A recent visit to Minneapolis had me thinking about the sad fate of one of Frank Lloyd Wright's last, great Prairie School designs: The second Francis W. Little House, formally of Deephaven, MN.
It was torn down in 1972 and pieces of the once grand home were scattered across the country and installed in various museums for visitors to gape at. It was an altruistic attempt to preserve some semblance of what the original interior was like. But, like anything, the act of installing pieces of a whole in a completely different context begs questions about the nature of preserving architecture at all costs and the various controversies that ensue.
For this week's installment of PrairieMod Monday, we'll explore the complex and tragic story of the Little House and if preservation is something to pursue--no matter the cost.
Today, if you visit the address of where the second Francis Little House used to sit, proudly overlooking Lake Minnetonka, you'll be greeted with this sight:
It's the house that the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Francis Little built on the side yard of the property. This is a view of what the original house on the site looked like:
For a better idea of what the whole house looked like, the Minneapolis Institute of Art (MIA) has an amazing model on display nearby the installed hallway from the original house:
The Little House was anything but little. As described on the MIA website:
Wright designed one of his last great Prairie School-style residences for the Littles. It consisted of two offset rectangles joined at the corner, which formed a single 250-foot axis parallel to the lakeshore. The characteristic long, low, hipped-roofed building hugged two gentle hills overlooking the lake. Windows spanned the entire lakeside elevation, giving the Littles full advantage of the scenic view; Wright, who drew elaborate designs for the windows, and Mr. Little, who did not want an intricate design that would obscure his view, discussed this feature at length. The most spacious and elegant room of the house was the large living/music room designed especially for Mrs. Little, an accomplished pianist who had studied under the composer Franz Liszt in Cologne and who planned to host recitals at the house. The sprawling brick-walled and wood-trim dwelling also included an appropriately grand entrance stair of thirty-six steps in three levels.
Based on the remaining rooms, the model and various descriptions, it was truly a site to behold. Yet, somehow this house, which could its own against designs like the Heurtly, Willits and Robie Houses was ignored, left to decompose and ultimately torn down. Why?
As in many questions like this, the answer is complex. In my opinion, the reasons are two-fold.
• First, Wright was a design genius...perhaps the greatest our country has ever produced. That said, sometimes genius and practicality travel in opposite vectors. The second Little House was approached in design and execution as a summer home. Minnesota summers are hot and enjoyable. One could imagine the amazing warm weather gatherings that took place in such a grand residence overlooking the scenic lake. However, as hot as Minnesota summers are, their winters are as brutally opposite. All of the beautiful and intricate glass windows that Wright designed for the house were not insulated from the arctic blasts of wind found in the North. I can only imagine how cold that house was in the depths of the Minneapolis winters. Couple that with its size and the complexity of design that is involved in its construction and you can imagine that the maintenance costs would be insurmountable. Just trying to undertake basic upkeep becomes a job only the wealthiest person could afford. It was just a matter of time before the home would start to deteriorate and its future be in jeopardy.
• Second, the state of historic preservation in the 1970s for Progressive Designed architecture was poor. Most people didn't care about structures designed by Louis Sullivan, Frank Lloyd Wright, Purcell and Elmslie, etc. Several significant buildings were lost. The second Little House was another victim in a string of architectural losses. It's also been speculated that the Littles' daughter didn't really like the house she grew up in and saw it as a burden. A lack of appreciation and value for works of art usually sounds their death knell.
Preserving the house on its original site became an impossible dream. The money it would take and the lack of interest by its then-current owners meant that it was ultimately doomed. But, through the actions of a few former Wright apprentices and a former client, pieces of the house were dismantled from the original house and installed in The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, The Allentown Art Museum in Pennsylvania and the Minneapolis Institute of Art in Minnesota.
Yet, this was a controversial action for some architectural purists. Architecture is about experiencing space. When you take pieces of it out of their original context and place them in a contrived setting with a velvet rope in front that does not allow a person to fully engage them spatially--is it still relevant? Is it worth the time, money and effort undertaken to accomplish this action? For me, that answer is an emphatic "Yes".
It is truly sad when a great work of art is lost to the ages. When parts of our collective culture are gone, we all are a little poorer as a result. Yet, we live in an imperfect world and it is impossible to save everything. Principles come into play in regards to preservation, just like in all other aspects of life. In Considering the Cost of trying to save something, all actions must be weighed out so that the best solution can be found. That's not to say it will be the solution that everyone would want in a perfect world--instead it should be the solution that allows for the most to be gained from the prospect of a terrible loss.
Saving the elements from the Little House and installing them thoughtfully in various museums allows for millions of people every year to see what was once a magnificent work of art. If even one person is moved to learn more, to be inspired to create, or to be moved to try and save something else from being destroyed--then it is worth all the effort that went into those installations.
Preservation is more about inspiring people to care than it is about period-accurate paint colors or appropriately raked mortar joints. If the act of preserving a house (even in pieces) can make someone value something they didn't before--then I say, mission accomplished.
I'd be interested to hear what any PrairieMod readers think of this subject, or if anyone has any Little House stories they'd like to share. Until next week!
Historical photo and model image copyright MIA. All other photos copyright PrairieMod.
I've so enjoyed following your journey with the Little Red House, especially since my husband and I purchased a 1200 sq ft ranch in Tucson two years ago and have been slowly attempting to restore it. Your own efforts have served both as inspiration and guidance for us and we've learned much from your posts on PrairieMod.
Our house is part of a development of about 100 homes at the base of the Catalina Mountains in northeast Tucson. While our house was built in 1983, the development first broke ground in the early 1960s. Financial ruin prevented the entire development from being built, until the early 1980s, when a new developer intervened. He chose to complete construction of the remaining homes based on the original architect's plans from the 1960's.
I know this information based solely on "oral history"--- speaking with my neighbors who are original owners from fifty years ago. I'm very interested in learning the history of this little development in the desert; the name of the architect, perhaps even locating original blueprints, etc. But I am stymied over where to begin my investigation!
Are there any suggestions for me that your own experience with the Little Red House has given you privy? My husband and I hope to live in our little "Mid-Century-Wanna-Be" through our retirement years and look forward to the adventure of restoring it to the intent of the original architect. Any suggestions you have would be a great help.
Thank you. Joan Zatorski + Christopher Puca
Tucson, Arizona
Posted by: Joan Zatorski | Oct 22, 2008 at 12:10 PM