Photo Essay: A Desert Trek to Frank Lloyd Wright's Winter Home and Office

For a self-trained architect, Frank Lloyd Wright had quite a racket going.



In 1931, he'd established Taliesin in Spring Green, Wisconsin to afford budding architects to do exactly what he did—"learn by doing."



After all, the best way to learn how to build a house is to start trying to build one.



But since neither Wright nor his students (or, "apprentices," as he called them) wanted to study anything as far north as the 43rd parallel during winter, Wright set his sights on Arizona...

"Whirling Arrow"

...and, in 1937, began building Taliesin West in what's now known as Scottsdale.

"Red Ocotillo"

Of course, it wasn't the resort community back then that it is now.



It was just a wide expanse of dry, clean, rocky desert up on a mesa.



That meant he could start building whatever he wanted and as much as he wanted—with help, of course, from not just the free labor of his apprentices in a traditional internship setup, but architecture students who paid to be there.



And some still do—as evidenced by the drafting studio, where a portrait of FLW peers over each workstation as the master architect might've once done in person.



Architecturally, the studio is a standout among the buildings of the Taliesin West compound...



...though FLW's own drafting table most likely was located in the bedroom he kept all to himself.



Each of the other buildings share a similar theme of "organic architecture," with exterior walls built of locally-sourced rock...



...though they were all purpose-built as an office, a conference room, and so on (and outfitted with FLW-designed furnishings).



But as this was one of the original live/work environments, it's hard to know where the living started and the working stopped (if it ever did).



Everything feels connected.



Of course, FLW and especially his wife Olgivanna used spaces like the garden room to show off his style to current and potential clients and business partners...



Letting in plenty of light (as there were originally no glass windows or even window coverings)...



...and providing a means to music in nearly every public space.



The architectural commune is a little quieter now than it used to be—especially in 100 degrees near the start of summer when school is out of session.



But the belltower still calls the students to gather at the dining hall for mealtime...



...where they'll sweep the floors, clear the tables, and tidy things up after being sufficiently fed.



What other types of tasks did students perform while studying at Taliesin West under FLW?



"Whatever the master asked," one former apprentice told our tour group. And we understood that didn't necessarily mean designing anything or even giving any opinions. They were there to do everything as FLW wanted (or, in the current case, as he would have wanted)—and not to develop their own style.



And sometimes, that meant actually supporting some of the non-architectural and non-educational activities happening on campus...



...including in the Music Pavilion, which once hosted salons and various performances....



...as well as the cabaret...



...a kind of dinner theatre space for guests...



...which now doubles as a movie theater.



It's interesting to visit Taliesin West because FLW built it (or had it built) on his terms, rather than trying to make someone else happy. And, as he conceived it as a "desert laboratory," it was meant to change, evolve, fail, and most of all, teach.

I get the sense that FLW was still learning, even as master at Taliesin West, until he died at age 91 in 1959.

Making changes upon each return to the desert and even continuing to add buildings, he never seemed to rest on his laurels. 

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Photo Essay: The Victorian Atrium That Frank Lloyd Wright Transformed Into a Gilded Birdcage

Living in California, I've seen a few Frank Lloyd Wright-designed residences.



He often didn't get along with his clients...



...and went ahead and did what he wanted to do anyway...



...or stormed out and passed the project off to another architect to finish...



...including, frequently, his son Lloyd Wright.



I had to fly all the way to Chicago to see an early-career commercial project of FLW...



...for which he was commissioned to do a certain thing...



...and he actually did it.



The Rookery Building in the Chicago Loop's Financial District continues the grand architectural tradition of the Victorian atrium, like the Bradbury Building in Downtown LA or the Beekman Tower in Lower Manhattan.



FLW didn't design or build it—that was done by Daniel Burnham and John Root and completed in 1888.



It was in 1905 that FLW was brought in to make the "light court" less dark and Victorian and brighten it up a bit (hence the white paint job on the ceiling beams and seams in the glass ceiling).



Much of what you see ow on the ground floor and mezzanine level of the office building and commercial space is his work, with a few bits of the old design peeking through.



That includes the columns, which are just clad in gilded white marble and still contain the original dark iron supports underneath.



Much of the mosaic tile floor has been replaced as part of the 1992 (and most recent) restoration—except for a section that had been hidden under a staircase addition that has since been removed, exposing a preserved patch underneath.



The showstopper of the Rookery atrium is the oriel staircase...



...replete with dizzying geometric patterns and Moorish incised Carrara marble.



At the mezzanine, the staircase appears to float—but as you look up, you can see how it spirals all the way to the 12th (and top) floor.



From there, it's the best vantage point from which to look down into the birdcage.



The Rookery's atrium was initially all about letting light in, in an era when the building was outfitted for both gas and electricity, but neither was very reliable.



Frank Lloyd Wright added bronze chandeliers with prismatic glass that evoke his Prairie style and illuminate the court even when there's not much light to come in from the outside.

In the floor of the wraparound mezzanine, you can still see original glass blocks that allowed light to shine through from the upper light well to the bottom floor.

Yet another revamp was ordered in 1931—this time to make the former Victorian atrium more Art Deco. Former Wright assistant William Drummond replaced the elevator cages installed by Wright with bronze doors with figurative designs of blackbirds (in tribute to the Rookery Building's name), as well as a few other more modern flourishes (some of which were preserved in the last restoration, and others that were reverted).

You have to see it to believe it. It is absolutely breathtaking. And unlike any FLW project I've even seen in person or in pictures.

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Photo Essay: Is the Arizona Biltmore Actually a Frank Lloyd Wright? (Does It Matter?)

Maybe it's enough that Clark Gable and Carole Lombard honeymooned at the Biltmore in Phoenix...

...or that Ronald and Nancy Reagan celebrated their honeymoon there.



It's certainly has a storied history politically, with every president from Herbert Hoover through George W. Bush having been a guest...



...and Republican presidential candidate Senator John McCain conceding defeat on the lawn there.



But I didn't visit the Arizona Biltmore for any of that. I wasn't even that compelled to honor the legacy of the Wrigleys there, though they were heavily involved and built a mansion just up the hill, overlooking it.



To be honest, I squeezed the Biltmore into my last day in Phoenix for Frank Lloyd Wright, whose "Saguaro Forms and Cactus Flowers"design (which appeared on the cover of Liberty Magazine in 1926) was fabricated by Taliesin students into stained glass and installed as part of a 1973 restoration. (The hotel was renovated again by Taliesin Associated Architects in 1979, after a fire.)



That's the only real "official" tie that FLW had to the Biltmore—not the gold-leaf ceiling...



...nor the illuminated milkglass bricks...



...or even seemingly "Prairie-style" lighting fixtures on the upper mezzanine of the lobby.



Officially, Wright had nothing to do with how the hotel circumvented Prohibition in a men-only
smoking and drinking room up a back stairway and on the terrace—in the so-called "mystery room."



And yet, as I was skulking around the hotel resort on my own, opening unlocked doors and tiptoeing across perhaps that same terrace...



...all I could seem to find were signs and signals of Frank Lloyd Wright's involvement.



Officially, the architecture of the Biltmore is credited to a former draftsman for Wright in his Oak Park Studio, Albert Chase McArthur.

And Wright did design the inspiration for the "Biltmore Block," a geometric rendering of a freshly-cut crown of a palm tree.



But apparently McArthur modified so many contributions that Wright had made at the time—including creating 34 different pattern variations on the pre-cast blocks—that Wright repudiated any affiliation with the building once it was finished.



Reportedly, he was also unhappy with contractors who rebuked any suggestion of unconventional building methods (and wouldn't even test them).



Wright hated it so much that he declared the finished product "even worse" than he thought. Yet when it opened in 1929, it was widely considered the "Jewel of the Desert."

FLW changed his tune a bit after the resort was warmly received, further muddying the issue of how much he'd been involved.



Later, if you were to ask him whether he'd designed it—or how much of it he had—he'd more or less tell you, "Look at it. What do you think?"



Of course, it does look very much like a Frank Lloyd Wright-style design, with its textile blocks.



And apparently, the Aztec Room and cottages (some of which were refurbished in 1988) show few or no adjustments to whatever design Wright may have contributed or influenced initially.



The most recognizable Frank Lloyd Wright design at the Biltmore (besides the saguaro stained glass) may be the Sprites, designed in 1914 for the (now demolished) Midway Gardens in Chicago, and sculpted by Italian artist Alfonso Ianelli. Six new casts of the "Solemn Sprite" statue were added to the grounds in 1985.

But we can't forget about William Wrigley Jr., who'd initially invested in the Biltmore and became full owner in 1930. The Catalina Pool, opened 1940, was his idea—and it became infamous as Marilyn Monroe’s favorite pool (though likely not where Irving Berlin composed "White Christmas," despite claims to the contrary).



The Wrigley family sold the Biltmore in 1970, and it's now operated as a Waldorf-Astoria hotel.



The Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation embraces whatever affiliation FLW actually had with the construction of the hotel, and even contributed a Wright-inspired sculpture called "Wings of Phoenix" by Heloise Swaback from 1982.

We may never know what actually happened in Wright's collaboration with McArthur—but even if the Biltmore was merely inspired by FLW, it certainly feels like walking through the biggest of his textile block homes.

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