Philip Johnson and Ludwig Mies van der Rohe were close friends and collaborated on many projects. It is true that Johnson had seen the plans for what Mies was doing for Edith Farnsworth, and, influenced though he certainly was, he by no means copied. Johnson too had been working on schemes since 1945. Of course the most obvious defining feature – being almost entirely glass – did take it’s cue from Mies’ design, but the houses are entirely conceptually different. As far as ‘Da Monsta’ is concerned, it is not a nod to close friend Frank Gehry (the Ghost House is) but, as Johnson explains, to friend and artist Frank Stella. Whether you believe this or not is another thing. Oddly, though Johnson definitely took up the movements of a generations’ current hottest architects, in my mind he never really copied anyone’s buildings. Not the way someone like Robert AM Stern builds an almost exact replica of an Edwin Lutyens building and calls it a source of influence.

Philip Johnson did not define Modernism. He and Henry Russell Hitchcock did define the International Style. If you know anything about the International Style, you would quickly realize that this building does not fit the definition the two set forth in their book and exhibition. These are: a focus on volume rather than mass, asymmetrical regularity, and a disdain for applied decoration. The building misses entirely the second tenet; it’s actually quite a classical building when you get right down to it.

The poster who said that Johnson used the property to test out design ideas is quite correct. This can be seen in the subsequent uses of similar materials, forms, and orders on other projects. For example, the lake pavilion which predates Lincoln Center uses the same type of arch system in its construction. We see it again on Johnson’s Beck House.

Now, after criticizing these posts, I totally agree that the Glass House may not have been that easy to actually live in. It seems as though the other three houses were used with some frequency and seemed to offer a respite from living in something so, let’s say, intellectually demanding. Life in a glass house is clearly not all it’s cracked up to be. Johnson never claimed to be a minimalist, and if he did, I want to see it quoted somewhere. A little study will reveal that he was really a decadent character.

But of course there were many other places to go. It is held up as this radical modern idea, which it was, when it was first built alone on that site. But our problem is that living in one space, or living with a minimal kitchen, or with lots of windows, is now so trite, since anybody and their brother could get a rehabbed loft over the last 20 years. Now you visit the space and it just seems dated. It looks radical in photos but seems ordinary in person. I shot some hi-def video that maybe I’ll post one day.

What nobody ever dares say is that the brick guest house, by contrast having almost no windows, is so close as to completely ruin the effect of the minimal nature of the main house. The guest house has a library and in general a feeling of intense claustrophobia.

And what about that bizarre fiberglass swimming pool, also far too close to the house and not adapted to the contours of the land?!

Furthermore, a quick look around shows that the Glass House itself is poorly sited. The views are not nearly what they could be. And all the claims that it is miraculously hidden from the street are just plain not true (we were told this even as we watched cars drive by). Of course the traffic has increased dramatically over the years.

What else? His studio was air-conditioned – hardly an escape to the wilderness. Then there is that hideous hexagonal(?) gallery space where they had their crazy parties, built like a bunker into the hillside. All that remains on its swinging 25′ interior walls (to allow exhibition of random canvasses at any time) are Stellas so ugly that nobody must have wanted them, so they languish in the cellar. Then there is the lower museum, which really is the only site that has dynamic light in it and feels like a place for people. Of course noone is allowed to walk around it.

As far as the stolen-from-Gehry fantasy building at the top of the drive, yes, it was a late career etude in abstract form and color, and yes, the neighbors said no to having the vehicular traffic in and out of the driveway that would result from using it as a visitors center. However, it is a great relief because the high concentration of narrow reflective surfaces means that the acoustics are completely unmanageable. A speaking voice turns muddy a few feet away, which renders it useless as a place for people and you certainly couldn’t give a lecture there.

I had fun, but wouldn’t recommend it to a friend. 2 stars.

It’s like building a car that is amazing, but wont drive anywhere until you hook up the trailer that has the engine,brakes and other parts that makes a car work.

I once had a friend who lived in a mostly glass house. It was hideously uncomfortable to be in at night, because there were no drapes. I always felt that anyone or anything could be staring in.

Once while visiting after dark I turned around and saw red glowing eyes staring at me through a window. It was her Doberman, with his nose pressed to the window. Freaky.

{Clicking heels three times}

“There’s no place like home.”
“There’s no place like home.”
“There’s no place like home.”

Like so much else in our culture, the ideals held up before us are artificial and unattainable.

Thanks for the laugh, I enjoyed this article very much!

To a layman, it’s like seeing a celebrity with cellulite. Maybe the celebrity never denied having it, but the images we associate with that person don’t broadcast it either.

Thanks for sharing!

The blog-culture prototype of “extreme minimalism” is something like a person living in a 100 sq. ft. apartment with 100 things, three pieces of furniture which transform into other furniture, etc. The aesthetic minimalism of the Modernist era is a precursor to this, but if someone in 1949 calls themselves a minimalist they’re not going to know the cultural connotations that this term will have 6 decades later.

If you go to a sixty-year-old architectural installation expecting it to conform to our particular definition of minimalist… well, yup, you’re gonna be disappointed.

See the chimney structure in the middle of the house? The fireplace is on one side and the bathroom is cleverly constructed on the other side. There IS a door and everything.