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Daniel Wolf and Mathew Wolf in memory of Diane R. Wolf, the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation
Last summer I was lucky enough to see the Guggenheim’s 50th Anniversary exhibit with my dear architect friend, Heather. Neither of us had been to the New York Guggenheim before, and an exhibit by the master himself in his own museum was sure to be a treat. We arrived in the middle of the day; the museum’s newly painted exterior gleaming in the sunlight. After marveling at the restoration work on the outside of the building, we headed through the entrance vestibule. Entering the Guggenheim is somewhat like stepping into the Pantheon: after coming through a crowded entryway into a circular space, your breath is taken away as your eyes are drawn irresistibly upwards towards the light. The sense of space is both palpable and wonderful; the lobby is filled with people staring in awe at the glass skylight with their mouths hanging open or their cell phone cameras in front of their faces as if the lobby might vanish like a dream unless they took a picture of it.
Heather and I headed to the elevator: we were going to see the museum as Wright had intended us to: starting at the top and spiraling down towards the bottom. To our dismay, the exhibit was arranged in the opposite manner, with Wright’s early work at the lower levels and his later works at the top. In retrospect, I can see how that made sense: the exhibit culminated with his drawings and models of the Guggenheim itself located at the very top of the museum (How metaphorical…or just meta.) However, it still seemed odd to go against the architect’s original intentions in a building of his own design for an exhibit of his own work. At any rate, Heather and I rode the elevator to the top and felt bad for the thousands of people who would spend hours climbing uphill in the exhibit, rather than descending gently, like us.
The works in the exhibit were unique and magnificent: they varied from meticulous hand drawings and perspectives to intricate models to artifacts from his buildings. There was a huge collection of Wright’s unbuilt work from the Middle East. Both of us were surprised to see his Plan for the City of Baghdad and his proposal for Baghdad University; with the exception of the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo, we were only familiar with Wright’s American work. (Perhaps because he is always emphasized as an American architect.) One of the most stunning pieces in the exhibit was an exploded model of the Jacobs House, with its walls, floors, roof, plumbing, and electrical systems all pulled apart and suspended in the air. It was an architectural drawing come to life. In the same room was a particularly impressive model of his design for the Living City, a utopian community populated by Wright’s own buildings.
Perhaps the most interesting pieces were the buildings that once were, or might have been. Drawings of destroyed or demolished structures like the Imperial Hotel or Midway Gardens evoke pathos for the transient nature of existence or anger at the shortsightedness of developers. Particularly fascinating was a series of drawings that showed all the variations the Guggenheim went through before it was built. There were pink Guggenheims, mirror-image Guggenheims, hexagonal Guggenheims, even a reverse-spiral Guggenheim. One could only imagine the alternate universes filled with such fanciful creations, if only a client had said a different word, or if Wright had got to his office a little later than usual.
By the time we reached the lower level of the ramp, our legs were aching and the museum was starting to close. We still got to look at his earliest residential works, including some Victorian-style (gasp!) houses. After an obligatory visit to the gift shop, we headed outside, giving the museum one last look as we crossed the street into the cool shade of Central Park. Ultimately, it was one of the most informative, interesting, and beautiful exhibits I have ever been to, and the most perfect way to see a masterpiece. |
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