Friday, May 19, 2017


I remember the first time I saw a picture of Fallingwater by Frank Lloyd Wright. It was also the first time I realized that homes could be named and the day I decided that one day I would do just that. It was my junior year of high school. I was sitting in my AP Art History class next to my best friend, enjoying the antics of our rambunctious teacher who insisted on us calling her "Mother Wood." The room was dark and our faces were lit with the glow from the projector screen. It was nearing the end of the year and AP tests were heavy on our minds. I was anxious to have the test over, but reluctant for the class to end because, despite my initial hesitation of our flamboyant teacher, I had fallen in love with the class.

Architecture had been incorporated into our curriculum throughout the year. I enjoyed learning the difference between ionic, doric, and corinthian columns, the use of clerestory windows by the Egyptians, and the importance of flying buttresses. However, it wasn't until I saw the picture of this home that I realized that architecture was art just as much as painting and drawing and sculpting was. And this was art you could literally be inside of.

I won't ever live in a house like this. I won't have a Tiffany lamp in every room but maybe just in one room? or a special pool beside the front door where my gardener leaves my freshly cut flowers. But it was beautiful to see and be a part of for a morning. My 17 year old self would be proud.

peace and art

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