Great Papa

From the wings, most plays seem chaotic; so do most geniuses. Architect Frank Lloyd Wright's buildings might argue him a clear well of disciplined, harmonious art; but in his son's backstage biography, My Father Who Is on Earth (Putnam; $3.50), the great man sometimes looks more like a ham actor in search of a role. Says Son John Lloyd Wright: "I can think of him . . . as Don Quixote, to whom every windmill was a woman in distress; as Apis, who was conceived by a bolt of lightning; as Ferdinand, who loved the aroma of flowers; as Reynard, whose affection at times was no match for his appetite."

John's literary skill is at times no match for his filial feeling. According to John's earliest memories (Oak Park, Ill. at the turn of the century): "Papa liked vaudeville! Vaudeville liked Papa!--Papa designed most of Mama's dresses. Most of Mama's dresses were brown!" The first curtain came down with a rush when Wright tired of the role of Papa and walked out on his wife and six children "overnight--he didn't even say goodbye."

Years later John went to work for his father as an apprentice. John admits that his father "is not a good teacher," but is eternally grateful to him for introducing him to Discourses on Architecture by the 19th-Century French theorist Viollet-le-Duc.

John quotes a passage from Viollet-le-Duc which well describes Frank Lloyd Wright's ambition, and to a considerable extent, his achievement. Wrote Viollet-le-Duc: "The leaf of a shrub, a flower, an insect--all have style; because they grow, are developed, and maintain their existence according to laws essentially logical. We can subtract nothing from a flower, for each part of its organism expresses a function. . . . Proceed as nature does in her works, and you will be able to invest with style all that your brain conceives."

With building after building, Wright had proved that it is possible to imitate nature's logic and economy, if not her wanton extravagance, in architecture. His latest proof, announced this month, is a tower laboratory for Johnson's Wax in Racine, Wis. Its 15-story lab is practically all window; all its heating, plumbing and servicing is done through a central mast, from which it is suspended, much like Buckminster Fuller's circular aluminum house (TIME, March 25). It will adjoin the office building Wright designed in 1938, which is held up by columns built like morning-glories. He also built a low-slung modern house for President Herbert F. Johnson Jr., who apparently believes that Wright can do no wrong.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.