Drawer detail of the table from the entry hall of the David Gamble house, Pasadena, CA, 1908-09.
One more guest blog entry before I finally get my butt back in gear and start writing something now and then. This post is from my friend Darrell Peart. Darrell is a furniture maker located in Seattle. It won’t surprise any of you to learn that like me, Darrell worships at the altar of Greene & Greene. One of only a handful of truly excellent woodworkers who make furniture in the Greene & Greene style, Darrell prefers to make pieces of his own design drawing heavily from the Greenes’ design vocabulary. The result is a collection of stunningly beautiful furniture that you can view at Darrell’s website. Here are some thoughts he was kind enough to put together for me on the topic of artistic evolution.

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Proficiency of any skill or talent is achieved by emulating the master. This is how things have always been and how things will always be. Every creative endeavor owes its existence to that which preceded it. If this were not so, every artist would be compelled to invent art itself: there would be no starting point or any foundation to build upon. Without a starting point art would simply not exist.

The Greene’s mimicked those who came before them, with much of their earlier work being more imitation than original. With experience though, they became masters themselves. The style they developed brought together elements borrowed not only from their predecessors, but diverse sources within their sphere of contact. As master designers, the Greene’s were able to fuse seemingly unrelated elements into a unified body. The Swiss Chalet and the Asian cloud-lift, under their skillful direction spoke the same language. The Greene’s were supreme masters of their creative environment.

Art, at its most rudimentary level is nothing more than imitation. An artist sees something and is inspired to make a likeness. That something can be anything the universe has to offer. The ways in which an artist’s inspirations are presented and arranged is what makes it unique. A style is born when the artist’s vision becomes a cohesive unit – when there is a common DNA connecting all their work.

Art is not meant to be static. It is under constant change. The creative vision is unceasingly restless. The Greene’s work continually evolved throughout their careers. Each new project saw the introduction of new design elements which blended seamlessly with the existing ones. These new elements were things that appeared within the Greene’s field of vision – things they came in contact with either through random chance or focused study.

If Charles and Henry were alive today, and engaged in design, their work would have moved on, bringing in new elements and ideas from their changing environment. Their creative vision would not have been static. It is even possible that their work would not be recognizable as what we consider Greene & Greene.

The truly creative spirit is forever restless: it is an essential part of the mix that makes for a great artist and master. Truly emulating the work and spirit of the Greene’s is not found in producing exact replicas. Take what you will from Greene & Greene : let it soak in and then move forward as they continually did.

The Greene & Greene flyswatter. Original drawing by Terry Peart.
It has been quite a while since I’ve posted to this blog. Just over two months, in fact. The reason is quite simple, I haven’t felt like writing. Actually, it isn’t quite that simple because I’ve had this guest post from Tom Moore and another by Darrell Peart on hand for quite some time and haven’t posted them. No particular reason other then the fact that I’ve been spending as much time as possible hiking in the mountains and more time planning hikes, assembling panoramic photos, etc.

The flight of fancy that appears below is the product of the fertile mind of my good friend Tom Moore. Tom’s writing has appeared previously in this space but this story is particularly inspired. One point that Tom was too modest to mention: after writing this piece, he made several of the flyswatters, one of which is on display in my living room.
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On December 17, 2004, Sotheby’s held another of their many “firsts” auctions, “American Renaissance: Including An Important Private Collection of Greene & Greene.” It included the largest single offering of objects from turn-of-the-century architects Charles and Henry Greene. Every item was designed, built, owned or painted by the Greenes. In all, 50 G&G lots were available. When the cash settled, Ted Wells, spokesperson and bidder for the Guardian Stewardship secured all lots.

What followed was unexpected and most interesting. Others in possession of G&G objects offered them to Ted for sale. Shortly thereafter, Ted posted a message on Darrell Peart’s Greene-Style-Furniture, a Yahoo! group. “…there are scores (or more) of Greene and Greene pieces out there that we are (or at least I was) unaware of, especially considering that since the December auction I have been approached about buying scores of pieces that before now, have never been exhibited or seen by the public or current scholars or authors…”

Without providing any concrete details about what resides in our neighbors’ homes, Ted further commented the they are “…some of the most incredibly constructed and beautiful pieces of decorative arts created in America.” My mind raced, imagining the most fantastic objects I could. I wished all these items could one day appear on the PBS show “Antiques Roadshow”.

The next day I couldn’t help but dwell on imaginary treasures. Then, at lunch, I began typing. I had no idea what to type, or where it would lead. In about 25 minutes or so, the story below appeared in my word processor – I don’t know from where. It was a story that virtually wrote itself. That evening I posted it on the Yahoo group.

Upon reading it, Darrell’s wife, Terry, took chalk in hand and created the image that leads this blog giving form to my main characters, Eileen and Paddy. It really brings them “to life.”

Hope you enjoy the reading of an Antiques Roadshow episode never (yet) aired.
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The spotlights brighten, illuminating scores of individual furniture pieces placed strategically about the auditorium. They range in size from desktop accessories to dining tables and sideboards.

Eileen Left, the show host, stands behind a simple display of what looks to be a very old, common household apparatus. The camera pans the crowded auditorium, revealing the scope of furniture and the excited owners assembled for this first-ever show dedicated to the body of work of a single architectural firm, the Greene brothers - Charles and Henry - of Pasadena, CA, in the foothills above Los Angeles.

Without a sound, the camera zooms in on the host, and then focuses on the object before her. "Yes, folks, this is what you've been waiting for! It’s the only surviving example of high bungalow art applied to a fly swatter. What a find!

"This glorious sample of art for art's sake found the light of day only last week, when a Greene & Greene admirer noticed its resemblance to the organic yet sinuous lines of furniture characteristic of the famous Gamble House in Pasadena. Upon investigation, the work was attributed to Greene and Greene, specifically Charles Sumner Greene. Not because of the so-called cloud-lift pattern along the shank of the handle, not due to the generous number of ebony plugs, not because of the “tree of life” illustration on the lacework on the business end of this effective tool, but because of the inscription and initials found faintly visible on the edge of the handle. The inscription reads, 'Seven flies with one blow,' followed by the initials C. S. G. These initials, we have come to know, stand for Charles Sumner Greene, the more artistic of the Greene brothers.”

(Eileen angles the swatter for the camera close-up.)

"Notice the long, sculptured Honduras mahogany handle, and the delicate silk netting, replete with Charles Greene’s favorite watercolor Oak Rose pattern. Likely it was inspired during one his numerous walks in the arroyo adjacent to his hilltop home a few blocks from the Gamble House.

"Let’s take a closer look and learn more about this startling discovery. We have an expert guest to assist us today. Here to provide his own unique 'lens into the artist' viewpoint is acclaimed architect/author/bon vivant, Paddy O'Ferncher. Welcome, Paddy."

"Thanks for inviting me, Eileen. I’m pleased as punch to have been selected to describe this unique Greene and Greene piece accessory."

"That’s a good place to start, Paddy. Most viewers know Greene and Greene through their incomparable architecture, embodied in the half-dozen or so houses referred to as the 'ultimate bungalows'. Some viewers may not know that the commission for those houses included designing accessories and exclusive furniture, intended not only for a certain room within the house, but for a specific spot in the room.

"Paddy, when first I held it, I was struck by much more than just the overall pleasing aesthetic. The feel is, well, sensuous. The balance - disproportionate but neutral. The Honduras mahogany handle - it's sooo smooth, and fits my dainty hand perfectly. And I just love the tiny Ebony faux plugs placed so randomly, yet so pleasingly along the handle. They’re adorable! Tell me, Paddy, for which house was this exquisite fly swatter designed?"

"Sorry to say, Eileen, but that handle is not actually Honduras mahogany as I heard you say - twice now. You misspoke, and we can't mislead our viewers, can we? In the interest of historical accuracy, and to maintain the sanctity of Charles’s unmatched ability to select the most harmonious materials and features to capture the essence and simplicity of the Arts and Crafts Movement, I should wish to set the record straight. It is African mahogany. This species is a member of the mahogany botanical family Meliaceae. Its botanical name is Entandrophragma Cylindricum. It is widely used as a substitute for genuine – that is Honduras - mahogany in Europe. Made in any other wood species, the swatter would be useless. Charles was brilliant!"

"Um, thanks, Paddy...I think."

"I like to refer to this as the 'little flyswatter that could.' First, let's gaze at the overall piece. My prescient eye noted the hue of the handle. It’s unlike any other Greene & Greene creation, known or unknown. It’s sublime, it's...it's recherché!

"And the handle design itself is unprecedented. As I rotate it on its secondary axis, we are treated to another aspect of design heretofore unknown in the entire Greene & Greene body of work - the rumored bifurcated cloud lift! Through the years rumors of this persisted, but until today, they were just that - rumors. Well, rumors no more. Ha!

"And, Eileen, those aren't just randomly placed faux plugs, no. Sorry again. I guess you hadn't paid attention when we spoke before the show. It takes the uncommonly educated eye of a true connoisseur to recognize that the actual placement of every plug was by intention; Charles’s aggressive use of these plugs is the key to the inscription. The Mickey Mouse, brave little tailor type claim: 'Seven flies with one blow.'

"Only when you rotate it on its tertiary axis do you recognize that the plug arrangement replicates the ancient Japanese booby-trap motif. Eureka! Brilliant! To the ignorant observer, these look to be just plugs. But Charles knew that this particular plug arrangement does more. It interferes with a fly's vision, confusing its electrochemical output. Brilliant!"

"Paddy, get a hold of yourself. You’re panting. You’re sweating. Actually, you’re vibrating."

"As you know, one of the principles underlying the Arts and Crafts Movement worldwide was disdain for machine-made objects. Within the Movement, and high on the Greene’s personal list of imperatives was to utilize machinery sparingly. They were used only to relieve the craftsperson from tedium and mind numbing, repetitive work. To the Greenes, there was a moral importance to honest craftsmanship. This fly swatter is a sterling example - completely hand made, save the wire form that shapes and supports the netting. I’ll demonstrate how it works so effectively.

"As one approaches an unsuspecting fly buzzing about, the fly catches sight of the plug pattern and is mesmerized. Waving it in this manner...” (Paddy assumes a semi Tai Chi stance and slowly and deliberately moves the fly swatter in larger and larger circles, followed by ever-smaller circles.) We know that the term 'boxing' means empty-hand combat, but Charles knew you can't catch flies on the fly with your bare hands. By the way, what do you call a fly with its wings removed? A run! Ha! Heheheh! Oh, how I amuse myself!"

"Amusing...," Eileen offers with exasperation.

"Anyway, Charles thought of everything - down to the last detail. He foresaw the ultimate frustration of the servants and kitchen help as they dealt with those pesky Southern California flies and in brilliant fashion, provided an elegant solution. He put into their hands the most deadly weapon possible against flies, scourge of the domestic. Brilliant!

"The innate design of the plug pattern, in concert with expert manipulation of this ancient-weapon-masquerading-as-a-work-of-art, spelled instant annihilation for the flies. Brilliant!

"By the time you complete the smallest of circles, the fly is rendered virtually helpless. Simply, it cannot see to navigate, so it lights on the closest horizontal surface. And with one Rambo-style, kendo wrist-flick – splat – one less nuisance."
Paddy tears-up and breaks down, falling to one knee. Eileen plucks the fly swatter from his now limp hand, holds it high above her head, hesitates, and then delivers a deliberate and purposeful whack on his head, raising a welt the size of a golf ball. Paddy ends up prostrate on the floor. Crimson oozes from the wound.

The 100 year-old handle, dry and fragile, shatters upon impact. The fine-spun netting, weak from thousands of previous successful fly smashings, was left without strength sufficient to withstand this most vicious swing. It bursts apart, transforming into a hovering cloud of pastel dust. All that remains intact is the machine-made steel wire that lies glistening on the floor beside Paddy.

Eileen turns and slowly faces the camera, open mouthed, and with a blank look on her face. Instinctively, the stage director dims the lights and disconnects the microphones. All onlookers stand motionless, staring as it all goes black.

Archival drawing of a plant stand designed for the William Thorsen house, Berkeley, c.1910. Charles Sumner Greene Collection (1959-1) Environmental Design Archives, University of California, Berkeley. Used with permission.
During the first decade of the 20th century, Charles and Henry Greene, together with Peter and John Hall and a small army of workers and craftsmen, created five Ultimate Bungalows. Or four. Or possibly six. The answer depends less on one’s ability to count than on what constitutes an Ultimate Bungalow. Until the International Standards Organization speaks to the matter, there will be some disagreement. Whatever the final number, everyone we can find near universal agreement that these houses constitute the culmination of a prolific and all too brief period of intense creativity that included the design of many other remarkable homes before, during and after the construction of the Ultimates.

The William Thorsen house in Berkeley is the last of the Ultimate Bungalows. The Thorsens lived in the house until their deaths in the early 1940s. At that time, the house was purchased by the University of California chapter of Sigma Phi. Now 100 years old, the house is in need of some restoration work, not least a seismic retrofit to ensure that it remains standing when the “big one” hits. The post below is the first of several by my friend Joe Johnston who is involved with an effort to bring to the house reproductions of furniture designed by the Greenes for the Thorsens. As with all aspects of the restoration effort, brothers of Sigma Phi are actively involved.

A Great Opportunity

Being in the right place at the right time has its advantages. Consider Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg from the technology world. They were both in the right place at the right time with a product everyone wanted. They both just happened to make a fortune in the process.

From my perspective, being in the right place means living within 15 minutes of the Thorsen House, one of the five “Ultimate Bungalows” designed by Charles and Henry Greene.

When I received an email from Darrell Peart a couple of months ago, I felt that I truly was in the right place at the right time. When he asked if I would be interested in helping some of the student members of Sigma Phi Society reproduce some of the smaller tables at the Thorsen House, I jumped at the chance. I thought, “Wow, I just might get to photograph, measure, draw, and reproduce an actual piece of Greene and Greene furniture - this is the chance of a lifetime!”

The Thorsen House has been owned by the Sigma Phi Society since 1943. Several of the alumni are active in the preservation and restoration efforts at the house. I met with Dave Munroe, one of these alumni, and we agreed that it would be great if we could find any original drawings that might exist for the furniture. Dave set up an appointment at the Environmental Design Archives at UC Berkeley where many of the original Greene and Greene drawings are archived. Use of these archives for the purpose of furniture reproduction is normally not allowed. We were only granted access because the project was a restoration effort for the house itself.

Like kids in a candy store, we searched through all of the material related to the Thorsen House. Lo-and-behold, we found a small 1 ½” scale drawing of the Thorsen “plant stand”. Interestingly enough, there was some pen & ink handwriting on the drawing calling out mahogany as the material for construction. Knowing that the actual piece was made of teak, we tried to envision what the design process might have been. Since the Thorsen taboret, a similar piece, was made of mahogany, we guessed that this drawing was some sort of hybrid representation from which both pieces had evolved.

A hands-on experience

Since drawings are not necessarily the final word in the evolution of a project, Dave and I decided that it would be best to examine the pieces in person, if possible. By doing this, we could get exact measurements and photographs, rather than merely relying on the drawing. Knowing that the plant stand had been on display at the Huntington Library in San Marino, we had hopes that the taboret was also there. Dave set about to try to arrange a viewing for us. Dave was able to set up an appointment through the director of the Gamble House, Ted Bosley. He confirmed that both tables were entrusted to the museum and were either onsite or in offsite storage. Ted, Dave, and I visited the Dorothy Collins Brown Wing of the Virginia Steele Scott Galleries of American Art where many Greene and Greene pieces are on permanent display. Upstairs, in temporary storage, we found the taboret and plant stand. We had about 1 ½ hours to measure, photograph, and take notes. Dave and I donned our cotton examination gloves and set about measuring the pieces with a cloth tape measure.

Dave and I thanked Ted as we left the museum. We were both extremely grateful for the opportunity to examine actual Greene and Greene furniture pieces.

Furniture reproduction

Writing this piece now, I am well into the process of reproducing both the taboret and plant stand. The plant stand reproduction is a collaborative effort with a couple of the students, Zach Wong and Adam Hoagland, and the process is being documented for the Thorsen House blog. Both students are enthusiastic about the reproduction process and are very capable woodworkers. The taboret reproduction is an effort I chose to undertake myself. I feel extremely honored to be involved in any part of the restoration effort, and this was my way of contributing to that effort.

You too can contribute to the Thorsen House restoration effort. You can visit their web site (www.thorsenhouse.org) to learn more about the restoration and make a contribution to this worthy effort. I would encourage every Greene and Greene enthusiast to help the Sigma Phi Society with this effort to help preserve one of the five beloved “Ultimate Bungalows”.

A hand plane inspired by the work of Charles and Henry Greene. Designed and made by Chris Adkins.
Charles Greene once wrote that part of the goal of the firm he founded with his brother, Henry, was "...to make these necessary and useful things pleasurable." Their almost single-minded drive in achieving that goal plays a significant role in their legacy and continued popularity. One need only look at the garage doors at the Gamble house to understand. It is not surprising that these utilitarian objects employ design elements found in the house. What is surprising, in my opinion, is that those elements are not used in a cursory way. The level of detail suggests a very careful approach to the design.

In the last several decades, as the Greene & Greene legacy has grown and their style has become a favorite among woodworkers, many have designed pieces, typically furniture, using their unique vocabulary. There is a broad range of success, or lack thereof, among the results. Some, such as the work by my friends Darrell Peart, Tom Stangeland and David Wade, are quite wonderful. Many others languish in less rarified air -- I include in this category the first G&G piece I designed, a coffee table on which I wish I could take a mulligan.

Other designers have taken to heart the quote above and created Greene & Greene versions of purely necessary things, crating beauty in unexpected places. Several years ago, my good friend Tom Moore created several fly swatters as Charles Greene might have designed them -- in mahogany with ebony accents. (Perhaps I'll ask Tom if I can post the essay he wrote that was the impetus for the fly swatter project.) I proudly display one of them in my living room. More recently, a woodworker named Chris Adkins, whom I "met" online, created the Greene & Greene hand plane pictured above.

Chris' plane embodies the spirit of Charles Greene's statement. Shop made planes have been around for a very long time. Often, though not always, they emphasize functionality almost completely over appearance. Of course, there is nothing wrong with that approach. Using any good tool provides a woodworker with a degree of satisfaction that increases greatly when that woodworker has created the tool in question. In Chris' case, he gets the added pleasure of using a beautiful object, which is exactly the point.

Visit Chris Adkins’ website at: www.highrockwoodworking.com

Cape au Moine (1941m), Alpes Vaudoises, Suisse by Samuel Bitton.

Like many people my age, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid. John Glenn orbited the earth around the time I was born and Neil Armstrong walked on the moon when I was 7. However, unlike most, I never really grew out of that desire. Well into high school, astronaut was still my top career choice. Until, that is, reality reared it's ugly head in the form of several inconvenient facts. The Apollo program was finished and the shuttle not yet a reality meaning that astronauts were not in great demand. Most astronauts (perhaps all at that time) came out of the military which was not a path I was willing to pursue. And, perhaps most troubling, I don't like roller coasters so how was I supposed to get through astronaut training and actual space flights? (This point was brought home quite plainly when, years later, I went on the NASA ride at EPCOT. My equilibrium was off for hours.)

Everyone goes through similar realizations. At some point we understand that we'll never be the next Hank Aaron; we'll never catch the winning touchdown pass in the Super Bowl or sink a putt to win the Master's. We realize that despite that most American of cliches, we'll never be president (later, we begin to wonder why anyone would want that job). At some point we stop waiting for the call from the Nobel committee. Some people seek greatness, others have it thrust upon them. The rest of us have to be happy with living good lives, loving our families, raising our children well, helping others when we can.

For me at least, the realizations haven't yet stopped. Last week, for example, I realized that I'll never be the next Samuel Bitton. You've probably never heard of him -- I hadn't until Friday. Throughout the facility where my wife works, are displays of art. On a monthly basis, the displays are changed from one artist to another. Often the works are paintings, currently they are panoramic landscape photographs by a photographer named Samuel Bitton. I haven't viewed the photos in person but on his website they are spectacular.

Perhaps I am predisposed to like his photos because many of them were shot locally and I am familiar with more than a few of the places depicted. However, I think that I like them primarily because they are astoundingly good. It might be depressing except for the fact that I'm old enough to have made peace with who and what I am, and who and what I am not. Of course, that won't stop me from trying to recreate a few of his photos but it should help salve my ego when I'm not able to achieve his beautiful results.

To see more of Samuel Bitton's photos, visit www.samuelbitton.com

The Diablerets Massif from above Col de la Croix.
Switzerland is, by any measure, a beautiful place. With an abundance of snow-capped peaks, verdant alpine meadows, crystal clear lakes and interesting ancient buildings, it captivates one's mind. These wonders are not hard to find: a country roughly the size of West Virginia, Switzerland is home to more than 5000 peaks of over 2000 meters. The beauty is literally everywhere.

If I tried to list the most beautiful places I've ever been, nearly all of them would be here and in the past year. Hawaii would make an appearance, as would the Monterrey Bay. Of course there are many fantastic places that I've never been: Arches National Park, Scandinavia's fjords, the plains of Africa. But if limited to places I've actually visited, the most beautiful places in the world are all within 100 miles of where we live.

The best way to experience nature is, of course, to get out among it. Through the car (or train) window is great but it is so much better up close and personal. Those who know me well know that I was never much of an outdoorsman in the US. I now know that that says more about the places I've lived than it does about me. I used to enjoy heading to a nice park (Brandywine Creek State Park in Wilmington, DE, where I grew up) or to the closest thing to hills in our vicinity (the Hocking Hills in Ohio, about an hour from where we spent 13 years before moving here) but I now live for hiking up mountains or through alpine valleys. I've walked more in the last few months than in the last 10 years (it's a guess -- don't hold me to it).


Gratuitous cow photo taken during a hike last week.
Every hike holds some surprise that adds to the experience. On most excursions, Sergio and Lars are my hiking partners. Last week, the three of us were going from Les Diablerets to Villars, a 16km trek over Col de la Croix with the spectacular 3000m Diablerets Massif as backdrop. While walking through a forested section of the trail, Sergio stopped and told us to listen. The sound we heard was remarkable, at least to me.

Everyone is familiar with cuckoo clocks -- they're the temporal equivalent of dinner and a show. I may be the last sentient being on the planet to learn this but cuckoos are real birds. The sound that Sergio pointed out to us last week was the call of a male cuckoo. It sounded exactly like every cuckoo clock you've ever heard and the experience was both hilarious and fascinating. A couple of days later, while on a solo hike, I heard two more cuckoos. I thought them quite charming until I read a little about them -- they are avian sociopaths. (Read the wikipedia page for "common cuckoo.") Evil birds aside, every hike is an opportunity to learn: about nature, about myself, and because Lars is a nuclear physicist, about the universe. Not a bad way to spend a day.

The Pyramid Leg Dining Table by Tom Stangeland.
When I was woodworking I had one inviolable rule: no drinking before going into the shop. Sharp blades, 3600 rpm, and beer don't mix. Maybe there's no causal connection but I still have all of my fingers -- you can't argue with success.

At least one very successful Seattle-area furniture maker has found a way to combine woodworking and alcohol. In particular, wine. He too still has all of his fingers. Probably because he's the producer rather than the consumer of the wine. OK, he's a producer and a consumer of wine and he's just lucky to still have all of his fingers. Either way, he makes furniture and wine. His name is Tom Stangeland.

I first encountered Tom's work, early on in my Greene & Greene infatuation, in the book Arts and Crafts Style and Spirit: Craftspeople of the Revival by Chase Reynolds Ewald. The pieces shown owed much to Greene & Greene but were also quite distinct, perhaps more Asian, certainly gorgeous. Years later when I had the opportunity to see Tom's work up close (in fact, to help him unload it from a truck for Pasadena Heritage Craftsman Weekend 2007) my impressions were confirmed: the pieces are striking, the craftsmanship is fantastic. Though his furniture is not derivative, Tom pays homage to the Greenes by emulating their attention to detail and sensitivity to the interplay of elements in a design.

Many amateur woodworkers dream of becoming professionals, turning our hobby into a vocation. For me, these thoughts often occurred when I was grading final exams. One thing keeps most of us from making that leap: Making a living as a professional woodworker is challenging. Lack of skill also plays a part. That's two things. But mostly it's fear driven by the difficulty of being successful as a pro. Tom decided that making a go of it as a furniture maker wasn't sufficiently arduous so he did what anyone in his position would do -- he started a winery. In other words, Tom is a masochist.

Tom and his wife Joannie have made wine for years but only recently decided to go commercial. Their label, Cloudlift Cellars, gives a tip of the cap to Greene & Greene and to the attention to detail that is an important aspect of all creative endeavors. I wish I could give you a brief review but every time I ask Tom if I can try some of his wine, he laughs and mutters something about pearls before swine. I'm not sure what he means but I think it could be an insult. Despite his disdain, I am sure that the wine is quite good. There are two reasons for this opinion: first, I don't think Tom would drink bad wine and second, I don't think Tom would make bad wine. He's too careful and committed and proud. But mostly, he doesn't want to drink bad wine.

To see more furniture by Tom Stangeland, visit his website.

I'm reasonably certain that the concept of "power couples" didn't exist during the time of Gustav Stickley and Charles & Henry Greene. There were, I suppose, a few such couples -- the Curies come to mind, though their story didn't end well -- but the idea hadn't yet developed. Maybe the Curies put a damper on power couples for a while. At any rate, power couples are now common.

The modern Arts & Crafts world boasts its own power couple: Bruce Smith and Yoshiko Yamamoto. Bruce is a researcher and author specializing in all things Greene & Greene, though not exclusively. Bruce's best known book, Greene & Greene Masterworks, has, I think, sold more copies than all other Greene & Greene books combined. He is a captivating speaker and one of the nicest people you could ever meet. For all of these reasons, I hate him.

Yoshiko is an accomplished block print artist. I look across my office every day to see her Centennial commemorative print of the Gamble house. At Arts & Crafts shows, I lust after many of her beautiful prints and wonder at how one creates such stunning detail in that ancient medium. Her work is, in a word, wonderful. Together, Bruce and Yoshiko operate The Arts & Crafts Press.

Yoshiko's newest print, titled Matsushima Bay, was created for the sole purpose of benefitting victims of the earthquake and tsunami that struck Japan one month ago. It is a lovely image of a scene that has likely been forever altered by that disaster. All proceeds from sales of the print will go to the relief effort. You can see and order the print, as well as Yoshiko's other work, at The Arts & Crafts Press website.

Some photographs, such as many of those in Poems of Wood & Light, are painstakingly planned in every detail. Permissions, logistics, equipment, lighting, batteries (the modern equivalent of film in the sense that you have to make sure you have plenty with you), etc. Other photographs just happen. Such is the case with one of my favorite photos that I've taken.

In Summer 2009, I spent a couple of weeks in Switzerland with my wife while she was here on a month-long assignment, before we knew that six months later we would transfer here. My plan was to spend much of the time that she was at work writing (the book wasn't yet completed). That plan went out the window not long after I arrived and saw the incredibly beautiful scenery. Instead, I spent most of my time driving around the countryside taking photos.

Not far from the facility where Patty works is the world's most beautiful highway rest stop. (In the interest of full disclosure, I have not conducted an exhaustive survey of rest stops but feel reasonably confident in my claim nonetheless.) Known as Bavois, this rest stop features an attractive building, excellent restaurant and incredible views across the valley to the Jura mountains on the border with France. One entire side of the building is glass to enable diners to enjoy the view. It is truly wonderful and completely unlike any other rest stop I've seen.

So it was that one day I found myself headed to the rest stop to shoot photos. Not of the rest stop itself but of the valley, mountains, and chateau nearby. While in the area, I thought I'd explore a bit. Driving a country lane above, I came across a wonderful scene: a field of golden grain with farm buildings in the distance. Indicating that I was meant to photograph the scene, nearby was an area where I could pull over and park (a rarity here). All I had to do was take advantage of the beautiful scene.

Not long prior to my trip, I had acquired a couple of tilt/shift lenses. Prized by those who photograph architecture and landscapes, these lenses allow one to do two things: shift the lens up/down/left/right and tilt the lens changing its axis relative to the camera body. The latter action permits the photographer to change the plane of focus which is normally parallel to the camera's sensor (or film if you're old school). The net effect is that you can lay the focal plane down giving, in effect, perfect focus both up close and at infinity. One can achieve the same effect, to some extent, by increasing the f-stop which makes the region of acceptable focus "thicker". However, this is done by closing down the aperture which greatly reduces the light entering the camera, thus requiring longer exposures.

Imagine a long exposure for the photo above. With any breeze at all, the grain will move and no longer be in focus. By tilting the lens, laying down the focal plane, I was able to shoot at f/4 for 1/4000s rather than at f/16 which would have required a shutter time of 1/250s, too long in this case, and even without any breeze still wouldn't have provided the same crisp focus throughout the photograph. In woodworking, it is often said that a good craftsman can create beautiful work even with lousy tools. While I agree with that in principle, there are times when having just the right tool is absolutely essential.

To see more, visit my photography site.

"A well-written, character-oriented, sci-fi, rock & roll novel." That's how one reviewer on Amazon.com describes the book Glimpses by Lewis Shiner. The heart of the book is a collection of what-ifs: what would have happened if Brian Wilson has completed Smile in 1967 (he did in 2004, 38 years after beginning it and 11 years after Glimpses was written), if Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix hadn't died? What music could we have expected? How would the music world be different?

In the book, Hendrix is described as wanting to break away from his guitar-god image, to explore more musical terrain and grow as an artist. The catch is that he felt trapped by the expectations of his fans. I'm not sufficiently knowledgeable about Hendrix to know how much truth there is to that portrayal but it certainly seems plausible. In televised interviews I've seen, he seems like a bright, if not particularly talkative, man. He certainly had good taste in music as witnessed by his love for Bob Dylan (and notwithstanding his "we'll never have to hear surf music again" line at Monterey Pop after the Beach Boys withdrew as headliners).

The premise is believable because, in general, artists want to evolve. They need to evolve. No true artist is content to simply regurgitate that for which they are most famous. Charles and Henry Greene could have simply continued with the style for which they were well known - that would have been the easy course. However, when approached in 1911 to design a large house, with furnishings, for the Culbertson sisters, they chose to go in a different direction. The Culbertson sisters may even have expect the classic Greene & Greene style given the work the firm had done for their brother, James. Instead, the result is a near total departure from their earlier work. There are clues to the origin of that house and the furniture but they are not obvious.

The photo above is of a small section of a massive piece of furniture measuring roughly 12 feet wide and 7 feet tall, comprised of 6 separate units (3 upper and 3 lower). Bookmatching is not the first technique to come to mind when considering the work of Greene & Greene yet it is employed liberally in the Culbertson pieces. This, together with the more traditional forms, lends the furniture a more formal presence. The house, too, was more formal than the Greenes' norm. Yet certain features from earlier works remain: the shelves utilize breadboards, the drawers and doors are wrapped in ebony around their perimeters, pulls and escutcheons are shop-made, detailing is exquisite.

Had Charles Greene simply stayed the course, the Culbertson sisters' house would likely have been another beautiful "chalet in the Japanese style" as are the Ultimate Bungalows. Instead, his evolution continued and we are treated to a glimpse of another side of his creative genius.

More photos of this piece appear in Poems of Wood & Light. Order your signed copy here.

Blogging is a narcissistic exercise, the 21st century equivalent of yelling, "Look at me!" except that, as with all things internet, the electronic barrier eases the discomfort we might otherwise feel. Even by the metrics of the blogosphere, however, this post scores high on the self-promotion scale. I hope that you'll indulge me.

Today, I'm announcing that I will not seek, nor will I accept, my party's nomination for President of the United States. Please try to contain your disappointment, I know it's difficult. Today, I am also announcing a new website: photography.wood-and-light.com

This new site (beautifully designed, if I say so myself) is dedicated to the sale of photographic prints from my catalog. It may surprise you to learn that not one of the photos on the site is even remotely related to Greene & Greene. I'll wait a moment for the shock to subside... The photos fall into three broad categories: architecture, landscape, and abstract. I hope that you'll have a look. Don't be shy about sharing the link with friends -- particularly those friends with significant disposable income.

Please let me know what you think about the photos. Unless you don't like them. Just kidding -- of course you’ll like them.

Amazon doesn’t have a stock image of a Kindle with Poems of Wood & Light on the screen. Bastards.
For authors, one consequence of the ascendance of Amazon.com is the importance of Amazon sales rankings. For those named James Patterson or Mary Higgins Clark, the steady stream of arriving large trucks filled with bags of money provides a clue to the success of their latest offering. For the rest of us, the Amazon sales ranking is our primary indicator.

I freely (and happily) admit that I don't understand the business world. I feel fortunate to have spent nearly my entire adult life on college campuses, places where, in my discipline, at least, knowledge of the finer points of marketing, accounting, etc. are largely irrelevant. Thus, it is beyond my feeble abilities to understand why Amazon doesn't publicize the number of units sold for the books in their inventory. The reason may well be the first lesson taught in Business 101 but I was absent that day. What Amazon does instead is publish the relative sales ranking for the books they sell. The number is available on the page for each book and is updated hourly (for truly obsessive authors). It is, however, a single data point -- no past numbers are available, only the current rank.

Enter several services that track the Amazon ranks and store them for later perusal. I use a free service called Metric Junkie. I can log in and look at the Amazon ranks for Poems of Wood & Light hour-by-hour over the past weeks. There are graphs and charts and high and low rankings for various time periods. As the name suggests, the service is somewhat addictive.

As Arlo Guthrie would say, that's not what I want to talk you about today. At least not entirely. Several times this year, I've read reports that for a significant number of New York Times bestsellers the number of digital copies sold is higher than the number of hard copies sold. Certainly this is indicative of the rise in popularity of e-readers, a market in which Amazon's Kindle is still king.

Poems of Wood & Light is available for the Kindle and thanks to Metric Junkie, I'm able to keep an eye on how it's doing. Which is easy because it isn't doing much. Given that most books sold for Kindle are read on a Kindle device (as opposed to the Kindle software available for other mobile devices and for computers) and that the Kindle is black and white, it isn't surprising that a coffee table book filled with color photos is not selling in big numbers. My Dad bought a Kindle copy as soon as it became available (thanks, Dad), surprising if only because at the time he and my Mom had a couple hundred copies of the book in their sunroom. His opinion is that the poor photo quality on the Kindle screen allowed him to focus on the writing without being distracted by eye candy. Seems reasonable. Of course, my Dad isn't the most objective source in this particular case. By the way, the Kindle edition looks great on computer screens and makes a perfect companion to the hard copy you surely already own.

The point is that the relative ranking of my Kindle edition, and how it changes with sales, has demonstrated something about the market for e-books: it appears that e-book sales are deep but not broad. Bestsellers are selling very well but many books are not moving many e-copies at all. Even those that are selling reasonably well in hard copy. How do I know this? Well, I don't "know" it, it's more like a theory. But I do have some evidence. One day last week, someone bought a Kindle version of my book. The sales rank for the Kindle version jumped from 348,853 to 49,884. A single sale leapfrogged Poems of Wood & Light past almost 300,000 other books. Clearly, they hadn't sold a copy in a while, as was the case for my book leading up to that moment. Further, such a jump in ranking is impossible for the hard copy. Fortunately, the rank for the physical book hasn't been nearly as high as 350,000 since well before its release so a direct comparison isn't possible, however, the last change in rank that landed that version at a number close to 49K was from 86,175 to 46,589. As ranks get better for the hard copy, jumps become even smaller. Several days ago, a sale resulted in a change from 18,817 to 14,713.

What does all of this mean? I have no idea. In my defense, I don't think the publishing industry has it figured out yet either. I guess they missed that day of Business 101. Or maybe it's difficult to figure out what's happening when there is a fundamental shift in an industry (I'm in a charitable mood). Let me know if you have a theory about this -- maybe you went to class that day.

Poems of Wood & Light is available for the Kindle, the Nook and the iPad. Or you can order your signed, old-fashioned copy right here.

Photo courtesy of the Guardian Stewardship.
The first time Tom Moore invited me to stay at his house, we’d never met. We shared an obsession with Greene & Greene (try to contain your surprise), which was the reason for my visit, in October 2007, to his corner of the world. Jenny, his very tolerant wife, was probably not shocked that Tom was bringing home another stray. Despite never having met, Tom and I were already fast friends courtesy of a Greene & Greene Yahoo! group we both frequent. If this was an episode of Law & Order, events would certainly take an unpleasant turn at this point. Fortunately, everything went very well. When I returned to California on subsequent trips to photograph houses and furniture for Poems of Wood & Light, Tom and Jenny were equally hospitable. Each time, Tom would take vacation from work and hit the road with me. We logged many miles, visited many homes and shot thousands of photos. We also had the best time imaginable. I am very pleased to present, as the first guest post on my blog, this essay by my very good friend Tom Moore. Tom’s writing is always entertaining and usually requires that the reader have a dictionary close at hand. Thank you, Tom, for contributing so eloquently.

“The furniture made by the brothers Charles and Henry Greene might rightfully be called the most impressive contribution to the art yet made by any American.” ~ Alan Marks, Fine Woodworking #21, 1980

By all accounts, in 1906 things were humming along in the architectural office of brothers Charles and Henry Greene in Pasadena, California. A confluence of factors had set them on an adventurous and prosperous path, one they would walk for several years.

* In each of the preceding two years they designed and built 11 houses, including several of the best commissions, those from repeat clients.
* Freed from the shackles of ordinary craftsmen, they experienced a creative awakening in the collaboration with another set of brothers, Peter and John Hall, builders and furniture artisans.
* Architecturally, they were well into developing their own regional design that would soon manifest as the so-called Ultimate Bungalows.
* In their furniture design, they surrendered influence by Gustav Stickley and were establishing themselves as designers of extraordinary sensitivity, progressively demonstrating the vocabulary that would lead their practice for years.

In 1906, Dr. William T. Bolton, a client faithful to the Greenes, committed to his third house, one that included a full collection of furniture. Tragically, Dr. Bolton died before the house was completed. Mrs. Bolton moved out of California, eventually renting the house to Belle Barlow Bush and her daughters. Ms. Bush liked the dining room furniture – the only furnishings finished at Dr. Bolton’s demise – and agreed to completion of the entire suite, thereby realizing the artistic unity Charles Greene had envisioned. In addition, she requested a few other pieces, including the stylish curio cabinet pictured above.

The Bolton furniture was a design tipping point. The Asian influence seen in the Adelaide Tichenor designs of 1904 continued, but with a refreshing harmony. Also, it was the first to be endowed with ebony caps either covering screw heads or as added ornamentation. That said, the Bush curio cabinet design stands apart from the Bolton collection, possessing elegance and subtlety absent in earlier work. It embodies the language that would dominate the Greene’s practice for several years. Attribute the difference in appearance to the cabinet’s later design. The Bolton furniture dates to mid-1906, while Ms. Bush’s cabinet rose from Charles’s imagination around August 1908, probably folded into the stream of office projects in parallel with the Gamble House commission.

Scale is sometimes hard to gauge in a photo, thus I was surprised at its smallish size when viewed at an exhibition in 2008. Ted Wells of the Guardian Stewardship, current caretakers of this jewel, stated the size at 15 1/8” tall x 25 3/8” wide x 5 ?” deep. The proportion was attractive and looked familiar, perhaps based to the Golden Ratio.

The Golden Ratio (also known as the Golden Mean, Divine Proportion and other names) is the historically revered proportioning system of Classical architecture. In brief, by experimentation, the ancients found that a rectangle with the proportion of height-to-width of 1 to 1.6 (written 1:1.6) presented a most pleasing aesthetic to the human eye. Its use continues today. Unable to measure the cabinet directly, I gauged existing photos. The cabinet dimensions presented above include its outsized base and overhang of the top. However, if only the case itself is measured, the height-width proportion matches exactly the Golden Ratio. A sketch of the case on the Greene & Greene Virtual Archives supports the notion that the proportion was intentional.

To this classic form the Greenes added their own iconic details including generous edge rounding, directly expressed finger joints (mating the case top and end panels) and decorative ebony inlay. The exterior is bespeckled with proud, pillowed and polished ebony caps, and the lower door rails are emblazoned with ebony double-lift motifs that mimic in abstract the profile of that rail. The formed silver side handle appears to be a near duplicate of those found in the Gamble House downstairs guest bedroom furniture.

As luxurious a picture as the exterior presents, impressive surprises await inside. One must open the doors fully to appreciate the delicate pastel coloring of the leaded glass front. Sotheby’s 2005 auction description described the glazing colors as “pale taupe and blue.” You may recognize the shape bounding the blue glazing as a Greene staple in designs of this period. The lift motif is a variant of a feature in Ming dynasty furniture. Over time, the Greenes created seemingly endless adaptations, retaining freshness in each implementation.

Note the shelf cut-outs exist on the right side only. The alcove cradled one of Ms. Bush’s favorite vases. Below, tiny carved ebony drawer pulls reside in a lift-shaped inset.

In an earlier post here, David Mathias commented that children are usually rigid in their favorites, e.g., they have one favorite ice cream flavor, be it Blue Bubblegum or Candied Bacon. As a result of this outlook, they lead rather black and white existences. Adults tend more toward gray. They recognize the positive attributes of more than one flavor. This approach allows several favorites to co-exist, therefore, more pleasure in their lives.

While I subscribe to David’s thesis wholeheartedly, when it comes to the Greenes’ furniture oeuvre, I continue to place the Bush curio cabinet, not necessarily at the top of my list, but “first among equals.” Whether open or closed, this piece, so rich in detail, persists in intoxicating me.

Order your signed copy of Poems of Wood & Light.

In a 1908 article he wrote for Western Architect, Charles Greene enumerated his primary considerations when designing a house. "The style of a house should be as far as possible determined by four conditions:
First -- Climate.
Second -- Environment.
Third -- Kinds of materials available.
Fourth -- Habits and tastes -- i.e. the life of the owner."

One need not tour too many historic homes to realize that some architects do not spend much time considering the fourth point, if it were to appear on their list at all. But Greene & Greene are known for creating very livable houses, houses that even today can make one feel at home, that don't feel out of date or out of touch with the times. Apart from the magical creations that we know as the Ultimate Bungalows, that may be the most significant aspect of their legacy.

Pictured above is the living room of the first of three houses the Greenes designed for Josephine Van Rossem (1903). It was not a grand commission nor an imposing design. It was significantly altered in 1906 for subsequent owner James Neil. It is striking, I think, how entirely inviting this 108 year-old room, from a $3,800 house, is today. If built now, the ceiling would likely be higher but otherwise this room is just about perfect. The fireplace, the wainscoting, the exposed beams create an atmosphere that encourages one to stay for a while.

Today the Van Rossem/Neil house is best known for the world's finest clinker brick wall. When we think of Greene & Greene interiors, we tend to reference the Gamble and the Blacker houses. But the Van Rossem/Neil house and a number of other examples designed by the firm in the first years of the 20th century, ably demonstrate the democratic nature of their work, their commitment to the comfort of the people who would inhabit the buildings they designed. It is little wonder then, that for a time Greene & Greene were very much in demand and that a century later new generations are still in awe of their accomplishments.

Order your signed copy of Poems of Wood & Light.

On Friday, several friends and I hiked to the summit of Rochers de Naye, a mountain of 2050m about 10 miles from where I live. Only our relative lack of snow this Winter allowed such an adventure this early in the season. Rochers de Naye is said to offer the best views in Canton de Vaud. I won't offer any argument counter to that statement - during our time near the summit, I uttered phrases such as, "This is indescribably beautiful," innumerable times. It is probably the most beautiful place I have ever been.

I have often referred to the Blacker house as the most beautiful manmade place I have ever been. The entry hall, stairway included, and living room are simply stunning works of art, every detail attended to and every one perfect and perfectly in balance with the whole. Those spaces contain numerous pieces any one of which could constitute the crowning achievement of a career in design: the entry hall lanterns, the living room arm chairs, the living room bookcase, the basket lanterns, and yes, the staircase. Each is permanently engraved in my brain, the result of countless hours spent examining photographs of them. Taken together, they explain the high regard I have for the Greenes' masterpiece.
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Recently, I had to renew our residency permits. It's a reasonably straightforward process that involves completing a form for each member of the family and taking those forms, along with passport-style photos, to the commune office. At the commune office they review the forms, verify that the photos meet requirements (they use a small plastic template to make sure that the head is properly framed in the shot), and collect a bunch of money. I had left the employment section of my form blank, not entirely certain how to complete it. The woman in the commune office asked me if I work. I replied, "Je suis ecrivain," I am a writer. She looked at me for a moment and then put a big slash through that section of the form.
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I was a university professor for fourteen years so I've taught my share of classes. Before midterm exams, every term in every class, without fail, a student would ask if I intended to give a review. I'm not sure what happened between the time I graduated high school and the time my students graduated high school but apparently review sessions became de rigueur. My answer to the inquiry was always the same: "No." Sometimes I would explain that I had already provided them with a syllabus -- complete with carefully chosen readings from the text book -- and half a term of inspired, thrice weekly lectures. Other times I would simply note that while I would be happy to answer questions, it simply isn't possible to encapsulate weeks of material into 50 minutes in any meaningful way. They seemed to buy it.

This is my 100th blog post for Wood & Light. So naturally, I've decided to write an entry that encapsulates the previous 99 entries. By way of explanation to any former students who may be reading this, I offer only that this entry will not be even remotely meaningful. And to everyone who is reading this, thank you. It has been my privilege to share these brief essays with you over the past 10 months. So here goes...
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For years I wanted to attend the Grove Park Inn Arts & Crafts Conference, an annual three day orgy of all things Arts & Crafts held each year on the third weekend in February at, oddly enough, the Grove Park Inn. During all of those years I was on the faculty at the Ohio State University. The third weekend in February was always around the time I was giving midterms during Winter quarter. Despite much begging, my wife wouldn't let me quit my job so that I could attend the conference, so I never went.

No longer encumbered by anything as bourgeois as employment, I was free this year to make the pilgrimage to Asheville. Unfortunately, distance is now a deterrent. So while I considered making the trip, I decided against it. Enter Jennifer Strauss, Co-Publisher of Style 1900 magazine. Jen invited me to do a book signing in the Style 1900 booth at the conference. Because she offered me a huge fee and guaranteed that I'd sell 500 books, it was an offer I couldn't refuse. (Some, or possibly all, of the facts in that last sentence are entirely fabricated.)
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At the dawn of the 20th century, Pasadena architects Charles & Henry Greene developed a new regional style based on the climate and environment of their adopted home. "A wooden style built woodenly," that blurs the distinction between indoors and out, the California bungalow is certainly of that place. A synthesis of Arts & Crafts and Asian influences with a casual California sensibility, it could not have developed anywhere else.

Thus, it may be surprising that Greene & Greene were not Californians. Nor were they from a warm climate. They were born in Cincinnati, raised in St. Louis and educated in Boston. Yes, Boston. America's answer to Old World civilization. The birthplace of the Revolution. Home of the Brahmins. It was in this world that Charles & Henry Greene acquired the skills that would enable them to develop the quintessential west-coast style.
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The Eiffel Tower. It has been photographed from every conceivable vantage point. There are few absolutes but I feel safe in stating that there can never again be a truly new photograph of that structure. At least not until Nikon (remember, friends don't let friends shoot Canon) introduces scanning electron microscopy or dSLRs that can capture an object's other dimensional aura. So, it's a closed book, don't even try.
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I originally wrote this post five months ago for the blog of Venezuelan architect Ana Manzo, "the place of dreams." [How many Venezuelan architects do you suppose I'd know if not for the internet? One less than I do now, that's how many.] Ana's blog is beautifully written and she brings to her writing a poetic soul about which I can only dream with envy.

Recently, my wife, our sons and I vacationed in Luzern. Switzerland is, among other things, a land of multiple languages. In Luzern, German is spoken. In high school, I studied German for three years. I was never fluent but was able to communicate haltingly. Unfortunately, that was thirty years ago. During those years, I haven't spoken German at all. How little I remember was illustrated during our trip. One thought was often in my head: "That word looks familar - I think I used to know what it means." A few facts about German have remained in my brain. For example, I remember the tendency to create huge compound words. Words such as "fernsehenprogramme" and "gesamtkunstwerk."
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Each chapter of Poems of Wood & Light opens with a quote that, to my mind, speaks to the general theme of that chapter. Thus, the discussion of important influences on the development of Greene & Greene begins with a quote by Sir Winston Churchill, "Without tradition, art is a flock of sheep without a shepherd. Without innovation, it is a corpse." This is true, I think, not only at the macro level, which it seems was Churchill's intended meaning but also at the micro level as well. The art world must experience innovation to avoid stasis as must the artist to avoid falling into self-parody.
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Many European roads were created at a time when horse carts were considered high tech and plagues could be counted on to reduce the amount of traffic. Thus, many two-way roads here are just slightly wider than a car. You do not want to be reincarnated as a side view mirror here, unless violent impacts are your idea of a good time. So it is quite amazing to see the maneuvers performed by truck drivers. They squeeze massive trucks onto twisting roads and rarely do they seem to force naive Americans off of the roads to careen to their deaths. But even these Supermen can't get everywhere. Some destinations are simply out of reach.
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Mary Ranney worked at Greene & Greene, Architects as a draftsperson. In 1907, Miss Ranney undertook to build her own home. She was afforded the honor, as a result of her considerable talent, of designing it herself on behalf of the firm -- the drawings bear the notation, "designed by Mary L. Ranney in the office of Greene & Greene, Architects." In 1912, a sympathetic addition was appended. In 1913, Ranney left architecture to found the Westridge School for Girls in Pasadena.

The Westridge School exists to this day, as an exclusive preparatory school for girls. Were the founder's professional pedigree the only Greene & Greene connection, it would be of only tangential import to those interested in the firm's work. There is, however, a more concrete, or perhaps, shingled, cause for attention: the Westridge School campus is curently home to the Robert Pitcairn, Jr. house.
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As I've written here previously, I am currently reading the third volume of the Edmund Morris biography of Theodore Roosevelt. I am nearing the end of the nearly 2000 page journey -- friends are beginning to note that TR doesn't look well. He is a fascinating figure. His prescience was uncanny, many of the reforms he proposed became law decades later when the public conscience caught up with him. One of his most striking character traits was a supreme, nearly unshakable self-confidence. Most politicians, and TR was no exception, seem possessed of a certainty that their policies are the right policies. Where Roosevelt stands apart is in his willingness to lecture specialists about their specialties. He lectured naturalists about naturalism. He lectured geographers about geography. He lectured poets about poetry. Given the opportunity, he would have lectured Eskimos about snow.
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Extraordinary and timeless are apt descriptions of the achievements of Charles and Henry Greene as well. It is senseless, and likely impossible, to determine whether this or that architect was "better," whatever that might mean in this context. Their body of work continues to bring pleasure to people (and to house them) which is about as much as any architect could hope for. The heart of that body of work consists of the well-known Ultimate Bungalows, those 4 or 5 houses that represent the pinnacle of a life's work (though not the end). Interestingly, the first of the generally recognized Ultimates is also often seen as the best, their masterpiece.
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Each afternoon, I receive an email newsletter called Shelf Awareness. The intended audience is independent booksellers, those shops that Borders, Barnes & Noble and Amazon were supposed to have killed off. There is no question that small bookstores have had difficulty in the last decade. However, the reports of their death have been greatly exaggerated, to quote an overused phrase. There are many thriving independents around the country. Ironically, Barnes & Noble and Borders are both experiencing serious problems with the latter, according to some reports, on the verge of bankruptcy.
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In the mid 1940s, an acquaintance mentioned Greene & Greene to Jean Murray Bangs while she and her husband, architect Harwell Hamilton Harris, were living in New York. Bangs had wide ranging interests that included architecture. After a time, Bangs and Harris returned to his native California, where the couple had met. Soon thereafter, they decided to try to find Charles and Henry Greene.
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Organic is a word with many uses. Food can be organic. Social movements can be organic. Architecture can be organic. Even within that application of the word, there are multiple meanings. Sometimes it seems that a building is called organic because of the materials used in its construction. Other times a building is described as organic because of how it integrates with its site. In still other cases, a building may be organic due to its form. Though these meanings are somewhat related they are also distinct. Buildings can exhibit any one of the characteristics without the others. Many, perhaps most, buildings are not organic at all. Asheville, North Carolina's Grove Park Inn may be the most organic building in the United States -- it is organic in each of the senses described above. So much so, in fact, that the definitions seem to have been derived from the building.
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My family and I recently celebrated the first anniversary of our arrival in Switzerland. It was a good first year, one that was smoother than we could have hoped. It was a year in which we consumed large quantities of fantastic cheese and bread. It was a year in which we hiked to the tops of more mountains than in all of our previous years combined. It was a year in which we fell in love with cows. And it was a year in which we acquired a genuine Swiss cowbell, one that used to adorn the neck (do cows have necks?) of a genuine Swiss cow.
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The World Wide Web is one of the great achievements of our time. It enables a broad range of activities with an ease that was previously impossible. Not least among these activities are research and the sharing of ideas. Lately, I've come to see the web not as an invention but rather as a discovery. Not long after I began researching Poems of Wood & Light, I wrote to a friend that references and footnotes in books were the original World Wide Web, in decidedly lower tech guise. The idea is that like the web, one book (webpage) leads the reader to other books (webpages) which lead to still others and so on. Some "links" go far afield while others lead back to the starting point.
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Every architect in the history of movies and television has lived in a house that they designed. Take Mike Brady as an example. His bunch lived in a huge house. Somehow he supported a wife and six kids plus a live-in housekeeper. He never seemed to work all that hard either. And famous musicians and athletes were always dropping by. Guys like Joe Namath and Davy Jones (he's sort of a musician). I'm pretty sure that most architects under the age of 50 entered the profession because of Mike Brady.
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As the big day approaches, it's important to note that NCAA Division I Football consists of two divisions with the catchy names Football Bowl Subdivision and Football Championship Subdivison (one can be sure that a committee had a hand in coming up with those) and the even catchier acronyms FBS and FCS. As bad as they are, the names are somewhat descriptive and highlight a significant fact: the NCAA recognizes only one champion in Division I Football. This year that champion will be neither Auburn nor Oregon. Neither will it be TCU, Boise State, Alabama, Stanford or any of the half dozen other schools deserving of the opportunity. This year the Division I Football Champion will be either Delaware or Eastern Washington.
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So it was that soon after Christmas, I found myself reading a series of brief interviews in the current issue of Esquire, thanks to one of the many very useful and very cheap apps available for the coolest device ever invented. Each interview consists of a series of quotes that are nothing more than snippets almost entirely devoid of context or flow. Surprisingly, the presentation works reasonably well. Not surprisingly, the subjects of the interviews are mostly show business types, unusual only in that I'd actually heard of all of them -- which is to say that they were all of a certain age. Robert Duvall, Samuel L. Jackson, Aaron Sorkin, Robert Redford, Mary Louise Parker, Ted Danson and Robert DeNiro.

One of the quotes attributed to Bob DeNiro (his friends call him Bob -- since he doesn't read my blog, I can too) got me thinking, an unexpected outcome while reading Esquire. "If there's a shortcut taken when you're building a hotel, people are going to notice and feel cheated out of something. It's kind of like a movie: Cumulatively, all the shortcuts and cheats take away from the texture." DeNiro knows a little about texture, he's made about a thousand movies with Marty Scorsese (also doesn't read my blog), a true master of the filmmaking craft.
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