The Joyful, Colorful World of Randyland in Pittsburgh

From the imagination of Randy Gilson: how this haven of whimsy and reclaimed objects has helped revitalize the Steel City.

Randy Gilson, the mad genius behind the folk art spectacle Randyland

Nestled in the heart of Pittsburgh’s Mexican War Streets neighborhood is the vibrant and colorful landmark known to locals as Randyland. The historic district was developed in the mid 19th century, shortly after the Mexican-American War — which is why its streets are named after battles and generals from the war.

“In 1995 Randy purchased the building on the corner of Jacksonia and Arch Streets for $10,000.

He used his credit card.”

Rubble, rubble: Randy working on Randyland in the ’90s

The History of Randyland

The story began when its imaginative creator, Randy Gilson, moved to the Central Northside neighborhood in the early ’80s. Randy saw the district’s potential, despite its decline, and became a community activist. He started clearing trash and converting city-owned vacant lots into green spaces. Fueled by a singular vision and a knack for repurposing discarded objects into art, Randy embarked on a mission to create a public space that embodied joy and positivity.

In 1995 he purchased the building on the corner of Jacksonia and Arch Streets for $10,000. He used his credit card. But there was no stopping his vision: to transform the space into a haven of creativity. Over the following decades, the whimsical outdoor oasis of Randyland emerged.

When Randy creates his artwork, it looks like he gets as much paint on his pants as he does on the house.

What started as a single house adorned with colorful murals has blossomed into a sprawling art collection. Found objects — everything from plastic pink flamingos to mannequin heads to bottle caps — are given a new lease on life, meticulously incorporated into the ever-evolving landscape. Whimsical sculptures welcome visitors, their painted surfaces reflecting the playful spirit of the place. 

Local residents and volunteers rallied behind Randy’s vision, donating materials, time and expertise to help bring Randyland to life. Over the years, Randy has created numerous pieces of art and has planted more than 800 trees and 50 vegetable gardens around Pittsburgh.

Families mill about Randyland during the Mexican War Streets House & Garden Tour.

Bringing Together the Community

Randyland’s artistic style is a delightful combination of folk and outsider art. There’s no adherence to established artistic conventions; the beauty lies in the sheer exuberance and the personal touch evident in every detail. The three-story house itself is a canvas, its bright yellow exterior adorned with fantastical scenes and characters.

The whimsical wonderland of Randyland

But Randyland is more than just a visual spectacle. It’s a space that fosters a sense of community. Randy, with his infectious enthusiasm, is a constant presence, engaging with visitors and sharing the story behind his creation. The museum has become a gathering place for locals and tourists alike, a vibrant counterpoint to the industrial backdrop of Pittsburgh.

Step this way! A cutout of Randy greets visitors to Randyland in Pittsburgh.

The impact of Randyland extends far beyond its physical boundaries. It has played a pivotal role in the cultural revitalization of the North Side, inspiring other institutions such as the Mattress Factory, a contemporary art space, to flourish in the area. And its fame has transcended geographical borders. Randyland had been featured on viral listicles and in a steady stream of social posts, thanks to its numerous photogenic vignettes.

Mac, who sadly passed away, helping his partner, Randy upkeep the attraction. Their hard work has helped revitalize the Mexican War Streets neighborhood.

Not All Rainbows and Unicorns

However, Randyland’s journey hasn’t been without its challenges. The extensive use of found objects means constant maintenance and repair. And the recent passing of Randy’s longtime partner, David “Mac” McDermott, who played a crucial role in the attraction’s operation, left a void. 

Yet the spirit of Randyland remains undimmed.

Randy’s work never ends — so while the attraction is free to visit, consider leaving a donation.

Visiting Randyland

The museum is a nonprofit organization, with donations from visitors forming the backbone of its financial support. Volunteers play a vital role in keeping the installations fresh and vibrant. You can also buy Randy’s merch in his store.

The museum is open every day of the week from 10 a.m. until 5:30 p.m. but may be closed during winter due to the weather.

If you’d like to experience the magic of Randyland yourself, find the perfect place to stay. Sites like Cozycozy make it easy to search for accommodations near Randyland and other Pittsburgh attractions, ensuring a comfortable and convenient stay in the Steel City. –Tímea Nguyen

There’s lots of fun, artsy things to buy at the general store.

“Fueled by a singular vision and a knack for repurposing discarded objects into art, Randy embarked on a mission to create a public space that embodied joy and positivity.”

You can’t miss Randyland, a fun activity for kids of all ages.

Randyland

1501 Arch Street
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15212
USA

 

Pittsburgh Is Anything But the Pits

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

Twisted Tours at Trundle Manor in Pittsburgh

This roadside oddity is a neighborhood haunt worthy of a detour. A fun combination of the weird and the macabre, the home includes a secret passage, a tumor that serenades visitors and plenty of other strange delights. 

The approach to Trundle Manor has a Bates family home feel to it — and then there’s the scary alien monster and the barrel of nuclear waste.

While Wally and I were looking for things to do in Pittsburgh, he stumbled upon Trundle Manor, a house of oddities and a museum of the bizarre. The quirky roadside attraction has been a fixture of the quiet residential neighborhood of Swissvale since 2009.

Intrigued, Wally sent an email to the proprietors and received a reply from the mysteriously named Mr. ARM, who asked when we’d like to stop by for a tour. “With a name like that we have to go,” Wally said, and decided then and there to schedule our visit.

One of the cute friends you’ll meet in the front yard

My parents, who we were traveling with, are up for anything. So we decided to throw caution to the wind and tell them we had a surprise for them. I asked my dad to set the GPS to 7724 Juniata Street. As we pulled up to the curb, we saw a colorful hand-painted sign at street level that read, “Trundle Manor,” beckoning visitors in (or warning them off). 

Not far from the sign was a yellow barrel stenciled with a hazardous waste symbol oozing green goo. When we looked up, we saw a two-story Victorian manor sitting atop a steep hill. The brick house looked a bit ominous, not unlike the Bates family house in Alfred Hitchcock’s movie Psycho.

Mima has a hair-raising and electrifying experience on the front porch.

The manor got its name from one of the couple’s epic Halloween parties. They invented the fictitious Trundle Graves Funeral Home and Taxidermy Service as part of the party’s theme, and the name stuck.

Wally takes a ride on the Loch Ness Monster.

My mom and dad exchanged looks, but they didn’t say anything. They’re used to our strange sensibilities. We got out of the car and walked up the steps leading to the front door. I rang the doorbell, and a moment later, the door was opened by our hostess, Velda von Minx. From the moment we saw her, Wally and I knew she was a kindred spirit. 

Our charming hostess, Velda von Minx, spun a nonstop tapestry of twisted tales.

Velda had blunt bangs, long wavy blonde hair, smoky eyes and an infectious laugh. She explained to us that her name is a sort of mashup of Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of author F. Scott Fitzgerald, and B-list actresses. It works. 

Her husband’s moniker, Mr. ARM, is an acronym using his initials. Sadly, he was indisposed. He had stayed up late the previous night and was sleeping during our visit. (Outside the manor, the couple are otherwise known as Rachel Rose Rech and Anton Raphael Miriello.)

This is what you can expect at Trundle Manor — strange and creepy items everywhere you look.

Here Comes Trundle

We were ushered into Trundle Manor and followed Velda into the dining room, which was decorated in a Victorian style, while muddled old-timey music crackled in the background.

Mima: We thought the taxidermied bird outside was telling us to go home. 

“Oh no!” Velda exclaimed. “But I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to Trundle Manor, our personal collection of weird and dead stuff.”

We looked around. The room was packed with oddities. 

Most of the taxidermied creatures at Trundle Manor have some sort of whimsical elements, like this bear, with his cymbals and marching band hat.

“About 15 years ago, we decided to open our house to the public and show off our collection,” Velda continued. “Anton grew up as a weird little kid, always bringing home dead things. His parents are both artists, and they encouraged him and would take him to flea markets, where they collected antiques and Art Deco pieces. He would always find something else to add to his collection.”

“Are you still collecting?” Mima asked. 

“Always! It’s hard to stop!” Velda chuckled. “People bring us things all the time, which is nice. It’s like our own personal museum drop-off. If they know you as someone who collects unusual things, they’ll often bring you items that they’ve inherited or that make them uncomfortable. I guess it’s a way for them to get rid of something that they don’t want, but also know that it’ll be appreciated by someone who loves weird stuff. We say it’s great to know people in different professions. Especially if you have friends in the funeral home industry, medical industry, veterinary technicians, people who clean out houses or even theater people — you’ll likely find that they have all sorts of cool things that they’re willing to part with.”

A small glass jar with something ashen inside and the name “H.H. Holmes” written on it, caught my eye. I asked Velda if they were the ashes of H.H. Holmes, the notorious serial killer at the center of Erik Larson’s brilliant book The Devil in the White City.

“It’s grave dirt,” she said with a smile. “From our favorite serial killer — if one needs a favorite serial killer. He was hanged at Moyamensing Prison in South Philadelphia in 1896 and buried in Holy Cross Cemetery in Yeadon, Pennsylvania, but his grave is unmarked. A local historian friend of ours got us some of the dirt from his grave.

“We also have grave dirt from some other famous people,” Velda added. “Like Rod Serling, Patsy Cline and Edgar Allan Poe. On the wall behind you is a jar of Bela Lugosi’s grave dirt. If it’s Dracula-related, we must have some of the earth he was buried in.”

I asked if the three bronze faces on the wall were of Lugosi. 

“They’re actually of Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Vincent Price.” Velda replied. “We have Vincent Price’s autograph. My grandmother met him in Dayton, Ohio in 1972 during a summer production of Oliver! We also got to meet John Astin, the actor who played the original Gomez Addams, on The Addams Family,” she added.

Astin is an idol of Miriello’s, and the couple met him about 10 or 11 years ago when they drove out to Baltimore and pretended to be acting students at Johns Hopkins University, where  Astin was a director of the theater arts until his retirement in 2021.

Papa, Mima, Duke and Wally are only pretending to be scared. They loved their visit to this kooky home.

Velda eyed Wally’s iPhone with the chubby cat on the back. “I love your case,” she said. “Who’s the cat?”

“That’s our cat, Bowzer,” I replied. “He’s a bit of a chubster, but he’s a sweetheart.”

“Our cat was 25 pounds,” Velda said. “He was the ring bearer at our wedding. We had to weld together a little circus cage to carry him, because you can’t train a cat to walk down the aisle. We gently escorted him down the aisle, and he did a great job.

Wally laughed. “That sounds like a memorable wedding,” he said. “So, are you Mrs. ARM now?”

Velda smiled. “I guess so,” she said. “I always go by Velda von Minx, but of course I’ll take Mrs. ARM! We had a very unique wedding. We got married at the Braddock Carnegie Library, which was the first Carnegie Library in America. There’s a big Victorian-era music hall attached. We wanted a party wedding, so we had 12 bands, five belly dancers, a gourmet waffle buffet and an all-day open bar with an absinthe fountain. It was like a 14-hour event. That’s my wedding gown in the tall case.”

“Did you say an absinthe fountain? With real wormwood?" Papa asked.

“Not enough to make you hallucinate — but enough to make you good and drunk!” Velda chuckled. 

The couple’s wedding was an epic event, featuring multiple bands, a belly dancer and an absinthe fountain.

“And here we have our collection of medical oddities," she continued, gesturing to a nearby table. “Embalming equipment, vintage syringes, anal speculums, trepanation tools and a whole platter of gynecological tools that came in a box with a handwritten note that said, ‘Sorry, ladies.’ We had to have that.

Sorry, ladies! This tray holds a frightening mix of old-school medical devices once used for gynecological checkups, anal probes and trepanation.

“When we visit antique shops, we make it our mission to find the most upsetting things to buy. Like this embalming machine, used to pump fluid into a cadaver by a mortician. It would take a lot of cleaning, but I could totally see it as a margarita machine.

“Or this dental X-ray machine from the 1920s. It was used in a dentist’s office in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, up until the 1990s. There’s a sticker inside that says, ‘CAUTION: Radiation When…’ but the rest of the text has fallen off. Needless to say, we’re not going to plug it in.

“All of our taxidermy is real. We don’t  hunt or kill anything ourselves. We prefer the very old, kind of hungover-looking ones.”

“I love that one!” I said, pointing to a taxidermied fox sitting atop a cabinet wearing a tiny tiara and a pink ribbon.

“The Princess Fox?” Velda asked. “That’s our oldest, from the 1890s. And this is one of our creations: a werewolf-mermaid, or mer-wolf. The top half is our friend’s Rottweiler that died of natural causes and was donated to us. The bottom half is a carp. There are mahi-mahi fins and glass eyes from a blind human.”

Princess Fox, to the right in a tiara, is the couple’s oldest specimen, dating to the 1890s.

Velda directed our attention to a pair of hybrid creatures.

"This is also one of ours,” she said. “These fighting catfish are part cat and part fish, and they’re always fighting. We’re not expert taxidermists. We just have a glass of absinthe and see what happens. We’re influenced by gaffs, which are fake creatures pieced together from real animals. Think P.T. Barnum’s traveling sideshow stuff and the FeeJee Mermaid.”

She regaled us with a great story about one of her and Miriello’s adventures:

“One time, we saw what we thought was a cat that had been hit by a car on the main road. We felt really bad, so we pulled over to see if we could help. It turned out that it was actually a skunk. We had a kill kit in the back of our car, a briefcase with a cleaver and a bunch of Ziploc bags. I was wearing an evening gown, as I often do, squatting and holding open a bag, while Anton chopped off its head with the cleaver. We looked across the street and saw a little 10-year-old boy watching us. We were like, ‘Oh, sorry.’”

Wally asked, “What did you do with that skunk head?”

Velda replied with one eyebrow arched, “It’s sitting on a shelf somewhere in that cabinet.”

Wally asked Velda if she could share any stories of paranormal activity or spooky experiences involving their house.

“Technically, our house should be haunted,” Velda said. “The previous owner, Charlie, committed suicide in 2006, and we’re the first people to live here since. We learned from our neighbors that he didn’t have many people in his life, was a member of Mensa, and a bit of a hoarder. So, we like to think that he’s living vicariously through us.”

Velda continued. “Everyone who comes here is good-natured, whether they’re a friend, family member or guest at one of our parties. There’s always positive energy, and we get to see people’s best days. We like to think that we’re providing him with entertainment, if nothing else. When we go out of town, we ask Charlie to look after the house.”

Wally asked what the rest of the house was like beyond the museum. Velda replied, “There’s a total of four rooms that are open to the public. The upstairs is where we live, and it's more retro rockabilly. There’s a pinball machine, our Lego collection and a ’50s diner booth.”

She continued, “I should also mention that our most priceless item in this room is a tiger pelt from Indonesia. It was donated to us by a man who was cleaning out his mother’s home after she passed away. He told us that the pelt came from a small village in Indonesia where his father was born. Sometime in the 1950s, a young Sumatran tiger was spotted lurking near a densely populated residential area. Concerned that the tiger might attack or kill their children, the father shot it and had its pelt made into a rug.”

A Sumatran tiger that was killed in the 1950s and made into a rug was donated to Trundle Manor, and became their most priceless part of the collection.

So how did Trundle Manor come to be?

“What started out as a party space for friends and family, photo shoots, art shows, movie screenings and burlesque shows has turned into a roadside attraction. We now do about a dozen tours a week.”

Behold! Olivia’s Singing Tumor! One of the stars of the collection, this tumor came from their belly dancing friend, who still pops by to visit her erstwhile body part.

The Singing Tumor and Counterfeit Cash

Velda guided us out of the dining room and into the vestibule. 

“In our entryway, we have a human reliquary altar.” Typically, a reliquary is a container for religious relics that include the remains of saints, such as bones or pieces of clothing. “Ours contain parts of people that they’re no longer using anymore,” our charming tour guide continued. “We have my husband’s first mustache, in case his face melts off and I need to bandage him up and glue it back on. We also have a jar with a red lid that contains most of what’s left of a human brain. It was a wedding gift from our tattoo artist friend who received it as payment from a medical waste employee instead of cash. The original jar got thrown at him and shattered against a wall and is the reason why it’s incomplete. We also have a jar with a couple of months’ worth of skin flakes from our friend with psoriasis.”

A collection of prosthetic legs, lost to injury or illness, came from a friend who works at a retirement home. One from the 1940s has toes carved into the wooden foot.

Mima picked up some bills. “What’s this?” she asked. 

“We make our own money,” Velda explained, “because we loved the idea of having drawers full of cash like the Addams Family. We’re not rich, but we do have our own currency. I’m on the $3 bill, Mr. ARM is on the $13 bill, and our beloved cat, Little Devil, is on the $666 bill.”

Velda removed the covering from an object with a flourish to reveal the crown jewel of their collection. Floating within a custom-made steampunk brass and glass vessel (built by Mr. ARM) was a fist-sized mass. It wouldn’t look out of place among the contraptions of Captain Nemo’s submarine the Nautilus. This curiosity is Olivia’s Singing Tumor, bequeathed to them by their belly dancing friend, who still performs around Pittsburgh.

“This was a benign tumor on her uterus about 15 years ago,” Velda told us. “Hospitals typically don’t allow patients to keep surgical specimens, but Olivia was persistent, and they were able to freeze the tumor and give it to her in a Tupperware container.”

The assemblage sits upon an oak phonograph pedestal, complete with a pair of metal horns to amplify its “singing” — a song whose chorus Velda informed us is, appropriately, “I want my mommy.” Olivia occasionally comes to visit her tumor, Velda added. 

Also occupying the space is a bug-eyed, mustachioed 4-foot-tall animatronic Santa Claus wearing wire-rimmed glasses. It’s been remade into a likeness of Mr. ARM. It stands silently in the entryway. “We tinkered with it and re-recorded its voice to announce the collection,” Velda said. “But it malfunctioned after it got rained on and started singing ‘Jingle Bells’ in a rather demonic voice.”

The parlor at Trundle Manor has a bit more room — but don’t worry: It’s still stuffed to the gills with weird shit.

The Freeze-Dried Cat and a Gremlin Named Nigel in the Parlor

The four of us exited the entryway and followed Velda into the parlor, the largest of the rooms at Trundle Manor. 

“We can accommodate 12 to 15 people when we screen movies, which we do about once a month,” she told us. There’s a pull-down screen and a projector mounted to the ceiling. A couple of Velda’s favorites flicks include pre-code Hollywood horror movies such as Frankenstein (1931) and Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933). 

A portrait of Velda von Minx and Mr. ARM in the style of holy icons holds a pride of place on one of the walls. When I asked Velda about it, she told us that Anton’s parents are both artists who specialize in saint iconography painting.

“They’re not religious people,” Velda said. “But they’ve been painting saint icons since the 1970s. His dad paints the bodies and backgrounds, while his mom does the faces and hands.”

Velda added that the portrait was a wedding gift from her in-laws.

The painting of the couple was religious icons was done by Mr. ARM’s parents as a wedding gift.

I don’t think any of us were prepared for what Velda told us next about their dearly departed black cat, Little Devil. “We had him freeze-dried and preserved, and  placed him in a special glass box with a lid that unlocks so we can still reach in and pet him. We bought him a tiny top hat at the oldest hat shop in the world in London, where the royal family has had custom hats made for over 300 years. I’m surprised they let us through the front door!”

This handsome fellow is Little Devil, the couple’s cat, which has been freeze-dried. Gulp.

The fantastical throne in the parlor is a collaboration between Mr. ARM and his friend The Admiral. It’s their interpretation of the Eldritch Seat of R’lyeh and is an homage to H.P. Lovecraft’s octopus-èsque monster Cthulhu. The back piece was first sculpted in clay and then cast in plastic and treated to look like wood.

“We also built a birdcage with a miniature replica of the parlor inside,” Velda continues. Amazingly, she hadn’t run out of stories yet. “For a time, we thought we might have a gremlin, as we kept losing things in the house, only to find them again in places that neither of us had left them.

“So Mr. ARM and I decided to give our gremlin a place to hang out that we knew he would appreciate. We filled the decoy with real tiny dead specimens, a reading lamp, miniature Poe and Lovecraft books, custom leather furniture, a coffin to sleep in and my personal favorite: a fully stocked bar with bottles of absinthe, moonshine and an 18-year-old scotch. We named him Nigel, and if he is real, he’s living it up!”

One of the birdcages has a miniature setup of the room to keep the home’s gremlin, Nigel, so contented he won’t get up to mischief.

Wally noticed a birdcage themed like the Black Lodge from Twin Peaks and asked about it.  

“We adore Twin Peaks,” Velda said, scoring even more points with Wally. “That’s how we spent most of the pandemic, in the parlor watching David Lynch on repeat. There’s even a little cherry pie and miniature cup of coffee. Although I still need to finish making the curtains!”

Pointing to the wall, Velda said, “The moose is our biggest friend. We purchased him at an antique shop in central Pennsylvania. When we brought him home, we didn’t realize that he wouldn’t fit through the front door. We had to saw off his left antler in order to get him inside and reattached it upside down, because that’s how Pierre, the stuffed moose head in The Addams Family, had his antlers.

“Over in the corner,” Velda gestures, “and sitting atop a table near Little Devil is a fawn with a blonde wig that we call the Nudie Cutie. I don’t know why a taxidermist would have wanted a baby deer to look like a sexy pinup girl, but they did. I made her a bikini, and added false eyelashes and a wig.

“The big guy in the corner with the wooden leg and the ribs was something that my husband made when he was 15. His parents told him that he couldn’t have a dog, so he built one. It’s got the head of an alligator, deer bones and chicken wire. He would take it outside and drag it down the road on a leash.”

This creepy creature was Anton’s first creation, when he started playing Doctor Frankenstein at the age of 15.

In the barrister bookcase are two mummified cats. “Our neighbor found one under his porch and thought it would be a great gift for his wife, but when he gave it to her, she was horrified. The other one came from our friend who makes movie props. She found it when she was cleaning out her warehouse. She also gave us a dental chair from the 1930s and a perm machine from the 1920s. We call the perm machine our ‘feminine electric chair.’ The metal clips would attach to wet hair, and electricity would flow through its wires to cook it into being curly. The machine says: 115 volts/15 amps. One amp could electrocute a person.

Velda saw Mr. ARM tooling around town in his hot rods, stalked him on social and got herself invited over. It was love at first taxidermy lesson.

“My other favorite thing in the parlor is the two squirrels getting married,” Velda said with a smile. “They’re part of our love story.” 

For years Anton was part of the Drifters Car Club of Pittsburgh, a vintage motorsport club. “I would see him around town with his hot rods and sort of started stalking him on social media. And that’s how we met because I got myself invited over. That first night he said, ‘I’ve got a freezer full of dead squirrels. Do you want to learn taxidermy in my basement?’ To which I replied, ‘Of course!’”

Talk about a meet-cute! 

Nothing is as it seems in the Trundle Manor kitchen. Every cabinet opens to reveal a surprising mad scientist take on kitchen appliances.

That’s the Kitchen?!

Our final stop was the laboratory/gift shop/kitchen. The entrance is hidden behind a moveable display case in the dining room. It has all the typical appliances — they’re just concealed by panels, doors, buttons, switches, wheels and blinking lights that transform the room into a mad scientist’s laboratory. There’s even a device with an electric current that Mr. ARM uses to light cigars. 

Wish you were here?

Home, Strange Home

To some, Trundle Manor may seem a little disquieting and strange. But to its owners, Mr. ARM and Velda von Minx, it’s a labor of love. Their strange and wonderful collection fills every nook and cranny of the downstairs of their circa-1910 home.

Velda was kind, playful and genuine. Tours take about 45 minutes and are by appointment only. Velda von Minx and Mr. ARM accept donations of cash, booze or oddities in exchange for guided tours. 

If you’re planning a trip to Pittsburgh and are fans of oddities, as we are, it’s well worth making a reservation for a jaunt to this fascinating home. You’ll come away with numerous stories that begin, “You won’t believe this…” Obviously, Wally and I loved it, and my parents did, too. –Duke

Trundle Manor’s tagline is: The most unusual tourist trap in the world meets the most bizarre private collection on public display!

And we gotta say, that about sums it up.

Trundle Manor 

7724 Juniata Street 
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15218
USA

 

Fashion in Full Bloom at Billy Porter’s Extravaganza at the Phipps Conservatory

A journey through the impressive Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens in Pittsburgh, where the latest exhibit, Flowers Meet Fashion: Inspired by Billy Porter is a fusion of flora and fabulousness. Strike a pose!

Duke, Mima and Papa were so inspired by the Japanese Garden at the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, they decided to only speak in haiku.

I’ll say it: The Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens puts Chicago’s Garfield Park Conservatory to shame. It was definitely one of the highlights of our trip to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where we spent a delightful long weekend with my parents. This stunning gem of Victorian-era architecture, adjacent to Panther Hollow in Schenley Park, has captivated guests for more than a century — and is sure to do so for years to come.

Visitors to the Phipps are greeted by a towering figure standing in front of a pink neon sign that reads, "You are an Icon." The skirt is made of petal-like layers. If you look closely, you can see hidden details, such as a map of Pittsburgh and song lyrics from the musical Kinky Boots.

From Roots to the Runway

Throughout the year, the conservatory changes themes seasonally, and our visit serendipitously coincided with the opening day of their summer show, Flowers Meet Fashion, a celebration of native son Billy Porter's local roots, his sartorial style and his love of flowers. 

For those of you who don’t know, Porter is an Emmy, Grammy, and Tony award winning performer and fashion icon. Billy is well known for his bold, creative and androgynous style, and is a tireless advocate for LGBTQ+ rights. According to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the seeds for the show were sown in the summer of 2021, when Porter returned to the City of Champions to direct the movie Anything's Possible, a coming of age romantic comedy about a trans girl in her senior year of high school. While shooting scenes at the conservatory, Billy found common ground with the personnel and decided to become a board member.

As Billy wrote in his memoir, Unprotected:

I didn’t have the words for any of this at the time, just a child's awareness that people carried themselves differently in different clothing, that fashion could affect a profound transformation, on the outside and inside both.

The Phipps purchased a few favorites from past exhibitions to add to their permanent collection, including American glass sculptor Dale Chihuly’s Goldenrod, Teal and Citron chandelier. The stunning sculpture hangs in the atrium, where it can be enjoyed by all visitors.

A Welcoming Homage to Porter’s Pittsburgh Roots

Our experience began on the ground floor of the airy glass-domed Welcome Center, where a 7.5-foot-tall silver mannequin positioned near the entrance stood wearing a voluminous black gown. Entitled “Home Grown: Planted Roots,” the garment was designed by Madison Michalko, one of six professional costume designers tapped to create pieces for the show.

Michalko found her muse in Billy’s gender-fluid style and in the state of Pennsylvania. The bodice of the dress is shaped like a keystone, the state’s official symbol, accented with gold buttons and white mountain laurel blossoms, the state flower. The wide-brimmed hat is a nod to the crystal-fringed one Porter wore at the 2019 Grammys and features strands of LED lights that flicker like lightning bugs, the state insect.

This tuxedo dress by Damian Dominguez is a powerful statement about the importance of self-expression and the freedom to be who you are. The top is an homage to Mister Rogers, while the skirt is a nod to Dominguez’s Mexican heritage.

Palm Court: The Dress That Defied Convention

The four of us took an elevator up to the first of 14 interconnected conservatory pavilions and entered the spectacular Palm Court. The palms grow in the central and largest room of the conservatory, which reaches 65 feet in height, is 60 feet wide and 450 feet long. 

Holding court before us on a raised platform was a stunning dress by Mexican-American costume designer and Carnegie Mellon University alumnus Damian E. Dominguez. The look was inspired by the now-iconic black velvet tuxedo gown and matching bolero jacket designed by Christian Siriano for Porter to wear at the 2019 Academy Awards. Porter’s ensemble pushed boundaries and raised a few eyebrows at the somewhat restrained awards show. 

Like Siriano’s dress, Dominguez’s gown is also made from velvet but features a red tuxedo jacket in a nod to another Pittsburgh native, Fred Rogers. The hand-embroidered skirt includes a yellow bridge, as well as marigolds and dahlias, a nod to the designer’s heritage and the traditional full skirts of Mexico, where Dominguez’s parents were born.

Carnegie Mellon students Chloe Brown, Huixin Kang, and Jen Tepe reimagined a 1960s pantsuit that takes inspiration from the late British fashion designer Alexander McQueen's iconic Sarabande dress.

Sunken Garden: A Beacon of Hope

Our next stop was the Sunken Garden, which was filled with the colorful and creative designs by students from the Fundamentals of Costume Design class taught by Susan Tsu, professor of design at Carnegie Mellon, Porter’s alma mater. The students had been asked to read his memoir and then work in teams to create designs that reflected different aspects of Porter’s life and career. 

We paused to admire the sheer white pantsuit with crocheted fungi created by Chloe Brown, Huixin Kang and Jem Tepe. The designers explained that the fungi are a botanical metaphor for Porter’s exploration of his identity and his journey to self-reliance.

Could there be a pea in this pod? Caifeng Hong and Katherine Chung’s design was out of this world. 

Caifeng Hong and Katherine Chung’s look was inspired by the theme of contrast and rebirth. The dress is made of olive green netting layered over a green silk organza gown and collar that conceals the face of the mannequin. The contrast between the light and airy netting and the heavy and luxurious organza creates a sense of movement and energy. The collar, meanwhile, adds a touch of mystery and intrigue. The overall effect is a dress that is both ethereal and otherworldly, evoking something extraterrestrial.

Carrie Anne Huneycutt and Evan Riley’s collaboration was Somewhere Over the Rainbow, celebrating Porter's legacy as a trailblazing figure in the LGBTQ+ community. 

Carrie Anne Huneycutt and Evan Riley collaborated on the third look, entitled “Statue of Liberation.” The corseted dress is enveloped by a shimmering rainbow that soars above the mannequin’s head and is held aloft by a torch made of colorful fabric strips. The “flames” emanating from the torch represent Porter’s passion, determination and generosity of spirit.

Cathy Trostle-Olivar's dazzling Egyptianate look floats above the water of the Victoria Room. 

Fit for a Queen: From Camp to High Art 

In the Victoria Room, a luminous costume rose from the waters. The look was designed by Cathy Trostle-Olivar and was inspired by Porter’s glittering gold Egyptian sun god Ra costume at the 2019 Met Gala. The theme that year was camp, which Porter said can sometimes be seen as “cheesy.” However, when executed properly, it can ascend to “the highest forms of fashion and art.” The pavilion uses blue Egyptian lotus aka waterlily and tall stately papyrus to great effect. 

Three bronze maiden statues by Edmond Amateis, which originally stood within niches in the walled garden of the local Mellon estate, hold court among the formal French garden at the back of the Broderie Room.

The Broderie Room: The XIV Factor

Modeled after the formal period gardens of French chateaux during the reign of Louis XIV, the Broderie Room takes its name from the French “parterre de broderie,” a type of garden arrangement translated as “embroidery of earth.” This style of garden design came from a time when nature was considered a force to be tamed. 

I don’t speak French, but I think that this photo of Wally and Mima is très mignon. 

This fabulous footwear is a wink to the 2013 musical Kinky Boots, which Porter starred in, and a reminder that sometimes the most unexpected things can save the day. 

While visitors are discouraged from throwing coins into the many ponds and water features throughout the conservatory to protect the flora and fauna, a wishing well can be found here. 

Chihuly’s celestial Desert Gold Star sculpture provides a brilliant blast of color amid the green hues of desert flora.

These flowers are so whimsical, they could have been plucked straight out of a Dr. Seuss book.

Gallery Room: Blooming With Creativity 

Visual arts students from CAPA 6-12, a local creative and performing arts school, have transformed the Gallery Room at Phipps Conservatory into a whimsical wonderland. Using papier-mâché, the students have created larger-than-life flowers and animals that are sure to delight visitors of all ages.

The Gallery Room showcases a collection of critters created by local students.

The centerpiece of the exhibit is a towering salvia spike that nearly reaches the ceiling. The spike is made up of hundreds of individual flowers, all of which have been carefully hand-crafted by the students. And in the center of the room, a menagerie of amphibians and animals frolic in a whimsical forest.

These looks made from plant material by Phipps master gardeners were so avant-garde, they could be on the red carpet at the Oscars.

South Conservatory: “Hort” couture

The sound of camera shutters and the strobe of flashbulbs add a fun theatrical element to the red carpet vibe of the South Conservatory room. Wally spoke with one of the friendly conservatory staffers, who informed him that the topiary models were created by the master gardeners at the Phipps. The nature-inspired garments were fashioned from plant material sourced and crafted onsite at the conservatory and are so stunning, they would impress the judges on Project Runway.

The first mannequin featured a dried leaf hat in the shape of a lady slipper orchid, and a full skirt fabricated from clusters of blue hydrangea flowers contrasted by a form-fitting acid green palm frond bodice.

This look, inspired by a tetra fish, is sure to turn heads — even underwater!

The second look reimagines the scales of a neon tetra fish. Blue-painted magnolia leaves create a fish scale pattern on the jacket and hood, while salal leaves were used for the pants. Marigold-colored staghorn ferns are transformed into the cuffs and lapels, and painted monstera leaves create the “tail fin.” The deep-sea diver-like boots are made of upcycled accession tags, the metal labels that are issued to plants when they become part of the Phipps collection.

Well, this look is one fashion-forward way to channel your inner bird (note the nest atop its head and the dress details made of pheasant feathers).

The third look uses salal leaves trimmed with pampas grass and a dried grapevine garland to create drama and height, encircling the mannequin's waist and head like a bird’s nest. Completing the look are upcycled accession tag bracelets and white pheasant tail feathers.

The woman Wally had spoken with about the topiary models also told him about the Tropical Forest Conservatory, a 12,000-square-foot, 60-foot-high space located behind the South Conservatory. If she hadn't, I think we might have walked right by it, which would have been a shame. The incredible space is home to the immersive Tropical Forest Hawai'i, showcasing a variety of endemic and native species from the state. 

As soon as we stepped inside, we were transported to another world. The air was humid and warm, and we were surrounded by lush vegetation, with towering native trees and cascading waterfalls. 

This lettuce-covered look was a showstopper. I sure hope there’s an opening under the hat so the fish can eat!

The Serpentine Room: Salad Days and a Surprise 

As we made our way past the final five costumes, found in the Serpentine Room, I was unsure which look I liked best. But once I saw the aquaponics dress, I knew without a doubt that it was my favorite. The ingenious installation was a truly innovative and sustainable design. The clear acrylic body contained live goldfish, and the hoop skirt was made of living lettuce. A placard explained that the lettuce cleans the water and maintains a healthy ecosystem for the fish, whose waste, in turn, fertilize the plants. It was a truly beautiful — and functional —  piece of art.

Drag queen Thee Suburbia’s ruby red dress is a tribute to Porter’s uplifting message and blooms with the power of positivity.

Brooklyn-based drag performer Thee Suburbia designed the ruby red dress. She was inspired by a personal encounter with Porter, who spoke to the entire crew about the importance of lifting one’s surroundings, while working on a music video shoot for his song “Children.” Thee Suburbia’s gown pays homage to Porter’s attire that day as well as his words. The bursting blooms are a metaphor for the power needed to be an uplifting and inspiring force. It’s a friendly reminder to Phipps visitors that we can make the world a better place by lifting each other up.

Mindy Eshelman’s sustainable suit and cape is a sartorial love letter to Pittsburgh and our planet.

Next up was a white mandarin collar suit and oxblood-lined cape designed by Mindy Eshelman, associate professor of costume design at Carnegie Mellon. The sustainable, locally sourced and upcycled vintage piece was a perfect reflection of Porter’s deep connection to Pittsburgh, as well as the possibilities for our collective future — one in which caring for the planet is imperative. The look has been paired with vintage brooches, including flowers for Phipps, bees recalling our interconnectedness with the natural world, and butterflies symbolizing personal transformation. 

NYC performer Gloria Swansong’s designs evolved from the long-established pageantry of drag queen balls, a parade of gender expression and aesthetics.

To close out the show, New York City drag performer Gloria Swansong served up two stunning looks inspired by the underground 1980s ballroom scene. Category is: Botanicals Eleganza.

The first was an Old Hollywood-style gown made of shimmering blush pink silk organza. The sleek form-fitting dress was adorned with silk roses handmade in NYC by M&S Schmalberg.

The second look was an iridescent bouquet sleeve dress, a beautiful and meaningful tribute inscribed with the names of ballroom legends to honor their contributions to the community.

Don't forget to stop and “Strike a Pose” in front of the Instagram-friendly pink and green vertical wall before you leave the Serpentine Room.

Café Phipps: Lunch Break  

We arrived at the conservatory at 10:30 a.m. and were starving by noon. My dad and I are both notorious for getting hangry, so the four of us headed over to Café Phipps, which is located in the Welcome Center, across from the gift shop.

After taking a look at the elevated and healthy menu options, we agreed to have lunch there. The menu featured a variety of dishes made with fresh, seasonal ingredients. Wally and I shared a spinach and kiwi salad and a Hawaiian pulled pork sandwich. Both were delicious and satisfying.

Another Chihuly work, Celadon and Royal Purple Gilded Fiori, captures attention at the center of the Tropical Fruit and Spice Room.

Chihuly’s vibrant glass installation, Cattails, can be found nestled amongst the lush greenery of the Palm Court. 

The Porter-inspired show is a delightful experience, where talent and collaboration flourish. Whether or not you make this summer’s show, though, the Phipps is a feast for the senses. 

Be sure to find the Longfellows by Hans Godo Fräbel in the Orchid Room.

The Lowdown

Flowers Meet Fashion: Inspired by Billy Porter is on display at the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens until June 25. 

Admission is $21.95 for adults; $19.95 for students over 18 and seniors 62 and older; $13.95 for children ages 2-18; and free for Phipps members and children under 2. 

A bronze sculpture of Scottish poet Robert Burns, holding a plow and contemplating a mountain daisy, stands outside one of the Victorian glasshouses at the Phipps Conservatory.

Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens 

1 Schenley Park Drive 
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
USA