The Smith House

Everything in the house — including the furniture, the fixtures, the fireplace — was designed by Wright specifically for this home.

Next to a small library and reading nook, the iconic staircase, hanging from the floor of the living room, plunges down toward the river. The large opening in the floor can be closed off with a set of built-in, sliding glass panels, so that even when closed, the river can still be enjoyed from the comfort of the library. Our group stood at the top of the staircase, forbidden to descend, and watched the water flow beneath us. As the docent pulled a nearby door open, the sound of the waterfall filled the room.

Iwalked out onto the terrace, grabbed the concrete wall and peered over the edge. Above the roar of the falls, I looked at my partner and asked, “Can you imagine?” He must have understood every single question those three words implied, because his answer was a simple, “I know.”

Next up were the tiny bedrooms of the second and third levels. According to Miller, Wright designed the rooms and hallways of the second floor to be small so that people would not want to spend much time in them. While that seems backwards by today’s standards, Wright logically saw the bedrooms as a place for sleeping and not much else. While nowhere near as grandiose as the living room, each of the bedrooms contained the same attention to detail and design.

The walls are made of the same local quarried stone that comprises the house’s huge vertical support columns. All of the installed lighting in the rooms is indirect, giving off a peaceful glow instead of harsh light. Each room has plenty of windows, some of which can be opened and folded away, allowing the line separating nature and dwelling to blur.

Every room, every stairway, every window, door, couch, table, light, planter, desk — every view of the house — is Wright’s vision.

Even more astonishing is that is was all accomplished without the use of computers. From the delicate balancing act of the cantilevered levels, to the impeccable fit and finish of all the handmade, odd-shaped glass windows, it was all the product of Wright’s talent and imagination.

One man in our group brought up the subject of cost. Docent Miller said the total budget rung up at $155,000, including his architect fee of $8,000. Adjusting for inflation, Fallingwater would cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $2.8 million dollars to construct today, and Wright’s cut would be a paltry $130,000.

Not satisfied with Miller’s answer, the man asked, “Yes, but what it is valued at today?” She looked at him and said, “You can’t put a value on something like this.”

Before leaving, I made the short walk to the outlook point to see with my own eyes the postcard-worthy view I’d seen online. Illuminated in the late afternoon sun, I snapped a few photos. Itook a quick look at the LCD screen to make sure I got the shot.

“Priceless,” I thought. www.fallingwater.org

Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater in Mill Run, Pa., was completed in 1939. All of the furniture and fixtures were integrated into the overall design of the cantilevered building.

Interior photo courtesy of Fallingwater. Exterior photos by Skyler Williams

THE HOUSE THAT SMITH BUILT

“Give me the luxuries of life and I will willingly do without the necessities.” — Frank Lloyd Wright

Story by How would you like to live in a Frank Lloyd

Elena Ivanova Wright house? For most of us, this is a rhetorical question. Houses designed by the famous architect are on the list of the National Register of Historic Places. Even when those that are privately owned occasionally come on the market, the price and the stipulations are prohibitive. Besides, it is a well-known fact that Wright houses are not the most comfortable to live in. Even large-size houses, like Fallingwater, have tiny bedrooms, narrow and dark hallways, and a flat roof which needs constant maintenance.