of him when his unfinished mural, Man at the Crossroads, caused a major controversy in 1933. The mural, which featured a portrait of Vladimir Lenin, was commissioned by the Rockefeller family, but they were so outraged by the inclusion of the Marxist leader that they had the mural destroyed. (Rivera’s re-creation, Man, Controller of the Universe, is on display at the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City.)

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera had a lot to thank the Kaufmann family for in helping them gain fame.

When the Kaufmanns Met Frida and Diego

It’s possible that the Kaufmanns were introduced to Rivera by John McAndrew, the newly minted curator of the Department of Architecture and Industrial Art at New York’s Museum of Modern Art, aka MoMA. McAndrew visited Fallingwater in 1937 to document the house for the upcoming exhibit, A New House by Frank Lloyd Wright on Bear Run.

Fallingwater has a surprising connection to Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.

It’s not hard to imagine that McAndrew would have talked about Rivera to the Kaufmanns during his visit to Fallingwater. McAndrew had previously traveled and studied architecture in Mexico, where he was inspired by the country’s rich cultural heritage. 

E.J. and Liliane were drawn to the rustic charm of Casa Azul, Kahlo’s childhood home in the Coyoacán neighborhood of Mexico City. The Kaufmanns saw it as an antidote to city life and wanted to create a similar sense of peace and tranquility at their weekend home, Fallingwater.

Frida Kahlo at her home, Casa Azul, which provided inspo for Liliane Kaufmann.

They appreciated the objects that Kahlo had filled her home with, including sculptures by the self-taught Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña. Four of these sculptures are on display at Fallingwater, and a reproduction of one is available for purchase at the Fallingwater museum store. (Completing the loop, a photograph of Fallingwater hangs in the permanent collection at Casa Azul.)

One of the works by Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña found at Fallingwater

In the 1930s, E.J. and Liliane became patrons of Rivera, and later of Kahlo, his wife. For nearly two years, E.J. provided Rivera with a monthly stipend of $250, totaling $5,000. That’s equivalent to about $86,000 in today’s dollars. Although Rivera never ended up being commissioned to paint anything by the Kaufmanns, he and the couple were friends, and two of his works are on display at Fallingwater.

Look for Diego Rivera’s Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat hanging in the guest bedroom at Fallingwater.

Torrid Siesta (El Sueño) by Diego Rivera, in the passageway that leads out to the guesthouse at Fallingwater

Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat originally hung in E.J.’s private Wright-designed office at Kaufmann’s sprawling Pittsburgh department store. And Torrid Siesta (El Sueño) was first placed in E.J.’s study on the third floor of the house but was later relocated to its current location on the enclosed bridge that leads out to the guesthouse.

Liliane Kaufmann found Frida Kahlo to be “most interesting.”

A Love of Latin America 

The Kaufmanns’ interest in Latin American culture grew, and in May 1938, Edgar jr. and Liliane took their first trip to Mexico City. The newly reestablished government of Mexico was eager to forge a national identity that promoted its pre-Hispanic heritage to American tourists. 

While there, Junior and Liliane visited Diego and Kahlo at their home and studio in the neighborhood of San Ángel, a modernist structure designed and built by their mutual friend, Juan O’Gorman. It was a place of creativity and conflict. While the couple were both artists, they had very different approaches to their work. Rivera was a well-known and successful muralist, while Kahlo was a more private painter who focused on self-portraits. 

Liliane wrote:

Yesterday we visited Diego Rivera at his home in San Ángel. It is a very interesting house inside and he is a very simple charming man. He showed us a lot of things and took us over to meet his wife who was most interesting. She paints also, very delightfully, and we had a swell time.

At the home and studio, Kahlo played the role of dutiful wife. She also served as Rivera’s secretary, entertaining and courting patrons for him. While Rivera enjoyed socializing with high society, Kahlo resented it. 

Don’t be sad, Frida! You’re about to catch a big break!

Frida Kahlo’s Big Break 

It was during this period that Kahlo retreated to Casa Azul, where she developed her commanding signature style. She had a difficult life. She contracted polio when she was 6, which left one leg thinner than the other. And when she was 18, she was in a bus accident that left her severely injured. She hid this by wearing long ruffled skirts, boxy shirts to conceal her surgical corsets and adorned herself with jewelry. Inspired by traditional Mexican indigenous clothing, her style came to represent a patriotic identity and a defiance of traditional gender roles.

Kahlo’s first big break occurred a short time after Liliane and Junior’s visit. In the summer of 1938, Hollywood actor and art collector Edward G. Robinson, famous for playing gangster types in film noirs, purchased four of Kahlo’s paintings for $200 each while vacationing in Mexico City. 

Edgar G. Robinson might have played tough types in the movies, but he was blacklisted in Hollywood as a Communist and helped launch Kahlo’s art career.

At the time, Kahlo was virtually unknown in the United States and she was always a bit shocked when anyone liked her work. She had often given it away for free, and she later wrote of the Robinson sale:

For me it was such a surprise that I marveled and said, this way I am going to be able to be free; I’ll be able to travel and do what I want without asking Diego for money.

When the French writer and founder of the Surrealist movement, André Breton, included Kahlo among its canon, she refused the label. She said, “I never painted dreams; I painted my own reality.” 

But she did understand the power of marketing. Breton introduced her to Julien Levy, a New York gallery owner who specialized in being the first to present avant-garde artists to American viewers. When Kahlo met him, she knew that he could help her reach a wider audience.

We wish we could see your reaction to Frida Kahlo’s My Birth.

In November 1938, Kahlo’s first solo show at Julien Levy Gallery in New York marked a shift in her artistic career. E.J. and Liliane were in attendance and purchased two of her paintings: My Birth (1932) and Remembrance of an Open Wound (1938). The latter was lost in a fire at the country home of Edgar jr. and his companion, Paul Mayén, sometime in the 1980s. The exhibition was a great success, and Time noted that it was “the flutter of the week in Manhattan.”

The Kaufmanns invited Kahlo and Levy to visit Fallingwater. Biographer Hayden Herrera recounts that Kahlo’s visit was one for the books:

The gallery owner Julien Levy, who seems to have gotten lucky with Frida Kahlo at Fallingwater

Once Levy took Frida to Pennsylvania to visit his client and friend Edgar Kaufmann Sr., who, Levy said, wanted to be Frida’s patron. The train ride was everything train rides are supposed to be — a slow but inexorable buildup of erotic anticipation. When they arrived, however, Frida flirted not just with Levy, but with their elderly host and son as well. She was very cavalier with her men, Levy recalled. She liked to play one off against the other, and she would pretend to one suitor that she thought the other was a nuisance or a bore. At bedtime, Levy and the senior Kaufmann tried to wait each other out so as to spend the last moments of the evening in romantic solitude with Frida. When she retired, Fallingwater’s complicated double stairway [the exterior steps up to the guest room] served as the stage for the evening’s drama. After biding his time until he thought everyone was peacefully asleep, Levy emerged from his room and started up one side of the staircase. Much to his astonishment, he found his host climbing the stairs on the other side. Both retreated. The same confrontation took place several times. In the end, Levy gave up. But when he returned to his bedroom, there was Frida — waiting for him!

Liliane and Junior’s continued travels to Mexico laid the groundwork for the fittingly titled Below the Rio Grande, a shoppable exhibit at Kaufmann’s flagship store, which introduced consumers to Mexican antiques and folk art. Some of these items were later incorporated into Fallingwater’s décor. 

Nearly a dozen small pre-Columbian objects can be found in the guesthouse. These were likely gifted to the Kaufmanns by Rivera, who was a passionate collector of pre-Columbian art. During his lifetime Rivera amassed over 50,000 pieces, many of which are housed at the must-visit Anahuacalli Museum in CDMX. 

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico by José María Velasco hangs in the bedroom of the guesthouse at Fallingwater.

One of the guesthouse bedrooms features a large oil painting by José María Velasco, a mentor to Diego. The work, entitled Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, hangs over the bed. Velasco’s artistic endeavors are so esteemed that the Mexican government considers them national monuments. This painting was acquired by the Kaufmann family around 1937 for $500. In 1954, it was hanging in E.J.’s suite at the William Penn Hotel in Pittsburgh, and was moved to its current location by Edgar jr. in 1960.

Juan O’Gorman, whose mural commissioned by Edgar Kaufmann Sr. featuring prominent Pittsburgh tycoons below a toilet, was deemed too controversial for the Young Men’s and Women’s Hebrew Association

Kaufmann’s Rockefeller Dreams and Botched Mural

Pittsburgh society was dominated by wealthy families like the Carnegies and Mellons. This made it difficult for the Kaufmanns, who were Jewish, to achieve positions of power and influence. Despite lobbying for many public works projects throughout his life, E.J. saw few of them come to fruition. 

In 1940 he invited the socialist architect, painter and muralist O’Gorman to Pittsburgh to submit a proposal for murals for the interior walls of the Young Men’s and Women's Hebrew Association, of which he was president. 

As a guest of the Kaufmann family, O’Gorman spent a weekend at Fallingwater, which he later described as “one of the most beautiful buildings in the world.” 

When it came to the mural, though, O’Gorman clearly missed the brief: His preparatory sketches for the project portrayed Pittsburgh tycoons Andrew Carnegie, Henry Clay Frick and George Westinghouse as the kings of a polluted plutocracy that arose from consumer capitalism. As if that wasn’t enough, O’Gorman further emphasized his sentiments by prominently featuring an open toilet and a roll of toilet paper above the tableau. 

O’Gorman’s proposed mural was clearly at odds with the organization’s mission to celebrate the moral development of youth. As a result, the project was rejected and O’Gorman returned to Mexico City. As compensation for the failed project, E.J. sent the artist a check to subsidize a mural at the Biblioteca Gertrudis Bocanegra in the town of Pátzcuaro, Mexico. 

Even though he kiboshed Juan O’Gorman’s Pittsburgh mural, Edgar Kaufmann footed the bill for this astounding mural in Mexico.

Divided into four sections, the mural vividly depicts the history of the Purépecha people. The first shows the indigenous people before the Spanish conquest; the second, the arrival of the Spanish and the beginning of the conquest; the third shows life after the conquest, when the Purépecha were forced to adopt Spanish customs and religion; and the fourth shows Gertrudis Bocanegra, the martyred heroine of the 1820 War of Independence, her white dress smeared with blood from her execution by firing squad. 

Frida Kahlo’s What the Water Gave Me

Edgar Jr.’s Artful Encounters, From MoMA to Madonna

Edgar jr. traveled with McAndrew to Mexico in 1939, looking for works of art to include in the MoMA exhibit Twenty Centuries of Mexican Art. The pair recognized Kahlo’s talent, and the show, which opened on May 15, 1940, featured no fewer than three of her paintings: The Two Fridas (1939), What the Water Gave Me (1938) and The Wounded Table (1940). 

The Wounded Table by Frida Kahlo

In 1943 Junior purchased and donated Self Portrait With Cropped Hair to the MoMA. The painting is part of the museum’s permanent collection and was conceived shortly after Kahlo’s divorce from Rivera. It’s thought to be a reflection of her feelings of anger, sadness and independence after the separation. Kahlo’s oversized charcoal gray suit (surely Rivera’s) and short haircut are symbols of her rejection of traditional femininity, while the scissors she holds suggest her decision to take control of her own life.

Self Portrait With Cropped Hair by Frida Kahlo shows the artist after her divorce from Diego Rivera, wearing one of his suits and having chopped off her locks to resemble his hairstyle.

After his parents died, Junior brought Kahlo’s My Birth to his apartment in New York City. The painting is a deeply personal and imaginative work of art, depicting Kahlo’s birth from a dead mother.

According to Fallingwater director Justin Gunther, Edgar jr. had a dry, ironic sense of humor. Case in point: He kept the painting hidden in a closet in his New York apartment, and would only reveal it to his guests at the most unexpected moments. He loved to see the look of surprise on their faces when they saw it for the first time.

Madonna purchased My Birth from Edgar jr. She says you can’t be friends with her if you don’t like it.

In 1987 Edgar jr. sold the painting through his dealer to the pop star Madonna. Although worldly, he didn’t know who she was when he met her, and had planned on selling My Birth to her for just a little more than what his parents had originally paid for it. But his dealer told him, "We can do better than that,” and quoted a much higher figure.

Madonna was later quoted in Vanity Fair saying, “If somebody doesn’t like this painting, then I know they can’t be my friend.” –Duke

The Charnley-Persky House in Chicago: America’s First Modern Home?

Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright collaborated on this sleek, minimal home that defied the ostentatiousness of the Gilded Age. Step back in time and tour this innovative but little-known architectural gem.

Imagine what people thought of a home like this — sleek, modern, horizontal — at a time when Victorians were all the rage. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

When dealing with such legendary icons of the architectural world as Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright, it’s not surprising that towering egos and intense rivalry come into play. But with the iconic Charnley-Persky House in Chicago’s Gold Coast neighborhood, who actually deserves the accolades?

“Wright wrote that he had designed the Charnley-Persky House entirely on his own.

The claim couldn’t be refuted, as Sullivan had passed away, and the firm’s records had burned in a fire. ”

Helen Charnley

The Charnleys Want a “Country” Home

Let’s start at the beginning to try to unravel this mystery. In 1891, Sullivan, 34, and his then-23-year-old apprentice, Wright, teamed up to design a residential masterpiece on Astor Street for their wealthy clients, James and Helen Charnley.

The couple were members of the one-percenters of the Gilded Age. James was a banker who made his fortune in lumber, and Helen’s father was president of the Illinois Central Railroad. 

At the time, Sullivan and his partner, Dankmar Adler, were basically the cool kids of the architecture world. They had designed the Auditorium Theater Building in 1889, which is still world-renowned for its acoustics. Business was good.

While many of Adler & Sullivan’s 180-some commissions were for commercial spaces, they also designed about 60 residences. Unfortunately, most of them are no longer standing. In fact, the Charnley-Persky House is the only residence designed by Sullivan that you can still tour today.

So how did the Charnleys manage to snag Sullivan as their architect? Well, it turns out that James’ brother, Albert, was an executive at the Illinois Central Railroad. As our guide, Jean, joked, “The rich like to hang out with other rich people.” 

Adler & Sullivan’s architectural drawing of the James Charnley home

But why did the Charnleys choose this location? They were ahead of the curve. While the Gold Coast is now an affluent neighborhood, at the time it wasn’t exactly a hot spot. In fact, even though it’s not that far north of downtown, it was considered the countryside.

Three-quarters of a mile in one direction, you would reach the Chicago River. Go three-quarters of a mile in the other direction, and you’d find yourself in a notorious slum charmingly known as Little Hell. It was gnamed for the smell of sulfur from the coal gas furnaces that permeated the air. It was so dangerous that even the police wouldn’t go there, Jean told us. (What did that neighborhood eventually become? The infamous Cabrini Green housing project.)

So how did this land become prime real estate? Well, Potter Palmer, Chicago’s richest resident at the time, had a lot to do with it. He built his own home on the corner of Lake Shore Drive, spending a whopping $1 million back in 1882. The house was called “the Castle” for its size and design. 

“Of course, it raised the value of all the land around it,” Jean said. “And so it started to get developed very quickly after that.”

You can see why the Palmer home was called the Castle. It helped make the Gold Coast a hot new housing market.

Sadly, no one could afford to keep up the Castle, and it was razed in 1950. 

Before that, this area was owned by the archdiocese, with parts of it acting as a Catholic cemetery, and the only other building in sight was the archbishop’s residence.

The Charnleys’ first home in the undeveloped Gold Coast neighborhood of Chicago was a site of heartbreak. Note the Palmer Castle under construction in the background.

The Charnleys Join the Neighborhood 

The Charnleys built their first home on Division and Lake Shore Drive, but lost their two young daughters (ages 4 and 6) to diphtheria shortly after moving in. The memories of that house weren’t happy, so they decided to have this one built instead. It was never intended to be a family home. They had larger homes in the suburbs of Lake Forest and Evanston, so this was simply their pied-à-terre in the city, Jean explained.

Even today, it stands out from its neighbors with its modern design, a product of Sullivan’s experimental phase.

After the Charnley’s departure, the house went through several owners, including the Waller family, who had a member living there until 1969. Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM) bought the house next for the headquarters of the Chicago Institute for Architecture and Urbanism and restored it. 

“They didn’t stay here long. But fortunately, they had deep pockets,” Jean said. “So they were able to restore the structure to the way it was, which no private owner could do before them.”

Philanthropist Seymour Persky later bought the house and let the Society of Architectural Historians (SAH) move their headquarters there from Philadelphia. This allowed the house to continue to stand and be appreciated for its architectural significance. As a token of its gratitude, the society added Persky’s name to the home. 

Bustling State Street in the 1890s, when Chicago was one of the fastest-growing cities in the world

Gilded Age Chicago

To put the time period into context, Chicago underwent exponential growth and development during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. 

In 1880 the city’s population was 500,000; in 1890 it had doubled to 1 million; and in 1910 it had doubled yet again to 2.2 million. 

“At that time, the turn of that century, it was the fastest-growing city in the world,” Jean said. “Of course, that’s a thing of the past now. But it was a very new, vibrant, lively, energetic city with lots of money, lots of wealth, lots of disease, lots of extremes.”

Rudyard Kipling visited Chicago around this time and declared, “I urgently desire never to see it again. It is inhabited by savages.” Rude. 

In 1889, the Chicago Sanitary District was formed to reverse the flow of the Chicago River, which had been dumping waste into Lake Michigan and contaminating the city’s drinking water. A New York Times article from the time said that the water in the Chicago River “now resembles liquid.” (Sorry, St. Louis!)

As Jean pointed out, the tail end of the Gilded Age in Chicago was a time of juxtaposition, when typhoid epidemics and inaugural symphony concerts were happening simultaneously. 

Start your tour of the Charnley-Persky House Museum where the servants used to spend most of their time, in the basement. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The Basement/Visitors center of the Charnley-Persky House 

Our tour of the Charnley-Persky House began in the basement, which is the visitors center. This floor was strictly for the servants’ use, so the family had no reason to come down here.

The basement contains a kitchen, boiler room, laundry room, bathroom, root cellar and butler’s pantry with a dumbwaiter.

The soapstone sink has a concrete basin. “I think the reason it’s still here is because it’s too heavy to move,” Jean speculated. “Some things are just too inconvenient to destroy.”

Overall, the house presented some design challenges, starting with its narrow footprint. It has 4,500 square feet spread across four floors — but it’s only 25 feet deep from one wall to the other. It’s essentially designed in the space of a row house, but with the entrance on the long side instead of the short side. 

What’s impressive is how Sullivan and Wright got creative with elements of the home’s design. Originally, another house was planned to be built against the back wall, so there were no windows on that side. The architects added interior windows to bring light into the space. How sweet of them to consider the welfare of the servants.

The Charnleys were lucky (err, rich) enough to have hot water in the home. When it came to heating, Sullivan and Wright went against the norm by hanging the hot water radiator below the floor — and saved a lot of room in the dining room upstairs.

This genius feature hides the radiator and saves all that space from making the dining room above more cramped. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

There’s a door off to the side of the main room that leads to the coal cellar. It’s actually built under the sidewalk, and a manhole out front offered access for delivery men to shovel coal in.

Higher-end Roman bricks were used on the front of the home, with cheaper Chicago common bricks at the back. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The Façade of the Charnley-Persky House

Most of the homes in the Gold Coast neighborhood are grandiose 19th century Victorian row houses with sharp vertical lines and elaborate ornamentation on their windows, doors, porches — basically everywhere. Many are made of rusticated brownstone and sport an asymmetrical design.

So one thing that sets the Charnley-Persky House apart is its horizontal layout.

“There’s nothing like it anywhere around here — even now,” Jean pointed out. 

Chicago was a brick-making center in the 1890s, manufacturing about 600 million bricks a year. This house reflects that. On the back side, Chicago common brick was used. Uneven in color and crumbly, they were made from clay in the Chicago River. They were also much cheaper than other types of brick. However, the front and sides of the home feature more expensive Roman brick and natural limestone.

The front door of the house. You can see the importance of horizontal planes and symmetry in the home’s design. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

In the design, Sullivan exaggerated the horizontal planes. The natural limestone goes all the way across the front section and the side. There’s a balcony that spans the front. It has pillars, but they are short and squat. The Roman brick is narrow. And you can’t see the low-hipped roof at all.

The design is notable for its lack of ornamentation around the windows and doors. “Sullivan wanted the mass of the building itself to be present to us, and not to cover it up with all kinds of frills and doodads — that’s the architectural term,” Jean joked.

Also in stark contrast to its neighbors, the house is completely symmetrical, with the front door and balcony in the center and the same number of windows on each side. 

The house is devoid of decoration, aside from the metalwork on the balcony, which features some of Sullivan’s recurring motifs. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Looking at the design of the Charnley-Persky House, there are a few key motifs worth noting. One of these is the incised pattern on the balcony, which can be seen throughout the building, including the front door. Sullivan loved to incorporate organic shapes and patterns into his work, and he often referred to the pointed oval motif as a seed pod. 

“He put them on every single thing he designed,” Jean said. “Everything, even down to the tombs in Graceland Cemetery.”

Sullivan was certainly ahead of his time with this house. He was so proud of it that he advertised it in architecture magazines in England, promoting it as the first American modern design. 

Louis Sullivan, on the left, most likely designed the Charnley-Persky House — but that didn’t stop Wright, on the right, from taking credit later in life.

The Sullivan and Wright Controversy 

Wright was working as a draftsman for Sullivan at the time the Charnley-Persky House was built. Evidence shows that Adler and Sullivan, well-established architects at the peak of their business, would design the entire plan of the house, including the decoration and wood choices. Then, Wright would fill in some of the details. 

“So, while there are some unique elements that may be Wright’s additions, the overall design was likely a collaboration between the three architects,” Jean informed us. 

But that’s not what Wright claimed. In his 1932 autobiography, Wright wrote that he had designed the house entirely on his own. And the claim couldn’t be refuted, as Sullivan had passed away in 1924, and the firm’s records had burned in a fire. 

“Sullivan and Wright were very close, until they weren’t,” Jean said. “They both had very big egos.”

Wright left Adler & Sullivan in 1893. He claimed he was fired for moonlighting, building other houses on his own.

“But evidence suggests Sullivan didn’t care,” Jean went on. “I think Sullivan said, ‘You’re fired.’ And Wright said, ‘You can’t fire me — I quit.’ It was one of those situations. I think Wright had reached a point where he had the skills and the confidence to leave and go on his own.”

Jean added that Sullivan was an alcoholic and very difficult to get along with, while Wright was brilliant and visionary. 

The narrow entrance hall at the home, where the fireplace takes center stage. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Inside the Charnley-Persky House: The Foyer

Step inside, and the first thing you notice is the foyer fireplace, which boasts original mosaic designs that echo flickering flames. The flue is hidden underneath the stairs and goes up the back. The fireplace has no mantel, which allows for an unobstructed view and emphasizes those horizontal lines that are a hallmark of Sullivan’s style.

Sullivan incorporated elements of the Arts and Crafts movement, which highlighted craftsmanship and natural materials. The use of wood as the main decorative element and the incorporation of organic motifs, such as oak leaves and acorns, were typical of this style.

Wide, expensive white oak panels feature prominently. Remember, Charnley was in the lumber biz. 

Those skylights illuminating the stairwell and landings is something you’d typically find in commercial buildings — not a family home. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The design of the Charnley-Persky House reflects Sullivan’s experience with commercial buildings, as well as his innovative approach to residential design. The atrium and skylight, which were more commonly found in commercial buildings, allowed for natural light and air to flow through the home. This was a departure from the typical dark, closed-off interiors of Victorian homes.

To either side of the door are cozy alcoves. The Charnleys didn’t leave any letters, diaries or photos, so we have no idea how the family used these spaces. However, there’s only one sitting room, so it’s possible that these alcoves served as small reception areas for guests before entering the dining room.

No one’s quite sure what the Charnleys used the alcoves to either side of the front door for. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

According to the 1900 census, the Charnley family had two live-in Swedish servant girls. “You know,” Jean said. “You’re a servant girl until you’re at least 80.” The “girls” did the cooking, cleaning and everything else that needed to be done around the house.

The dining room at the Charnley-Persky House was much less elaborate than most in the Gilded Age. Photo by David Schalliol

The Dining Room

Wide, beaded paneling was all the rage back then. You could buy strips of beaded wood and simply glue them onto a surface. Sullivan kept the room plain and modern, aside from the fireplace. The richly carved mahogany mantle with a stylized four-point seed pod motif, surrounded by a vegetal pattern, is set above African rose marble tiles imported from England.

“I don’t know why they’re not from Chicago. We made everything else,” Jean mused. “But anyway, that’s where they’re from.”

The rose marble tiles of the fireplace in the dining room came from Britain, while pretty much everything else was locally sourced.

The buffet isn’t original, but the woodwork suggests that there was probably a built-in piece of furniture there at some point. So the folks at SOM custom-designed one to fit in. Look closely: Its design mimics that of the house exterior.

Unusual for the more-is-more Gilded Age, there are no parquet floors or ledges to be filled with statues, crystal and the like.

The Charnleys were quiet folk who didn’t entertain much. In addition to the deaths of their daughters, James was diagnosed with Bright’s disease in the mid-1890s. This chronic kidney inflammation had no treatment or cure — it was a one-way ticket to the grave. He survived only 10 years after his diagnosis.

Unfortunately, the Charnleys couldn’t catch a break. James’ brother and sister-in-law ran off with $100,000 from the Fourth Presbyterian Church. Their two sons felt such shame at their parents’ actions that they both committed suicide.

“Money really cannot buy you everything,” Jean said.

But there’s a glimmer of happiness in this sad tale. Enter Seymour Persky, the philanthropist who swooped in and saved the mansion from demolition. He was a lawyer-turned-developer who made a fortune and then dedicated his life to collecting architectural artifacts, bless his heart.

The servants would do prep work in the butler’s pantry, where they could stay out of sight but still keep an eye on how dinner was progressing.

Off the dining room is the butler’s pantry. My favorite detail: the narrow window in the door, where the help could keep an eye on the diners’ progress. 

“During the Victorian era, they say children should be seen and not heard. I think servants were supposed to be neither seen nor heard,” Jean said. “They just sort of floated in when they needed to take a plate away.”

The Charnleys’ sitting room is now home to the Society of Architectural Historians library.

The Sitting Room

The highlight of the sitting room (now the SAH library) is the gorgeous tiger stripe white oak paneling. It’s called “tiger stripe” because it looks like, well, a tiger’s stripes. The wood didn’t come cheap. It’s cut from quarter-sawn wood, which is basically like slicing a citrus fruit into wedges. This is wasteful, but it brings out the beautiful and distinct grain pattern. Keep in mind, though: Charnley was a lumber baron, and wood was certainly an area where he could splurge.

At the time, the biggest commodities in Chicago were meat, wheat and lumber. While at least 200 lumber schooners entered the Chicago River every day, the industry had started to decline. The northern forests of white oak in Michigan and Wisconsin had been depleted. And on the day of the Chicago Fire, there was also a huge fire in Peshtigo, Wisconsin, a lumber mill town, which burned to the ground.

People switched to Southern yellow pine, and the industry dispersed instead of being centralized in Chicago.

The benches, cabinets and leaded glass in the sitting room are all original.

There’s another beautiful fireplace in here, this one with carved oak leaves. And again, African rose marble. 

Those scrolling leaves are pure Sullivan, but it’s believed that the geometric design in the middle of the sitting room fireplace woodwork was most likely a Wright touch.

One detail that experts believe came from Wright is the geometric ornamentation of the fireplace panels. It’s unlikely that Sullivan would have conceived the pointed arches and flat, almost Gothic stylized leaves, as this is an arrangement that one would expect from Wright.

The star of the show: The amazing screen that somewhat hides the staircase is one of the elements attributed to Wright in the home’s design.

Upstairs: The Staircase, Bedrooms and Balcony

In my opinion, the most striking part of the home is the staircase. The stairs are set back a bit behind a screen of slender oak spindles, so they appear to be floating. “It’s a beautiful way to illuminate the stairs without closing them off,” Jean said, adding that scholars believe this may have been a Wright touch as well.

Upstairs are two bedrooms, access to the balcony and beautiful (if a bit precarious) woodwork looking down to the first floor. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The bedrooms are now offices for the architectural society. The rooms themselves aren’t overly impressive, with small unadorned fireplaces ordered from a catalog. There was no need to impress others, you see; it’s the idea of private vs. public space. But they do boast unheard-of amenities at the time: Each has an en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. 

One interesting tidbit: Unlike most homes of the wealthy at the time, James and Helen shared a bedroom. But we knew they had modern sensibilities when they hired Sullivan to design the home.

Another staircase in the back corner of the landing leads all the way from the basement to the fourth floor, where the servants’ bedrooms were located. They were about half the size of the other bedrooms. While you might think the servants had it nice since the top floor has the best view, just remember that there wasn’t any air conditioning — and heat rises.

The only real outdoor space found at the Charnley-Persky House is the front balcony. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The balcony was the only outdoor space. Because the house is close to the lake (and this is the Windy City, after all) there’s always a nice breeze. It looks west, to what was a shop across the street. “Not much was going on,” Jean said. “And then Little Hell. So you didn’t need to see too far.”

That pinkish-putty brown color (Jean’s not a fan) matches the original hue of the balcony.

The house was given to the SAH, but unfortunately, there’s no endowment to support its upkeep. Tours, donations and the efforts of the architectural society subsidize the preservation of this magnificent house so that it can continue to be enjoyed for generations to come. 

If you are a Chicagoan interested in architecture or history, or are visiting Chicago and looking for something to do after you’ve seen the Bean, book a tour to experience the birth of the modern home, designed by two of the world’s most famous architects.

The home is open for docent-led tours every Wednesday and Saturday at noon year round. There’s an additional Saturday tour at 10 a.m. from April to October. Tours are free on Wednesdays and cost $10 on Saturdays. Reservations are required and tours are limited to 10 people. –Wally

Look for this fence to enter the small sunken courtyard that leads to the visitors center to start your tour. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Charnley-Persky House Museum

1365 North Astor Street
Chicago, Illinois 60610
USA

 

Graycliff: Frank Lloyd Wright’s Ode to Lake Erie

This impressive estate perched above the water was built for Isabelle Martin and shows the birth of Wright’s organic architecture.

Frank Lloyd Wright built Graycliff, a summer residence for the Martins, from 1926 to 1929 — just in time for the family to lose their great wealth.

Frank Lloyd Wright had to grow on me. Actually, more accurately, I had to experience his work firsthand to develop an appreciation for it. Because, to me at least, his exteriors can seem monolithic, the windows small, the horizontal planes somewhat uninteresting. 

But when you enter one of his homes, it’s like you’ve entered a magical realm — the unassuming wardrobe that opens into the fantastical realm of Narnia, if you will. Wright transports you to another world, a cozy space where nature is invited in, often in surprising ways. You develop a great respect for the thought and vision that went into each of his homes. The environment connects to the site with a palette inspired by, and often using, materials sourced from the immediate area. 

“When the Martins complained about the additions, Wright replied, “You don’t need them — but the house does.””

Our docent, Gail, was extremely knowledgeable about Graycliff and its colorful history.

The Martin Family and the History of Graycliff

Graycliff was the lakeside haven and summer home of Isabelle and Darwin Martin. Darwin was a wealthy executive at the Larkin Soap Company and first met Wright at his Oak Park studio in 1902 to discuss the commission of a Larkin Administration Building. He later commissioned Wright to design and build the home that would become Graycliff. The estate is perched atop a 50-foot bluff overlooking Lake Erie in the town of Derby, New York, about 20 miles south of Buffalo. In the distance, you can see the Point Abino Lighthouse and the Welland Canal in Canada. 

The Larkin Soap Company was a massive mail-order business, and Darwin one of the highest paid executives at the time (worth the equivalent of $40 million nowadays). This accounts for his ability to build not only Graycliff but the family home in Buffalo (known as the Martin House) with Wright — an architect notorious for not letting a budget get in the way of his vision. 

But all of that changed when the stock market crashed in 1929, ushering in the Great Depression. Darwin had heavily invested in a number of his son’s business ventures, including 800 West Ferry, a luxury apartment high-rise in Buffalo. Due to these underperforming investments, the Martins’ fortunes eroded. 

Darwin sustained a series of mild strokes and a more serious episode on December 17, 1935, resulting in his death. 

It was reported that upon hearing of Darwin’s death, Wright stated that he had lost his best friend and most influential patron. Over the years, Darwin loaned Wright approximately $70,000. None of it was ever repaid. 

Isabelle continued to spend summers at Graycliff until about 1941. When she could no longer afford to keep the main house open, she moved into the apartment above the garage in the Foster House, before passing away on February 22, 1945 at the age of 75. 

Wright probably never imagined a modern sculpture sitting on the lawn at Graycliff — but we like to think he’d approve.

Wright’s Vision for Graycliff

Construction of the estate began in 1926 and was a gift from Darwin to Isabelle, upon his retirement from the Larkin Soap Company. The Martins were able to spend their first summer there in 1929, though the grounds weren’t completed until 1931. 

The complex comprises the main house, a sunken boiler house (called the Heat Hut) and the Foster House, originally conceived as the chauffeur’s quarters, so named because it was used as the summer residence of Isabelle’s daughter, Dorothy Martin Foster, her son-in-law, James, and their two children. 

Graycliff is named for the natural feature that forms the overlook it’s perched upon, and despite sounding a bit dour, the house is actually bright and airy. Not only did Wright want to provide views of Lake Erie, he had another reason to fill the house with natural light: Isabelle suffered from scleritis, a condition that causes chronic eye pain and light sensitivity. According to correspondence sent from the Martins to Wright, Isabelle needed a place that was flooded with “light and sunshine” — the opposite of their city home, which was dark and difficult for her to navigate. 

The view of the lake through the home was destroyed for a while when the Piarist priests put their chapel here.

The Piarist Priests: The Other Owners of Graycliff

In the 1950s, the Martin descendants sold the property to the Piarist Fathers, a Roman Catholic teaching order from Hungary. The Piarist edict being education for every child, they formed Calasanctius High School in Buffalo and needed residences for 24 priests and a boarding home for 48 underprivileged students.

When the priests purchased the property, they also needed a chapel to accommodate the large Hungarian community in the area. So they tore out a wall to create a new entrance and replaced the windows of the cantilevered porch with colored glass — thereby cutting off the view of the lake through the house and destroying Wright’s main vision for Graycliff. 

The story goes that when Wright was 91, he visited Graycliff, unannounced, with some protégés. 

The architect pulled up, and the head priest, recognizing the fancy car, ran out to greet him. Taking one look at the alterations, the first thing Wright says is, “Who did this? This is not my work.”

“We needed a chapel,” the priest stammered.

“Well, I can design you one,” Wright said. 

Ignoring the priest, he turned to his colleagues and said, “Come on. I’ll show you the house.” And in they walked, uninvited. 

Wright never got to design that chapel, as he died a few months later. But he’d be happy to learn the property has been restored. 

Isabelle liked to create flower arrangements, so Wright planted a cutting garden for her in front of the home.

The Cutting Garden

Our tour began with a walk through Isabelle’s garden. She was noted for her flower arrangements, so Wright designed gardens to accommodate her hobby. 

Eventually, the Martins hired landscape architect Ellen Biddle Shipman, renowned for her naturalistic style, to revise Wright’s landscaping scheme. Shipman enhanced the garden for Isabelle, giving her flowers that would bloom in rotation from spring through fall. 

The site also includes pine trees, which reminded Isabelle of summers at the Lake Placid Club in the Adirondack Mountains. 

Beyond the cutting garden were the vegetable gardens, orchards for apple and pear trees and grapevines. 

The house was approached from a diagonal driveway, which faced the sunset and helped make the narrow home appear larger.

The First Glimpse of Graycliff

Our initial view of the house took place between two stone markers, the original location of the driveway that led to the house. 

The family owned eight and a half acres, but the plot where they wanted their summer home was two and a half acres. Further complicating matters, the spot atop the limestone bluff was just 250 feet wide. That’s very narrow for a 6,500-square-foot house. 

But there was nothing Wright liked so much as a challenge. And one of the cool, oh-so-Wright elements is that you approach Graycliff at an angle. The Martins bought the adjoining property from their next-door neighbors, the well-to-do Rumseys. The driveway branches off of the Rumseys’ and perfectly faces the setting sun, which would be a vision for visitors arriving for a summer soirée. 

The turnabout was made of yellow gravel — to complement the gold of the setting sun, of course. 

Approaching from an angle had an added bonus: It made the narrow façade seem more stately and grand. 

But the house itself wasn’t the main focus: Wright wanted the first glimpse to be of the lake; that was the true star of the show.

Horizontal lines almost always play a prominent role in Wright’s designs. For him, they draw a parallel to the ground, and in particular at Graycliff, the horizon and the surface of Lake Erie. The house becomes one with nature. 

The roof is made with cedar shake shingles, each hand-painted. Wright didn’t like gutters, so the house doesn’t have any. He never was one to let practicality get in the way of aesthetics. 

By creating a glass box of sorts, visitors could see through the home’s rectilinear form right out to the lake. At the time Graycliff was built, the area was undeveloped farmland, with nothing obstructing the view of the water. 

The driveway curves around an artificial pond, but that wasn’t part of Isabelle’s plan. Once again, she wanted something that would evoke her beloved Adirondacks, and she requested a small hill covered with bushes and low trees. But Wright cleverly played the money card, and insisted that the pond would be less expensive. The idea is that this water feature would be an extension of the lake. Wright almost always got his way.

A large part of Wright’s design aesthetic involves incorporating colors and materials from the surrounding area. At Graycliff, sand from the shores of Lake Erie was mixed into the stucco to add another layer of texture, and the home’s red roof is meant to evoke the ferrous oxide in the Tichenor limestone on the cliff behind the house that bleeds a rust color. 

Sand from the beach was added to the stucco façade and inspired its yellow hue. The cliff’s limestone, bleeding a rusty red that carries into the color of the roof, was also used to build the home.

Another design motif favored by Wright was cantilevers — and at Graycliff, he wanted to evoke the layers of limestone on the bluff. 

His plans called for various additions, but his clients weren’t sold. 

“The Martins were concerned about money, and they said to him, ‘We really don’t need this balcony; we don’t need the stone porch; we don’t need the porte cochère. Just a little awning would be great,’” our guide Gail tells us. “And then they go away on a trip — and when they come back, all that’s in process.”

When the Martins complained about these additions, Wright replied, “You don’t need them — but the house does.” Ever the egotist, Wright was always right, and he bristled whenever someone questioned his vision. 

Stay by Sarah Braman, 2022, on the grounds of Graycliff

Sarah Braman: Finding Room

When we visited Graycliff, monumental modern sculptures by Sarah Braman were scattered about the grounds. These large geometric shapes made of concrete and brightly colored glass added a vibrant element of visual interest to the landscape. We enjoyed them, and hope that Wright would have appreciated them as well.

Duke peeks out of Sit, a 2022 sculpture by Braman — the first of her works we saw during our visit to Graycliff

Wally takes the name of the sculpture, Sit, literally.

That being said, we could have done without a couple of the ones inside the house. We’d have preferred to see the living room set up as it would have been when the Martins lived here — not emptied of some pieces of furniture to make way for Braman’s smaller-scale sculptures of domestic items and found objects, which struck us as disjointed. 

The client actually wanted a hill here with trees — but Wright insisted on a small pond that would connect to the lake out back.

Entering Graycliff

Upon arrival, we passed through the porte cochère and entered the foyer. Immediately, you’ll notice one of Wright’s signature architectural techniques, known as compression and release. In the entry, the ceiling is low, and the smaller scale of the room creates a tension that propels you to move beyond it, into the larger living room, an open space with higher ceilings. To create the expansive double-height space, Wright used beams from nearby Bethlehem Steel. 

Unlike Wright’s Prairie-style homes, which were concentric, with one large room off of which the others flowed, Graycliff is rectilinear. One room follows another, and Wright used compression to define transitions between these spaces without walls. By this time, he was moving into a style he referred to as organic architecture.

The stucco-covered walls used on Graycliff’s exterior continue into the interior, and provide a visual connection between the outdoors and indoors. 

When the Graycliff Conservancy purchased the property in 1999, very few of the original furnishings remained. Many are reproductions, including the willow and reed pieces throughout the home. This type of furniture was very popular during the late ’20s and is thought to be similar to what Darwin and Isabelle saw when they vacationed in the Adirondacks. –Wally 

Wright felt fireplaces were the heart of a home, and this one was built in the Adirondack style.

A Room-by-Room Tour of Graycliff

The Living Room

The living room is center stage. Floor-to-ceiling windows and doors open onto the front terrace and the backyard and span the length of the house. These walls of glass provide gorgeous views of Lake Erie and fill the interior with plenty of natural light. The focal point of the room is the monumental Adirondack-style stone fireplace with a mantle that nearly covers the north wall. Wright believed that the fireplace was the heart of the home. An unusual feature to this type of hearth is that logs were stacked on end, vertically. As a fire burned, it created a dramatic plume of flames. 

One of the few materials used in the home that was not sourced locally was the cypress heartwood flooring from Florida — most likely chosen for its durability and beauty.

Curl up with a good book in the Fern Room, a cozy nook off of the living room.

The Fern Room

Adjacent to the living room is a cozy nook that served as a library and is known as the Fern Room — a great spot to curl up with a good book and admire the incredible views of the lake. The ceiling is lower here to establish a more intimate space. The floor is covered in flagstone that came from the city of Buffalo, which was, at the time, replacing its stone walkways with concrete. 

Wright proposed that the window glass meet at the corners so as not to obstruct the view, but the Martins didn’t see the need for that additional expense. (He would later get his way at Fallingwater, a home built for Edgar and Liliane Kaufmann between 1936-1937 in Mill Run, Pennsylvania.)

The Sunporch

Beyond this, the floorplan flows into the sunroom, with rubber floor tiles. Originally a screened-in porch, cypress-framed windows were added to shield occupants from the intense winds coming off the lake. 

The room functioned primarily as a music room. Isabelle had a paid companion who lived at Graycliff by the name of Cora Herrick, though the children called her Aunt Polly. She played the piano — one of the few original pieces of furniture remaining in the home. According to Gail, Darwin wrote in his diary how much he loved hearing music being played while he was working at his desk above. 

Diners had great views at Graycliff — and got to avoid errant sparks flying out of the fireplace.

The dining room at Graycliff is around the corner from the living room.

The Dining Room

On the other side of the living room is an area that served as the dining room. 

The table is positioned parallel to the wall so that guests could easily turn to enjoy the view of the lake — and also to avoid the errant sparks and embers that occasionally popped out of the fireplace. 

All six bedrooms are found upstairs.

The Staircase

A cascading waterfall staircase made of maple leads to the home’s bedrooms on the second floor. This type of passage consists of two parallel flights of stairs joined by a landing that creates a 90-degree turn. 

A dramatic window with a diamond shape at the top of the stairs

The architect’s signature use of rhythmic repetition can be seen in the home’s details. Wright noticed that the local limestone breaks off in geometric forms, so he gave a nod to these in subtle ways: octagonal door knobs and a diamond-shaped window at the apex of the staircase as well as light fixtures. This brings order and visual harmony to Graycliff. 

Poor Darwin got stuck with the worst bedroom of the bunch.

Darwin, a workaholic, converted his porch into an office.

Darwin Martin’s Bedroom

Upon climbing the stairs, Darwin’s bedroom can be found to the right. Not only did Darwin not share a room with his wife, he was also assigned the worst of the bunch, to our minds. It’s smaller than most of the other bedrooms, though it does contain a small bathroom and sleeping porch.

Darwin converted the porch into an office, as he was a notorious workaholic.

The bedrooms feature one of the innovations at the time: olive knuckle hinges patented by Stanley Company that allow a recessed door to open all the way flat to the wall. 

This sparse hallway led to the bedrooms and the back staircase.

We really liked Braman’s Her House (2019), which sat in Isabelle’s room, as it evoked the larger pieces on the lawn.

A guest room next to Isabelle’s room offered twin beds — and gorgeous views of Lake Erie.

Isabelle’s room had its own bathroom, a door out to a balcony and a walk-in closet — unheard-of in a Wright home!

Isabelle Martin’s Bedroom 

At the top of the stairs and looking to the left is a monastic gallery, which has a similar set of windows as the living room below, and leads to a private wing with bedrooms. The first is a nice guest room, with Isabelle’s bedroom next door.

Wright despised closets. However, Isabelle was the client of record for the house and insisted he provide her with one. Her bedroom includes a walk-in closet where the bathroom was originally planned. But Isabelle wanted her bathroom to have a window, so it had to go on the lake side and required Wright to cut a hole into the chimney to accommodate her request. 

A private terrace is accessible from Isabelle’s room, and she probably spent evenings there as direct sunlight would have been too much for her eyes to bear. 

She might have been the hired help, but Aunt Polly sure had nice digs at Graycliff.

Aunt Polly’s Room 

While she did get a nice bedroom, Aunt Polly was technically the help. Her room is a transitional space from that of the immediate family to the staff. 

Cora remained in service from 1911 until Isabelle’s death in 1945. In 1929, when the Martins could no longer afford to pay her, Cora stayed on for room and board. After their mother’s death, the children took care of their dear Aunt Polly. 

Even the servants had cute rooms at Graycliff.

The servants had their meals in a sunroom at the back of the house.

This cool sink came from Europe and was used exclusively by Isabelle for her flower arrangements.

The Pantry and Kitchen 

Farther down the corridor are two bedrooms for the staff, as well as the back staircase that leads down to the staff sunporch and kitchen area.

The hammered metal sink in the pantry was imported from Europe and was used solely by Isabelle to arrange flowers from her cutting garden. The cook had to use the one in the adjacent kitchen, which faced the front yard instead of the lake. 

On display within the built-in cabinets, another Wright trademark, behind Isabelle’s sink, are Larkin Soap products, including Buffalo china. Elbert Hubbard was Darwin’s brother-in-law and started the Arts and Crafts Roycroft movement in East Aurora, New York. He suggested to Larkin that consumers would be incentivized to purchase their product if they received a piece of china along with it. He was right, and the pottery ended up being quite successful. 

In the cabinets, there’s also the Martins’ red and white wedding china and Indian Tree pattern china, which were gifted to the conservancy by the couple’s grandchildren. 

Here’s the sink the cook used in the kitchen off of the pantry.

The stovetop and oven were all part of one piece of furniture.

The small yet functional kitchen contains another original piece, a hulking fridge from the Jewett Refrigeration Company, along with a freestanding prep station, sink and porcelain-glazed stove. 

The Heat Hut held a boiler to heat both Graycliff and the Foster House. Then the priests used it to store wine and honey.

The Heat Hut

Sitting between the main home and the Foster House is the sunken red-roofed Heat Hut. The structure once held an oil boiler that provided steam heat to both houses. According to Gail, the Piarist priests used it to store wine and honey from the bees they kept on the property. 

The Foster House, part of the garage at the Graycliff estate, was originally used by the chauffeur and his family.

The Foster House

The apartment above the garage was built for the chauffeur and his family. The original design was flipped so that the cantilever balcony would afford its inhabitants unobstructed views of the lake. 

Shortly after the stock market crashed, the Martins couldn’t afford to keep the chauffeur out at Graycliff, so they sent him back to Buffalo, and their daughter Dorothy, and her husband, James Foster, moved in, spending summers there with their two children until 1941. 

Wally and Duke on a balcony of the Foster House

There are quite a few bedrooms in the Foster House — but not much else, aside from a small sitting room and kitchen.

After Darwin’s death and the family’s financial troubles, Isabelle moved into the Foster House, staying in what was the gardener’s room, which had its own bathroom. The ever-particular woman liked to sit on the balcony — but she didn’t appreciate seeing the cars pull into and out of the garage. She contacted Wright, who acquiesced and moved the garage doors to the side and extended the wall.

Wright extended a wall to block out the view of cars coming and going from the garage for Isabelle.

“And she says, ‘While you’re at it, can you make me another bedroom up there?’” Gail tells us. So the apartment now has four bedrooms and a couple more balconies. Isabelle seems to have been the one person who could charm Wright into altering his original plans.

The seating out back helped hide the servants carrying picnic items down to the beach and back.

The Esplanade 

Wright’s idea for the esplanade was to build a reflecting pool, cascading terraces and steps that led all the way down to the beach. But when the architect left the premises, Darwin contacted his friends at Bethlehem Steel to request a metal tower with steps like those his neighbors had. Not as pretty as Wright’s vision but certainly practical. It deteriorated, so there’s no longer any way down the beach.

Duke, Poppa and Wally enjoy the gorgeous day at Graycliff.

The access to the stair tower was visible, though, and again Isabelle complained about the view. When she was out on her terrace, she could see the servants coming and going. She felt this was unseemingly — that’s why they had a rear staircase, after all — so Wright constructed the overlook seating in such a way that the help could go about their business while remaining out of sight. 

Saving Graycliff 

When the Martin family decided to sell the property, the person who wanted to buy it was a developer who built the condominiums that are now next door. He planned to demolish Graycliff — who needs a historic home when you can get top dollar for lakefront condos? 

Thankfully, a group in Buffalo came to the rescue, forming the Graycliff Conservancy. In 1999 they received a grant, and the conservancy was able to purchase the property. 

The renovations began, wrapping up in 2019 and costing about $10 million. 

There are plans to build a new eco-friendly visitors center to replace the current one, which was built by the priests as a gymnasium for the children.

Restored back to its 1926 splendor, Graycliff exemplifies Wright’s philosophy of living in harmony with nature. If you’re in the Buffalo area, stop by for a visit. As with all of Wright’s homes, they have to be seen to be fully appreciated. –Duke

Frank Lloyd Wright’s Graycliff

Graycliff

6472 Old Lake Shore Road
Derby, New York 14047
USA

 

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The Fayban Villa and Its Connection to Frank Lloyd Wright

Fabyan Villa Museum and Its Frank Lloyd Wright Connection

Tour the picturesque Riverbank estate, with the Fabyan Forest Preserve, a Japanese garden, a windmill, quirky curios (a suspect mummy!) — and a codebreaking legacy.

The Fabyan Villa can thank Frank Lloyd Wright for its cruciform shape. The house and its grounds are worth exploring if you want to take a day trip from Chicago.

Before my parents make their annual visit to Wally and me in Chicago, we plan an interesting day trip, do a little research and look for something quirky to do. Typically it’s somewhere a bit farther afield since neither of us has a car. I can’t recall how we settled on the Fabyan Villa in Geneva, Illinois. It’s entirely possible that I came across it on the Atlas Obscura website, given Wally’s and my proclivity for attractions that don’t always make their way into guidebooks. Or it could've had something to do with Frank Lloyd Wright, the Japanese garden or the circa-1850 Dutch-style windmill located on the grounds of the sprawling estate. 

Colonel George Fabyan

George Fabyan, Country Squire of Riverbank

In 1905, Colonel George and Nelle Fabyan purchased 10 acres of land in Geneva, including a Victorian-style farmhouse, as a country retreat from their residence in Chicago. Fabyan (pronouced like Fay-bee-yen) came from a wealthy and prominent Boston family. His father was a co-partner at Bliss, Fabyan and Company, one of the country’s largest dry goods and textile merchants, known for Ripplette, a lightweight, crinkly fabric similar to seersucker, which needed no to minimal ironing after washing. 

Fabyan inherited his father’s wealth — around $2 million dollars (equivalent to over $57 million today). He acquired an additional 300-plus acres over the next 20 years and named the estate Riverbank. 

George and Nelle indulged in a variety of unconventional interests, including cryptology, Japanese gardening and the construction of a scientific laboratory complex that let them pursue their research interests.

“Some rich men go in for art collections, gay times on the Riviera or extravagant living. But they all get satiated.

That’s why I stick to scientific experiments, spending money to discover valuable things that universities can’t afford. You can never get sick of too much knowledge.”

— Colonel George Fabyan

The Fabyan Villa Museum

A Tour of Fabyan Villa

The four of us arrived at the forest preserve, parked the car and followed the steps leading up to the house, which sits on a hillside overlooking the Fox River. We purchased tickets ($10 per person) and met a docent from the Preservation Partners of Fox Valley (PPFV) outside who told us about the historic home. In 1907, the Fabyans commissioned architect Frank Lloyd Wright to enlarge and remodel the existing farmhouse in the Prairie style. While it’s no Fallingwater or even Graycliff, it has its charms.

Additions included the two-story south wing, which added symmetry to the dwelling’s long, low cruciform shape, three projecting porches, wood-spindle screening and overhanging eaves, adding to the horizontality of the overall design. 

Our tour began in the Fabyans’ reception room, which is paneled in dark walnut and furnished with Victorian-era wood and glass display cabinets, showcasing the couple’s memorabilia, taxidermy and Asian ephemera. Among the notable acquisitions on display are a white marble statue of Diana and the Lion (Intellect Dominating Force) by American sculptor Frank Edwin Elwell, which stands in the dining room and was originally exhibited in the Palace of Fine Arts at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition. There’s also a Japanese samurai suit and a vitrine filled with bodhisattva statuettes.

On the back porch is a display case holding a mummy. Its body is wrapped in strips of linen and clutching what uncannily resembles an infant. Turns out the mummy is actually a forgery. In 1982, an expert examined the mummy, and an X-ray revealed it to be fabricated with nails, plywood, sawdust and a single bone inside the wrappings — and that bone came from a dog. Apparently, no one’s certain of its provenance or if the original owners knew it was a fake. One theory is that it may have been featured as a sideshow oddity or was an artifact purchased by Fabyan from the Field Museum. 

The Fabyans’ mummy turned out to be a hoax.

Beyond the dining room is Nelle Fabyan’s bedroom and en suite bathroom with custom furniture designed by Wright. Nelle had a hanging bed, suspended from the ceiling like a giant swing, and it’s speculated that this was to promote air circulation and protect her from contracting tuberculosis. Many of the original furnishings were auctioned off when the estate was sold in 1939, but locals who owned pieces donated them back to the landmark, which is managed by the PPFV. 

Frank Lloyd Wright didn’t build the Fabyan Villa from scratch — but he did renovate it, infusing it with Prairie style aesthetics and symmetry.

Wright’s Prairie style aesthetic is also evident in the open floor plan and warm earth tone color palette used on the walls of the interior. 

Upstairs is the music room, where Nelle’s Victor Talking Machine aka Victrola, encased in a wood cabinet, stands sentinel. Only the wealthy could afford the innovative Victor-Victrola model, whose initial selling price was $200, expensive for the time.

Duke and Wally explore the estate.

Duke and his parents in the rose arbor (which was noticeably lacking roses at the time of our visit).

Connected to the music room is the sleeping porch, where the pet monkeys, Mike, Patsy and Molly, would stay during the winter months. The floor of the room is tinplate, with drainage incorporated for obvious reasons (monkey waste). Perhaps the simians filled the vacant role of children to the childless couple?

Furniture, art and light were an integral part of Wright’s conceptual philosophy, creating compositions that functioned as a cohesive whole. As such, he would have most likely despised the ornate Victorian bed in the second floor bedroom. Wright’s leaded glass cathedral-style windows or “light screens” as the architect called them, fill the room with light. They’re not the intricate geometric stained glass affairs he was famous for elsewhere, as, out here in the countryside, he didn’t want to obscure the beauty of the natural view. 

The house’s grounds lead down to the Fox River.

Fabyan’s Animal Kingdom 

In addition to that trio of monkeys, a menagerie of animals lived on the estate, including Cayman alligators, a pair of black bears (named Tom and Jerry after a popular Midwestern milk punch served at the holidays), cows and dogs. A bear cage remains southwest of the garden, and according to local lore, loaves of bread were baked in the basement of the windmill to feed Fabyan’s pet bears. 

Japanese gardens were a craze with the elite in the early 1900s, and the Fabyans added a lovely one to Riverbank.

Turning Japanese: The Fabyan Japanese Garden

Awaiting visitors outside and just beyond the villa are the Japanese gardens and rose arbor, which lead from the bottom of the slope at the rear of the villa down to the banks of the Fox River. After the Japanese embassy created a garden for the 1893 World’s Fair, they became a status symbol among the wealthy. 

The Fabyans’ gardens were built between 1910 and 1913 by landscape architect Issei Taro Otsuka, a Japanese immigrant gardener who later redesigned the 1893 Wooded Island in Jackson Park for the Century of Progress International Exposition, the second world’s fair hosted by Chicago.

The gardens were closed on our visit, but we were able to see the torii gate, traditionally found at the entrance of a Shinto shrine and demarcating the passage from the earthly to the sacred. The gardens looked beautiful from afar, with conifer pine trees, traditional stone lanterns and a graceful curved bridge reflected in the pond beneath it. 

Although Fabyan didn’t serve in the armed services, he was given the honorary title of colonel by Illinois Governor Richard Yates out of gratitude for his public service work after Fabyan allowed the National Guard to use the estate as a training ground — and from that time on, George was known as Colonel Fabyan. He also received Japan’s Order of the Rising Sun, a decoration of honor awarded for his invaluable participation in peace negotiations with Japanese emissaries, a few of whom stayed on the property when the Colonel and Nelle hosted them. 

Riverbank Laboratories, owned by Fabyan, conducted acoustic research and later became instrumental in codebreaking.

Codebreaking at Riverbank Laboratories: Birth of the NSA

The Fabyan estate also carried on extensive scientific research, with greenhouses where they would grow exotic plants and conduct genetic experiments. Across the street from the villa is Riverbank Laboratories. This was Fabyan’s think tank. He was interested in subjects as diverse as acoustics and, perhaps the Colonel`s most famous legacy, the cryptology laboratory.

The acoustics laboratory, which is still in operation today, was built around an ultra-quiet test chamber for the study of soundwaves and was designed by the top acoustics expert in the country, Professor Wallace Sabine of Harvard University. 

One of the Colonel’s odder obsessions was a belief that Sir Francis Bacon was the true author of some (or even all) of Shakespeare’s literary works, and that Bacon had left coded messages within the plays and sonnets. Fabyan hired Elizabeth Wells Gallup, a scholar and author of The Bi-literal Cypher of Sir Francis Bacon, to decipher a binary alphabet to reveal secret messages in the works of Shakespeare. 

Fabyan was convinced that there were clues in Shakespeare’s plays that revealed that their true author was actually Sir Francis Bacon.

Gallup’s team included Elizebeth and William Friedman, who spent years honing their cryptology skills researching the Bard’s works using Bacon’s ciphers. Though largely inconclusive, their efforts weren’t entirely in vain: The couple was instrumental in breaking codes and ciphers during World War I and World War II. Because the U.S. military didn’t yet have a dedicated department devoted to codebreaking, Fabyan’s Riverbank Laboratories ended up being the foundation for the NSA, the National Security Agency.

Fabyan was quite proud of his windmill. Make sure you cross the Fox River and check it out.

Over the River to the Windmill

In 1914, Fabyan purchased a Dutch-style windmill for $8,000 from Yorktown, Illinois, about 20 miles from its current location, and spent around $75,000 reconstructing it on the east bank of the Fox River. The windmill stands at an impressive 68 feet high and was originally built by Louis Blackhaus, a German immigrant and craftsman, between 1850 and 1860. 

But it was mainly a toy for Fabyan, who enjoyed showing it off to his Chicago friends. In 1979, the windmill was listed on the National Register of Historic Places, and the following year, it was selected to be on a U.S. postage stamp as part of a series in a booklet called Windmills USA. 

Look for the fun Egyptianate benches on the lawn.

Preserving the Legacy of the Fabyan Villa and Forest Preserve

George died in 1936 and Nelle in 1939, and because they had no offspring, the Forest Preserve District of Kane County purchased the majority of the estate and opened the residence as a museum the following year. Starting in 1995, the nonprofit PPFV was enlisted to maintain and provide tours of the historic dwelling. The house was added to the National Registerof Historic Places in 1984. 

The four of us had a wonderful time wandering the paths that cross the bucolic park-like setting of the historic estate, with plenty of photo opportunities along the way. It’s an easy drive (just over 40 minutes from Chicago) and it’s remarkable to consider the lasting scientific achievements that germinated from the Fabyans’ private research center. If you’re looking for a fun place to visit that combines architecture and nature, the Fabyan Villa is open for tours from May to October. –Duke

 

Fabyan Villa Museum & Japanese Garden

Fabyan Forest Preserve
1925 South Batavia Avenue
Geneva, Illinois, USA