The Richardson Hotel: A Night in a Former Insane Asylum

The hotel brings new life to a Buffalo, New York landmark. But does it deliver? 

I knew we had to stay at this iconic Buffalo building, an architectural landmark dating back to the late 1800s. 

I can still remember the clusters of vacant but majestic buildings of the Buffalo Psychiatric Center, bordering my alma mater. When I was an art student at Buffalo State College in the late 1980s, it had become a daily ritual for me. After parking my car, I would gaze beyond the chain-link fence at the fortress-like structures, imagining the possibilities of their reuse. That was over three decades ago.

In recent years, my dream of exploring the historic national landmark has finally come true. The grounds of the former mental asylum have been reintegrated into the city’s urban fabric and are now known as the Richardson Olmsted Campus. 

“When I shared that we were staying in a former mental asylum with my friends, they quipped, “Aren’t you worried it’s haunted?””

As a Buffalo native returning to visit family in Ellicottville, New York, I wanted Wally and me to add an extra day to revisit my old stomping grounds and stay overnight at the Richardson Hotel. In its previous iteration, it operated as the upscale Hotel Henry, which opened in 2017 but, due to the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic, closed its doors four years later in 2021. 

The 88-room hotel occupies the central administration building and two adjacent wards, which are dwarfed by a pair of twin, verdigris roofed towers, a hue somewhere between green and blue. Additionally, it’s within walking distance of Elmwood Avenue and three world-class museums: the Buffalo AKG Art Museum, the Burchfield Penney Art Center and the Buffalo History Museum, the only remaining building from Buffalo’s 1901 Pan-American Exposition. 

The original campus was 203 acres but is now 42. The largest reduction in size occurred in 1927, when half of the land was used to develop Buffalo State College, Duke’s alma mater.

The Architecture of Madness

But first, here’s a bit about the landmark’s backstory. In June 1871, construction began on a grand new civic project: the Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane. Architect Henry Hobson Richardson designed the innovative facility away from the city center, on 203 acres of farmland, which eventually grew to include 11 buildings. Its parklike grounds were planned by the foremost landscape architects of the nation, Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux, whose Greensward Plan won them the commission to design New York City’s Central Park.

The monumental Richardsonian Romanesque asylum looked more like a stately manor than a state hospital. It’s anchored by a large central administrative building with two symmetrical sets of wards extending horizontally in an orderly V-shaped formation, like a flock of geese in flight. Its general layout was determined by Joseph Gray, head of the existing State Lunatic Asylum in Utica, New York, and based on the Kirkbride Plan, a geometric system of asylum architecture developed by 19th century American psychiatrist Thomas Story Kirkbride. 

Patients were segregated by gender and condition: one ward for male patients and the other for females. Those who required the most care were placed at the farthest ends of the institution’s wards. This was done to ensure that patients received the most appropriate care based upon the nature and seriousness of their illness. 

Olmsted applied his skills as a landscape architect to establish a buffer between the asylum and the outside world, aligning with Kirkbride’s philosophy of “moral treatment,” which advocated for a more humane approach to mental health care. He suggested to Richardson that the buildings should be oriented to face southeast, which would enable the spacious corridors to be  filled with natural light. You see, the asylum opened on November 15, 1880 — two years before the commercial introduction of electricity. 

Additionally, Olmsted surrounded the buildings with expansive lawns and trees, fostering a connection between the facility’s interior and its surrounding landscape, both of which were considered crucial for patients’ recovery.

Duke loves his detail shots — and this one is of the Minton tile inside the south entrance portico, the original entrance to the central building. 

A New Legacy 

Although the building was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1986, it wasn’t until two decades later that the nonprofit Richardson Center Corporation (RCC) was formed and subsequently intervened. Their objective was to own and redevelop the architectural treasure. The RCC raised funds to adapt a portion of the site, and the state of New York contributed $76 million to help jumpstart the ambitious project.

Following a seven-year conservation process, the public-private partnership focused on phase one, to reimagine the centuries-old complex by regreening the nine-acre South Lawn and adaptively reusing the central pavilion and two adjoining wings of the Medina sandstone building. TenBerke of NYC, Flynn Battaglia Architects of Buffalo, and Goody Clancy of Boston teamed up to undertake the overhaul, resulting in a boutique hotel, conference center and permanent home for the Lipsey Architecture Center, named for the late Stanford Lipsey, the former publisher of the Buffalo News and a champion for the city’s architectural revival. 

A key aspect of the redesign involved moving the main entrance to the north side of the four-story central administrative building, and enclosing it within a contemporary transparent steel and glass box. 

Fun fact: During renovation, the addition attached to the north side of the central building was demolished, revealing the original terracotta-colored grout between the blocks of muddy pink Medina sandstone. Don’t forget to pause and admire this before entering the hotel. 

When I shared my excitement about staying at the Richardson with my friends, they quipped, “Aren’t you worried it’s haunted?” In reality, the only apparitions I found were some of the aesthetic “improvements” made by the hotel’s new owners. 

The hallways at the Richardson feature warm globe lights and distinctive carpeting that evokes the decay of the abandoned wards.

Staying at the Richardson 

After the closure of Hotel Henry, Douglas Development purchased the property and rebranded it as the Richardson Hotel (which reopened on March 3, 2023). While I can appreciate the new owners’ intentions to establish their own identity, they had acquired a timeless and restrained turnkey property. Why junk it up?

For me, the addition of the porte-cochère was disappointing and feels out of place. It detracts from the commanding lines of the sandstone façade and obstructs artist Dániel Shafer’s graceful, rounded Spirit of Community sculpture. Incidentally, the addition of a herd of Buffalo statues doesn’t help. It’s not surprising, then, that the outdoor terrace that used to be above the atrium was dismantled — after all, who would want to overlook a canopy covered in corrugated steel? 

I’ll say it: I’m not a fan of the porte-cochère, which feels more appropriate for a gas station than a boutique hotel. 

As we entered the atrium, I noticed that the elegant, low-slung seating areas outside of the Lipsey Architecture Center were strangely cordoned, as if to say, “Keep off.” And when I looked up at the modern double glass and metal staircases leading to reception, I was overwhelmed by the number of vinyl decals indicating the check-in location. (Note: This abundance of signage was a recurring theme throughout the hotel). 

I saw the sign…and then some! The overabundance of wayfinding signage at the Richardson made it feel cheap.

I was eager to appreciate the scale and volume of Richardson’s design, but what I discovered were walls covered with oversized canvas photo prints of Buffalo landmarks. There were so many that my eyes didn’t know where to focus. The refurbished grand staircase should have been the centerpiece of the lobby, but instead, had to contend with the decorative stencil work uncovered during renovation and the aforementioned wall art. 

During renovation, Douglas Development uncovered decorative stencil work and replicated it throughout the hotel.

The reception desk is tucked under this impressive staircase.

I can get behind the idea of celebrating Buffalo and its architectural legacy, and I have no issue with historically accurate stenciling — but perhaps they should have considered choosing one or the other, not both. If the goal is to pay homage to the city’s landmarks, condensing it into a gallery wall could serve as a more fitting approach. 

The richly patterned and colored tile flooring in this curved connector passage was made by Minton, Hollins & Co. in Staffordshire, England. 

Considering the national reputation of nearby art galleries, such as the Burchfield Penney and AKG, I found myself wishing Douglas Development continued the rotating art program that Hotel Henry established with Resource:Art. This would encourage visitors to explore the hotel’s public spaces, serve as an additional draw and solidify the hotel’s presence within the city’s museum corridor. 

At least the former asylum’s lofty corridors retain their grand scale. The palatial hallways are anchored with wall-to-wall carpeting in a palette of blues and greens. This color scheme could be a nod to Buffalo’s heyday as a Great Lakes port or the peeling paint of the wards that have yet to be restored. I particularly liked the elegant yet simple circular pendants with milk glass globes suspended from the ceiling. 

Just what the doctor ordered: Our room was cozy, uncluttered and bright.

Our Room: A Cozy Queen for a Couple of Queens

We stayed in a Cozy Queen room on the second floor. I had read that most of the hotel's guest rooms were created by merging three single-occupancy rooms, which were only 11 x 9 feet wide. And staying true to its name, our room was compact and uncluttered, with a queen-size bed, two nightstands, a desk and en-suite bathroom. Given the limited space, a built-in stainless steel rack and cheerful bright yellow ball coat hooks efficiently served in lieu of a full-size dresser. 

The wall art above the upholstered headboard was the focal point of the room, featuring a striking black and white architectural detail of the landmark. Not only was it cool but it also served a practical purpose. The panels are constructed from an eco-friendly noise-reducing wool and wood fiber material. 

Café Calvert was the perfect place to start our day. They offer caffeinated and non-caffeinated beverages, as well as an assortment of delicious sweet and savory baked goods. Tell Jenna we say hi!

Onsite Dining at the Richardson Hotel

Visitors can get their caffeine fix and a bite at Café Calvert, which is exactly what Wally and I did after we dropped our bags off in our room. The café sources its beans from local roaster Overwinter Coffee. In addition to an iced latte, Wally and I shared a peach and blueberry muffin and a cheddar and bacon scone, both of which were delicious. Jenna, the barista who served us, was friendly and helpful. When I asked her for a local lunch spot to go the following afternoon, she suggested Remedy House in the hip Five Corners neighborhood, a highlight of our trip. 

We also checked out Bar Vaux, the cocktail lounge located next to Café Calvert. I had the Across the Pacific and Wally, the Hobson Sour. We also shared a tasty thin-crust mushroom pizza. Despite its high ceilings, the space feels intimate. 

Get a pizza (and great cocktails) at Bar Vaux.

Overall, our stay was pleasant but fell short of my expectations for a luxury boutique hotel. There was no welcome book, TV guide or menus for the hotel restaurants in our room. Additionally, only one of us could use the hotel WiFi; if both of us had wanted to, we would have incurred an additional fee. 

The building features rounded passages between buildings — originally designed to deter putting beds in the hallways.

The upstairs lounge is a nice spot to hang out.

With that said, the hotel has been open for six months and celebrated its grand opening on September 19. It’s my hope that Douglas Development has plans to address cosmetic changes using a more discerning eye and introduce in-room amenities in the future, to fully meet the expectations of a four-star hotel experience. 

Buildings aren’t made like this anymore — let alone converted into hotels. So it’s well worth a stop for food and drinks at Bar Vaux or a visit to the Buffalo Architecture Center to see this gem up close, even if you can’t experience an overnight stay. –Duke 

The Richardson Hotel

444 Forest Avenue 
Buffalo, New York 14213
USA

 

Forest Lawn Cemetery: Lost Among the Dead

Buffalo, New York’s famous resting ground is home to the Blocher Monument and the graves of President Millard Fillmore and Rick James (yes, of “Super Freak” fame). 

Wally (and Duke) had a gay old time in Forest Lawn Cemetery — though it was a tough one to navigate on foot.

I’ve always been fascinated by old cemeteries. In college, I taped a set of slides of weathered limestone headstones from the antebellum Laurel Grove Cemetery in Savannah, Georgia, over the diffused light panels on either side of my bathroom’s medicine cabinet. One of the slides showed a tombstone for a little girl, inscribed with the epithet, “Our Little Della.” A few of them were so old and brittle that they were almost translucent. 

So, when my husband, Wally, and I were planning our trip to Buffalo, New York, I knew we had to add Forest Lawn Cemetery to our itinerary. I remembered wandering through it many times in my early 20s, when I went to college nearby, and I couldn’t wait to see it again with him, as he shares my appreciation of Victorian funerary art and expansive 19th century parks for the dead. 

“She gushed about having seen the grave of Rick James, the singer-songwriter of “Super Freak” fame, an ’80s hit that celebrated a kinky girl — “the kind you don’t take home to mother.””

An add to celebrate Forest Lawn’s 75th year, paying homage to its origins at the site of Judge Granger’s homestead.

The Birth of Forest Lawn Cemetery 

Prior to being formally consecrated as a cemetery in the summer of 1850, the land belonged to a man named Erastus Granger. Granger built his homestead and farm on the northernmost parcel, working the tillable parts of the hilly terrain. 

He was appointed superintendent of the Six Nations Agency by President Thomas Jefferson where he maintained a close relationship with the Seneca Nation, one of the tribes that occupied the region. 

After Granger died, Buffalo attorney William D. Clarke purchased the 80-acre estate from his widow and two sons. Clarke intended to establish a rural garden cemetery on the site, which was a mix of dense forest and meadows. This topography is how the cemetery earned its name, Forest Lawn. 

When graveyards were associated with disease, cemeteries were built in rural areas and acted as gorgeous greenspaces.

The Rise of the Rural Cemetery 

By the late 1800s, a growing fear of disease led to a change in the way people thought about death and burial. Cramped and overcrowded church graveyards were seen as unsanitary and as a threat to public health. People began to seek out more peaceful and bucolic settings for their loved ones’ final resting places, which led to the rise of the rural cemetery movement. 

The location of these cemeteries was often outside city limits for both hygienic and aesthetic reasons. They were beautiful greenspaces, with forested groves, meandering footpaths and elaborate monuments. One of the most famous examples is Père Lachaise in Paris, France. Founded in 1804, it quickly became the blueprint for many others. 

As cities expanded, rural cemeteries like Forest Lawn were swallowed up by urban sprawl. Although they were no longer considered “rural” in the traditional sense, they retained their pastoral beauty and tranquil atmosphere. 

The monument to Seneca Nation chief Sagoyewatha, also known as Red Jacket, stands atop a column inside the Delaware Ave entrance. He got his nickname from the red wool British infantry coat he wore during the American Revolution. 

Famous Graves: Millard Fillmore and Friends

Forest Lawn has its share of famous residents, including: Millard Fillmore, the 13th president of the United States; John J. Albright and Seymour H. Knox, the founders of the Albright-Knox Art Gallery; Red Jacket, the orator and chief of the Seneca Nation, who supported the neutrality of his nation during the War of 1812; and George Norman Pierce, the creator of the Pierce-Arrow Motor Car. 

But Wally and I were more interested in seeing a few of the more unusual monuments of its permanent residents. 

These eight bells were originally part of a set of 43 that was forged in Le Mans, France and hung in the steeple of St. Joseph’s Cathedral.

For Whom the Bell Tolls 

Our first stop was an impressive steel structure holding eight verdigris copper and tin alloy bells. The carillon, located near the main office and wrought iron gates of the Delaware Avenue entrance, has a fascinating history. 

The largest of the group is the Oishei Memorial Bell, dedicated to the late businessman and philanthropist John R. Oishei (pronounced “Oh-shy”). It sits upon an elaborate marble plinth that was taken from the demolished St. Joseph Cathedral, which once stood at the corner of Delaware Avenue and Utica Street. This particular bell weighs in at 1.5 tons (3,000 pounds), and is a testament to the craftsmanship of Bolée et Fils, the French foundry that cast them in 1866. 

The Oishei bell's surface bears the Latin inscription “Laudate Dominum Omnes Gentes,” which means “Praise the Lord, All Ye Nations” — more commonly known as Psalm 117. Note the gargoyles guarding the top of the bell.

The eight bells were originally part of a 43-bell set commissioned by John Timon, the first bishop of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Buffalo. They were intended to hang in the bell tower of St. Joseph’s Cathedral on Franklin Street — but by the time they arrived in Buffalo, Bishop Timon had died. The bells were installed in the belfry, but were too large for its interior and never worked properly. They were eventually removed and put in storage, where they remained until the new St. Joseph Cathedral was built. 

Although the new cathedral was larger and more grand than the previous cathedral, its marble-clad exterior was ill-suited for harsh Buffalo winters. By 1924, the north and south transepts required major repairs, and by 1927, the towers were so unstable that they had to be removed. The bells were once again placed into storage, this time in the sanctuary’s basement. Over the next 48 years, 35 of the original 43 bells were stolen, leaving only eight. 

The second incarnation of the cathedral was demolished, but Michael Dozoretz of Lancaster Steel Service Company salvaged the remaining bells. The aforementioned largest of these  was purchased by Patricia Colby-Oishei and given to Forest Lawn Cemetery in 1975 to commemorate her father. 

Oishei made his fortune by perfecting and marketing wiper blades for cars, which had not yet been widely used in 1916. He founded Trico Products Corporation, which still specializes in integrated windshield wiper systems today. The bell is also a testament to the generosity of the Oishei family, who have donated so much to Buffalo's cultural and charitable institutions. 

The seven additional bells were donated by Dozoretz and suspended from the graceful metal frame above the Oishei Memorial Bell in 2020. They ring on the hour and play the De Profundis, a Latin adverb meaning “Out of the Depths of Sorrow,” as funeral processions enter the cemetery grounds. 

The lavish Blocher Monument (located in Section 11), is hard to miss. Look inside: It depicts Nelson Blocher, son of John and Elizabeth Neff Blocher, in repose. Above his head, a scantily clad angel beckons him to Heaven.

Blocher Monument: A Tragic Tale of Love and Loss

Our next stop was the Blocher Monument, one of the most unusual and elaborate memorials in Forest Lawn Cemetery. Architecturally speaking, it resembles a folly, or perhaps a mechanical clock, ready to spring to life. The towering structure is topped by a fanciful two-tiered bell-shaped affair that reminds me of the pink cable knit hat worn by the cartoon character Dumb Donald on The Adventures of Fat Albert, complete with a pompom on top. It reportedly weighs 29 tons, is supported by five pilasters, and is enclosed in plate glass. (I almost don’t even want to tell you what Wally thought it looked like. Oh fine: He called it the Butt Plug.)

There are three crypts beneath a moveable slab in the floor — one for each of the Blocher parents and their son, Nelson. Rumor has it there was a fourth reserved for Nelson’s long-lost love, Katherine. 

According to local lore, Nelson Blocher, the only child of John and Elizabeth Blocher, was caught up in an unfortunate affair. A bachelor at age 34, he fell madly in love with Katherine Margaret Sullivan, the family’s 20-year-old maid. Once their relationship was discovered, Nelson’s parents were keen to end it. They felt that Katherine was beneath their son's social standing, so they sent him off to Italy on a buying trip to purchase leather goods for the family business and dismissed her. 

When he returned from Italy, he was heartbroken to discover that Katherine was gone. Some say that Nelson searched for her in vain, while others maintained that he returned home with a mysterious illness. Whatever the truth may be, Nelson’s health declined rapidly, and he died a year later at the age of 37. 

Devastated by their son's untimely death, John and Elizabeth commissioned an elaborate monument to commemorate his life. The four life-sized figures rendered in white marble were sculpted by the Swiss-born Italian artist Frank Torrey. The centerpiece of the memorial features Nelson reclining in repose, one leg folded beneath the other, clutching the one earthly possession left behind by Katherine: a Bible. 

His parents gaze at his passive supine form. Nelson’s father, John, made his fortune from real estate investments and footwear manufacturing. His figure stands with his right arm resting on a broken pillar, symbolizing a life cut short. His mother, Elizabeth, holds a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a single rose in the other, depicting the bond between mother and child. A winged angel hovers above Nelson, holding a floral crown, presumably to be placed on the young man’s head as he ascends to Heaven.

The Firemen's Monument (Section 8) boasts a 17-foot-tall granite pedestal engraved with the names of the Buffalo firefighters who had died by 1901 battling the blazes that ravaged the city, which was primarily constructed of wood. It’s surrounded by concentric circles of additional firefighter graves. 

Exploring Forest Lawn Cemetery  

While Wally and I were walking through the cemetery, we met a woman from Savannah, Georgia, who was spending the afternoon sightseeing while her son was getting settled at nearby Canisius College. As we chatted with her, she enthusiastically gushed about having seen the grave of Rick James, the singer-songwriter of “Super Freak” fame, an ’80s hit that celebrated a kinky girl — “the kind you don’t take home to mother.”

According to our new acquaintance, it was the coolest thing she’d seen all day and it wasn’t far from where we were headed. She indicated that it was just up the road to the left. We thanked her for the tip and continued to follow the route with the white, yellow and blue stripes. 

The chapel at Forest Lawn dates back to 1882 and was constructed of stone taken from the cemetery’s own onsite quarry. The angel statue is in remembrance of lost children.

After consulting the map we had picked up at the Delaware and West Delavan Avenue entrance, Wally suggested we follow the yellow line that leads to the cemetery's “mausoleums.” As we rounded a bend, I spotted the Egyptian Revival memorial for Edwin Gilbert and his wife Mary Ellen. 

The white granite monument features a raised pedestal with sloping sides, a cavetto cornice adorned with a winged sun disk and the name “E. Gilbert” engraved vertically on the front. Atop the pedestal is an imposing sphinx, likely inspired by the one at Giza. Gilbert was a maltster, a maker of malt, which is the main ingredient used to make beer, along with water. He was also a member of Buffalo’s Merchant Exchange. The cartouche on the sphinx’s chest includes hieroglyphics of an ankh, a reed and water. 

A reclining sphinx wearing the traditional nemes headcloth of Egyptian royalty sits atop a large pedestal with the name “E. Gilbert”‘ engraved on the front. It can be found in Section 8.

We forged ahead and somehow managed to bypass James’ headstone. Meanwhile, we found ourselves circling Mirror Lake. That was okay with me, because I had wanted to see the Three Graces fountain. It’s a replica of the original statuary designed in 1909 by Charles Cary Rumsey for the Hudson Valley estate of his future father-in-law, Edward Henry Harriman. Rumsey was the son of a prominent Buffalo family, and he was also Laurence Rumsey Goodyear’s uncle. 

The bronze sculpture beautifully depicts the three daughters of Zeus and Euryoneme, each of whom has a unique gift to bestow on humanity: Aglaia (Elegance), Eurphersyne (Mirth) and Thalia (Youthful Beauty). The fountain was placed in Mirror Lake in 1987 to commemorate Goodyear’s 40th year of service on the Board of Trustees of Forest Lawn. 

The original Three Graces fountain was commissioned for sculptor Charles Cary Rumsey’s father-in-law, railroad magnate E.H. Harriman for his palatial Hudson River estate, Arden House. A replica decorates Mirror Lake.

Like other cemeteries of the period, waterfront property was in high demand. Many impressive mausoleums skirt the pond’s edge. 

Waterfront property is desirable even for the dead.

This white marble memorial honors George Kingsley Birge, who lead both M.H. Birge & Sons, a renowned wallpaper manufacturer, and the George Pierce Company, which produced the Pierce-Arrow automobile, once favored by presidents and Hollywood elite.

The second time we encountered our new friend was by the gravestone of Sarah M. Hinson (1841-1926). If you, like me, have memories of placing your hand over your heart and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in elementary school, you can trace this tradition back to this woman. Hinson is remembered as a patriotic Buffalo schoolteacher who was passionate about teaching her students to respect the American flag. She chose June 14, 1891, as the date for her first Flag Day celebration because it was the day in 1777 when Congress officially recognized the Stars and Stripes of our national flag. Buffalonians affectionately refer to her as the Mother of Flag Day, which was proclaimed an official holiday by President Woodrow Wilson in 1916. 

Aspiration, a bronze statue of a cloaked female figure is the work of sculptor Harriet Frishmuth. Cast in 1926, it commemorates iron mogul William A. Rogers and his wife, Eleanor Stillman Rogers. 

Wally and I had deviated from the yellow lined route after realizing the “mausoleums” were actually just the places that hold cremated remains at Forest Lawn. We complained  about how hard it was to navigate the cemetery. (Hinson’s grave is in Section 1, and we were trying to locate Section 7 — despite the difference between numbers, we were actually quite close.) 

Ms. Savannah admitted that she had gotten turned around in her car a few times. She then proceeded to share a personal story about her supernatural experience, telling us how she had captured a ghost of a woman in a photo she took while visiting the Pirates’ House, a historic tavern in Savannah that was made famous in the book Treasure Island. 

Apparently she had brought a spirit home with her. After her son saw her doppelgänger and freaked out, Ms. Savannah decided it was time to exorcize the spirit from her home. So she made a pilgrimage to the Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp in Florida, which was founded in 1894 by George P. Colby, an itinerant medium from Pike, New York. The town is home to a century-old community of mediums and healers who believe people retain their identity after death as spirits. She finished her commentary by mentioning that her son made her promise not to bring any non-corporeal guests back from her visit to Forest Lawn. We said goodbye and continued to search for the permanent residence of Isaiah H. Hughes. 

Obelisks were all the rage at Forest Lawn — and we couldn’t figure out which one was for the magician known as the Fakir of Ava.

I had intended to find the modest memorial to Hughes, a magician and illusionist known as the exotic Fakir of Ava. It’s located in the elusive Section 7 of the cemetery, but today was not going to be the day. Additionally, I wasn’t sure about the scale of his obelisk, which was clearly a popular type of monument. There were an impressive amount at Forest Lawn, and they all started to look similar. Ultimately, it eluded us and we were unable to locate it. 

A Tough Cemetery to Navigate 

The cemetery grounds are well maintained, but at 269 acres, its scale is vast and navigating it on foot with a loosely detailed map proved to be more challenging than we expected. Sections aren’t clearly marked, and the numerical sequences that date to the cemetery’s opening were often jumbled. For example, Section 5 adjoins Sections 16 and 21. In hindsight, I’d suggest visiting Forest Lawn by car or by taking one of their docent-led tours. 

Although Wally and I didn’t get to see everything we wanted at Forest Lawn, we still had a memorable day. We met an interesting individual, and will definitely be back to explore more. –Duke 

Forest Lawn Cemetery 

1411 Delaware Avenue
Buffalo, New York 
USA

 

3 Chicago Muralists Share Their Secrets

How is a mural made? That was the idea behind a recent exhibit at the Chicago Cultural Center. We did a Q&A with each of the featured artists: Cecilia Beaven, Miguel A. Del Real and Anna Murphy. 

Duke and I have always appreciated murals, but didn’t know a whole lot about what went into their creation. Are they gridded out? Are they done freehand? Do they use spray paint? Or are all these things, as I imagine, dependent upon the artist?

That’s why it was so cool to visit the Chicago Cultural Center and see Exquisite Canvas: Mural Takeover, an onsite installation sponsored by the Department of Cultural Affairs and featuring the talent of three local artists: Cecilia Beaven, Miguel A. Del Real and Anna Murphy. The experiential exhibit was held on the first floor galleries and invited visitors to meet the artists and watch their progress as they completed their works. (The exhibit ran from June 10, 2023 and closed on September 3).

Part of the idea behind Exquisite Canvas at the Chicago Cultural Center was to show the artists’ process of creating their murals.

Pro tip: In our opinion, you have a better chance of seeing an impressive art exhibit at the Cultural Center, which is free, versus the often disappointing and even laughable works displayed at the Museum of Contemporary Art.

The first room of the exhibit had a brightly colored geometric mural titled Perspectiva Perpetua by Miguel, who has a tattoo and calligraphy background. It depicted a man in the middle, staring intently ahead, with an Aztec jaguar on one side and a woman in profile with her eyes closed and her head tilted upwards on other other. Miguel was working on his mural the day we visited. It was pretty cool to have the opportunity to chat with him briefly. 

Miguel A. Del Real working on Perspectiva Perpetua

We admired his mural as well as the other two by Cecilia and Anna. Cecilia’s piece, Moon Bloom, references tenangos, a colorful style of embroidery that originated in the Tenango de Doria municipality in the Mexican state of Hidalgo.

Moon Bloom by Cecilia Beaven

Anna’s concept, Awakening, featured a resting tiger,  symbolizing the inner strength in each of us. She’s known for her photorealistic style and use of blue and gold paint.

Awakening by Anna Murphy

Seeing Miguel at work gave us a glimpse into the making of a mural, but we still had a lot of questions. So we decided to reach out to the artists to learn more. 

Fortunately, all three took the time to answer our questions, and their Q&As provided a fascinating glimpse into their creative process. –Wally

Cecilia Beaven

How did you get into art?

I remember drawing since I remember being myself. Creating images has always been an activity that fascinates me and it’s my favorite form of communication or expression. I started taking art classes when I was a kid, and I started doing art more professionally right after highschool when I went to art college.

How do you get your ideas for murals? What subjects do you cover?

I explore mythology through a very playful lens that allows for experimentation and speculation. I draw from Aztec and other Mesoamerican stories and combine their archetypal elements with fiction in a seamless way. I also include a self-representative character that inhabits these narratives and allows for reflection on my place in the making of culture and participation in it.

Which character is that?

The character that represents me is the woman figure with a big nose and short hair that you can see in a lot of my pieces.

Are they entirely planned out in advance?

They usually are. I do lots of sketches, color tests, and planning ahead of time, so when I’m on site creating a mural I know what steps to follow. There are a few decisions that get modified once I’m in front of the actual wall, but not many.

Do you draw them out on the wall?

Yes. The sketching technique depends on the project, resources available, and time limitations. Sometimes I work traditionally and follow a grid, sometimes I project my sketch, and sometimes I just freehand recreate my sketch.

Tell us more about your technique and the process of creating your murals.

I create a loose sketch on a sketchbook using non-photo blue pencil. Once I like where it's going, I ink it. Then I scan my drawing and get rid of the blue. I use photoshop to do color tests and once I’m happy with the color palette, I print it. I then mix paints that match my tones. 

On the mural site, I recreate my sketch on the wall (using a grid, freehand, or with a projector, depending on the project) and then start to apply my colors from the background to the foreground.

How long does it typically take to create a mural?

The time depends on the size of the wall and how detailed it is. But I work pretty fast, so I’ve completed small murals in one day and the largest ones in two or three weeks. 

How would you describe your style?

Playful, cartoony, absurd, mythological, self-reflective, bold.

What’s your favorite part about creating a mural?

I love using my whole body to create an image, to see something as big as me, or bigger, take shape as I move my body. I also love being on ladders, scaffoldings, and lifts. And I enjoy the mindset that creating a mural puts me in, I feel calm and focused.

What is your least favorite part?

Painting the lower part of the walls that require bending, kneeling or even lying down on the floor.

What message do you want people to get from your murals?

Ideally, I want people to experience happiness and a sense of hope.

ceciliabeaven.com

Instagram: @samuraiceci

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Miguel A. Del Real

How did you get into art?

It wasn’t until second or third grade. I was trying to replicate the Ninja Turtles, and I think that’s what really got me into drawing. And then around seventh or eighth grade and throughout high school, I got into doing graffiti letters. 

I stopped for a little bit when I went to Northern Illinois University, but then I came back into the city and started hanging out with old friends. And I started getting back into the arts, like with graffiti murals. 

I would say that’s what helped develop me as an artist, those years doing experimental work — that’s what led me to be taken a little bit more seriously as a professional artist. 

How do you get your ideas for murals? What subjects do you cover?

That’s tough. You do want to be respectful to where you’re painting, And I feel like that approach is what has helped shape some of the ideas or concepts. 

These past couple years, I’ve been experimenting more with the sense of consciousness. I don’t want to say spirituality or anything like that. But it’s just been more like depicting dreams, combining some abstract elements with figurative elements, patterns, heavy line work. 

Are they entirely planned out in advance?

I like to leave some breathing room. So I would say, when it’s a job that really requires that they’re more hands-on, they want everything planned out.

This particular one that the cultural center, they allowed a lot of flexibility, where I just gave them a rough sketch. And then out of that, I was able to change it and add things as I went, inspired by the space. 

Do you draw them out on the wall? Tell us about your technique and the process of creating your murals.

I just start sketching. Like at the cultural center, I sketched it with pencil. They wanted it with a brush — I couldn’t use any aerosol. Then you start blocking out sections with paint and color, and then you move on to details. 

When it’s a mural outside, I can use spray paint and I start sketching with the paint itself, just blocking in shapes. 

How long does it typically take to create a mural?

As fast as two and a half weeks to a month and a half.

How would you describe your style?

With my background in graffiti lettering, I use the chisel qualities of a brush, from thick to thin, combined with sacred geometry with shapes like circles, squares, triangles. 

What’s your favorite part about creating a mural?

It’s definitely the painting. Once you have the sketch done, the coloring of it — even though that’s where I struggle the most, where I go back and forth with colors. This is when it really starts coming to life. 

What is your least favorite part?

The sketching, because everything needs to be locked in precisely. So if something looks wrong, then that throws off the whole mural — everything needs to be mathematically divided. 

What message do you want people to get from your murals?

The common theme that I have, regardless of the different institutions and corporations that I’ve painted for, it’s always the message of transformation, evolving. Man fusing with spirit or nature.

delrealink.com

Instagram: @delrealink

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Anna Murphy

How did you get into art?

I received a BFA in painting from the University of Louisville in 2011. After many years creating fine art oil paintings on canvas, I painted my first mural in 2018, and fell in love with the large scale and community aspect of public art.

How do you get your ideas for murals? What subjects do you cover?

The central themes of my work include celebrating nature’s wondrous beauty and the divine connection we share with one another, Mother Earth and the animal kingdom. My spirituality is the driving force of my life and my art.

Are they entirely planned out in advance? Do you draw them out on the wall? 

Yes, I design the layout in PhotoShop, then project a line drawing of my design onto the wall. With a small paintbrush, I paint the outline of the design onto the wall.

How would you describe your style? 

With a traditional painting background, I merge the worlds of fine art and street art by bringing an emphasis on intricate detail into my large-scale public murals.

Tell us about your technique and the process of creating your murals. 

Hand-painted with brushes, my painting style uses a process similar to watercolor, building up thin layers of washes to create depth, texture and a lifelike quality.

What’s your favorite part about creating a mural?

Knowing that it will bring joy and inspiration to those who see it, for years to come.

What is your least favorite part?

Spiders.

What message do you want people to get from your murals?

The metallic gold background reflects our own divinity and the sacredness of life. The cobalt blue, a symbol of Earth, like Heaven and Earth together, this combination portrays the connection between the human and the divine. The cherubs are also a symbol of our connection to the divine, and guardians of our pure and spiritual nature. The bees act as a symbol of a higher frequency, community and a connection to all things. The flowers and plants, a symbol of Mother Nature’s beauty, represent a paradise that can also be found within.

annapmurphy.com

Instagram: @annapmurphy

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Chicago Cultural Center 

78 East Washington Street
Chicago, Illinois
USA

Falling for Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater

A room-by-room tour of the UNESCO World Heritage masterpiece in southwestern Pennsylvania, where nature and modern architecture coexist in breathtaking harmony. Plus: What a place to skinny-dip!

Duke and Wally pose by the aptly named Iconic View of the home. The cantilevered terraces unite the indoor and outdoor spaces, blurring the lines between nature and architecture.

Every summer, my parents visit Wally and me in Chicago for a long weekend. We always have a great time together, and this year we decided to mix things up by taking a short trip to Pittsburgh. The four of us had already toured two of Frank Lloyd Wright’s residences, the Martin House in Buffalo and Graycliff in Derby, New York. We chose Pittsburgh because of its proximity to Fallingwater, and since my parents were driving, we set aside a day to experience it together. 

The rushing waters of Bear Run stream were especially feisty after the rain.

Pro tip: Get there early and explore the grounds. When we checked in at the Fallingwater Visitor Center kiosk, one of the staff members provided us with a map and suggested we visit the Iconic View platform. She informed us that it wasn’t part of our tour — and we were glad we made the trek to see it. It’s a short 10-minute walk down the trail to the aptly named viewing platform, which is easy to follow and accessible to most people. This is the money shot folks, and we guarantee that you’ll appreciate the stunning views of Fallingwater, the waterfall and the surrounding landscape.

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LEARN MORE ABOUT THE ORIGINS OF FALLINGWATER, from the geological inspiration to the friendship between Edgar J. Kaufmann and Frank Lloyd Wright. 

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The Edgar J. Kauffman Sr. Residence aka Fallingwater looks picture perfect from any angle. The color of the terraces and the bridge were chosen by Wright to match the underside of a dying rhododendron leaf, or sere.

Fallingwater: The House That Wright Built 

As we rounded the bend in the gravel path the sound of rushing water intensified and filled our ears. There, nestled among the abundant native rhododendrons and trees, was Fallingwater. Perched on a precipice above a rushing waterfall, the historic weekend retreat built for the Kaufmann family was even more awe-inspiring in person than I had imagined. Its cantilevered terraces appeared to float, extending outward like a precarious stack of Jenga blocks moments before toppling.

The original budget for Fallingwater was $35,000, but the final cost (including the guesthouse) ballooned to $155,000. To put this in perspective, an average house cost $5,000 to build in the late 1930s.

We paused on the concrete bridge leading to the main house and stopped to listen to our guide, Rod, who directed us to look at the plunge pool with the bronze sculpture Mother and Child by French artist Jacques Lipchitz set on the edge of the low stone wall enclosing it.

He explained to us that the Kaufmanns liked to get up in the morning and take a dip. Bear Run isn’t a swimming stream, so they would walk down the steps descending from the hatch in the living room and wade into the 4.5-foot-deep pool. Fed by a freshwater spring, its waters remain a brisk 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius) year-round. In fact on her first day at Fallingwater, Elsie Henderson, a Black woman who worked as a cook for the Kaufmann family, got an eyeful. She heard laughter from the kitchen window. When she looked outside she saw Edgar J. Kaufmann, Sr., his wife Liliane, and their guests frolicking in the chilly waters nude and remarked “what have I gotten myself into!”

The bronze sculpture Mother and Child by French artist Jacques Lipchitz depicts a legless mother with a child clinging to her back. It holds pride of place at the plunge pool.

We continued our walking tour and followed Rod to the back of the house, where the main entrance is concealed beneath a rectangular trellis covering the carport. This was by design: Wright wanted the Kaufmann’s to feel sheltered and secure. 

Fallingwater’s kitchen was so renowned for its ultramodern features and functionality that many suppliers were eager to promote the use of their products at the residence.

Fallingwater’s Kitchen of Tomorrow 

Before our group entered the main house we took a detour to the kitchen. Although small by today’s standards it was both functional and beautiful. Wright considered the kitchen to be a workspace, not a gathering place for the family. It was run by the indefatigable Elsie Henderson from 1946 to 1964, when the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy took over the house. 

After working for the Kaufmanns, Henderson went on to cook for the Kennedys in Hyannis Port. She returned to Pittsburgh to live out her life and passed away there in 2021 at the age of 107!

Henderson had an unobstructed view of the West Terrace, which features a cast iron Sung Dynasty (960-1279) Buddha head purchased by the Kaufmanns in 1951. Wright supposedly chose its placement himself. 

The house was completed in the mid-1930s and its kitchen featured modern amenities that were considered modern at the time. For example the countertops and Wright-designed work table were made of Formica, a recently patented laminate material. Kaufmann Sr. learned about it earlier than the general public because it was invented by engineers at Westinghouse Research Laboratories in 1935. The floor is made up of custom colored rubber tiles in Cherokee red, one of Wright’s signature colors. 

The goldenrod enameled steel cabinets in the kitchen came from St. Charles, an Illinois-based company that specialized in factory-made modular units and the preferred choice of Wright. St. Charles was a popular brand at the time, and were known for their high quality and durability. 

The kitchen also included a turquoise-lined Frigidaire refrigerator, a Kitchen-Aid dishwasher, double sinks, double warming trays and a wood-burning AGA Range Cooker, a technological marvel from Sweden and the invention of the Nobel Prize-winning physicist, Gustaf Dalén.

If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. The wood-burning AGA Range Cooker at Fallingwater was always radiating heat, which was probably not very pleasant in the summer.

AGA stoves were very expensive, but they were also very efficient. The stove had to burn all the time, and it didn’t have knobs or settings to adjust the temperature. 

Eventually Henderson complained about the amount of heat radiating from the stove and the Kaufmanns had it replaced with an AGA electric model.

The best seats in the house have a pair of earthenware wine decanters on either side of the built-in living room sofa.

Compression and Release: Entering the Living Room

The Kaufmanns kept a collection of walking sticks outside for guests to use on hikes. After their walks in the woods, guests could return to the house to wash their hands and feet at the small basin located between a pair of Pottsville sandstone support columns outside the entrance. 

Rod pointed out that we were being compressed before being released into the living room, a technique that Wright was well known for. As our group entered the monumental room, we immediately felt a sense of release. The open 1,800-square-foot interior space is the ultimate family gathering space. It has a central, symmetrical raised cove ceiling that uses diffused indirect fluorescent tube lighting. Edgar jr., the only son and child of Edgar J. Kaufmann, Sr., (E.J.), and Liliane, had seen this type of lighting used in a commercial application and requested that Wright integrate it into the design.

The living room also has a dining nook with a built-in table . Although it’s set for four, it could be extended using leaves stored in the buffet behind it.

Rod explained to us that everything inside Fallingwater is original to the Kaufmanns’ use of the home. Many of its objects and furnishings came from their eponymous Pittsburgh-based department store.

The Kaufmanns collaborated with the best suppliers in the country to create a truly unique home. Pittsburgh Plate Glass (PPG) rushed in the glass, while Armstrong supplied the cork flooring and wall tile — both firms headquartered in Pittsburgh. DuPont supplied the paint, Dunlop the foam rubber, Thrush the heating and Hope’s the steel window frames.

To keep unwanted hands off Fallingwater’s treasures, Rod asked our group to avoid leaning against, sitting on or touching anything inside the house.

He added that we’d be using the stairs and since Fallingwater was built before building codes, they’re aren’t any railings. With this in mind, visitors are allowed to use the ledges above the exposed sandstone walls to safely navigate the interior staircases.

Victor Hammer’s The Excursion, an oil portrait of E.J. as a hiker, with a walking stick, commissioned by Liliane in 1929 hangs opposite the dining room table.

There’s a music alcove near the entrance where the Kaufmanns would listen to records on their Capehart stereo turntable, and a reading alcove where they could sit and read. E.J., Liliane and Edgar jr. were academics who enjoyed spending time in their home surrounded by music and books.

The mod-looking Wright-designed banquettes are where the Kaufmanns would listen to music. Note the cabinet to the left that stored the turntable and records.

Facing the windows is a wood library desk designed by Wright and built around one of the room’s stone support columns. It’s a masterpiece of design, and incorporates all four of the main design motifs found throughout the house: horizontal lines, cantilevers, circles and semi-circles. There’s even a lozenge-shaped shelf that echoes the shape of the hatch behind the desk, which leads down to the stream.

While designing Fallingwater, Wright dictated that no rocks or boulders were to be destroyed or removed. His profound respect for nature resulted in a home that’s beautifully integrated into its natural surroundings. The boulder that forms the foundation of the house was incorporated into the room and serves as the hearth. Wright was quoted as saying, “The rock on which E.J. sits will be the hearth, coming right out of the floor, the fire burning just behind it.”

The hearth of Fallingwater with one of the original wooden stump stools used by the Kaufmanns serves as a mini bar.

A round, Cherokee red kettle hangs on the left side of the fireplace, nestled into a concave indentation that fits it perfectly. It was meant to swing out over the fire to serve mulled wine, however it was ultimately relegated to being a conversation piece since the metal was so thick it took 10 hours to heat up.

The spherical cauldron is pretty to look at, but not so great at heating mulled wine. The wrought iron fireplace trident was forged by master metalsmith Samuel Yellen, and is from La Tourelle, the main Kaufmann residence in Fox Chapel, Pennsylvania.

In the dining area, Wright designed the built-in dining table and incorporated leaves into the sideboard that can be attached to the table to accommodate additional guests. Wright had wanted to pair the table with his more formal Barrel Chair, but Liliane prevailed, having purchased rustic three-legged wooden peasant chairs at a second-hand shop in Florence, Italy, which she felt were more appropriate for their country retreat.

Although Wright lost that battle he did design additional custom pieces for the living room, including occasional tables, banquettes, and zabutons (low wood-framed footstools) upholstered in warm hues of golden-yellow and red-orange. The zabutons represent one of the earliest uses of latex foam, a material suggested by Edgar jr. 

Wright’s free-floating elements were easy to move around and, most importantly, never blocked the view of nature outside. And many were made of wood, which the architect described “as the most humanely intimate of all materials.”

To give the flagstone floors throughout the house a wet look, Wright specified Johnson’s Glo-Coat, a wax that created a glossy sheen — drawing a parallel to the river rooks of the stream below. Wright chose that product because he was commissioned to design the Johnson Wax Building in Racine, Wisconsin while completing Fallingwater. Talk about product placement!

Our guide Rod sharing stories with our group about Fallingwater.

After our group had finished exploring the room, Rod shared an interesting story with us about a visitor he had on a previous tour who said, “In 1956, I was a Boy Scout in a local troop here.” A freak tornado had hit the area, and a debris jam built up, causing the stream flowing beneath Fallingwater to overflow into the first floor of the house. “After the flood, Edgar Sr. invited our troop in to help clean up as a service project,” the man has said. 

The visitor went on to explain that Elsie Henderson fed them, and they placed their sleeping bags on the floor of the living room. He continued, “I slept on that rock there,” pointing to one of the waxed flagstones.

The guest bedroom at Fallingwater includes a chromed-metal carafe by the American Thermos Bottle Company and a conté crayon drawing by Diego Rivera.

The Guest Bedroom

We followed Rod up the narrow stairwell that led to the second floor. There are a total of four bedrooms in the main house. Each has its own bathroom, private terrace and fireplace, with the exception of the guest bedroom. The headboard is large enough to accommodate two beds, but because the room is quite small, one bed was removed to make room for tour groups. 

On the wall is Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat, a Conté crayon drawing by Mexican muralist Diego Rivera. This is the only room in the whole house with blinds because Liliane’s private terrace can be seen outside the window.

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READ ABOUT FRIDA KAHLO, one of the most famous Fallingwater guests — and one of the most scandalous as well!

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The narrow passageways on the second and third floors of Fallingwater are, again, designed to create a sense of compression. This helps make the terraces feel even more spacious and inviting when you step outside. With nearly equal square footage inside and out, the spatial quality of the terraces make it obvious that the outdoors are the home’s raison d’être.

The Kaufmanns were initially hesitant when Wright insisted on building the house over the waterfall. They had often visited the site to sunbathe, party and picnic with their friends, and they weren’t sure that they wanted to live so close to the rushing water. Wright was insistent that the house be built in this location. He told Kaufmann, “I want you to live with your waterfall, not just look at it.” He also wanted the sound of the waterfall to be the “music of the house,” and its sound can be heard in every room. 

The built-in wardrobes are made of marine-grade plywood veneered with North Carolina black walnut. Note the sap line which runs vertically, referencing Wright's earth line. The wardrobe also include mildew resistant rattan shelving inside.

Liliane Kaufmann’s Bedroom 

Although Edgar jr. desired to change the narrative surrounding his parents marriage, the room he renamed the Master bedroom was his mother Liliane’s. Separate rooms weren’t unusual for affluent couples in the 1920s and ’30s, as it was seen as a sign of luxury and privacy.

All of the woodwork at Fallingwater use marine-grade plywood, which was chosen because it’s resistant to warping in humid environments. The plywood was veneered with North Carolina black walnut, and was cut and milled by the Gillen Company in Milwaukee, the successor to the defunct Matthews Brothers Company, which Wright had used for his Prairie style houses.

This was done so that the sap line of the walnut tree would run horizontally, referencing Wright’s earth line. The only exception is the doors, where the sap line runs vertically to balance things visually.

The room has a collection of impressive artworks, including Fumeur, a Picasso aquatint, a Tiffany lotus lamp on the desk and Horikiri No Hanashobu (Iris Garden at Horikiri), a Japanese woodblock print by Ando Hiroshige. Sheltered within the niche of Liliane’s fireplace is an Austro-Bohemian Madonna and Child carved around 1420 CE (her favorite piece of art in the home.)

The niche above Liliane’s fireplace was custom-built to fit her favorite work of art at Fallingwater, a 15th century Madonna and Child.

At Rod’s instruction, our group proceeded down the hall and into Edgar Sr.’s bedroom. 

A bust of Edgar jr. by Harlem Renaissance sculptor Richmond Barthé and a Savoy vase designed by Alvar Aalto sit atop the desk in E.J.’s bedroom. The desk has a semicircular cutout that allows the window to open without hitting it.

E.J.’s Bedroom 

Using Juniors naming system Edgar Sr.’s bedroom is sometimes referred to as E.J.’s dressing room or E.J.’s study. The built-in desk features a semi-circular cutout so the corner window can swing open unimpeded. A bust of Edgar jr. by Harlem Renaissance sculptor Richmond Barthé and a Savoy vase designed by Alvar Aalto in 1936 sit on top of the desk. 

One of the most striking features which can be seen from Edgar Sr.’s bedroom is the light screen, which runs vertically through the all three levels of the house. When viewed from the exterior, the vertical shaft of glass serves to balance the structural stone masses and maintain the house’s transparency. Wright was attempting to destroy the box of the traditional American home. He was bucking the International Style of the Bauhaus School in Germany. The casement windows here open outward, allowing their corners to vanish. 

A rustic limestone sculpture by self-taught Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña sits on E.J.’s terrace. The Kaufmanns fell in love with his work when they visited Frida Kahlo’s Casa Azul in Coyoacán, Mexico.

A pair of Japanese woodblock prints, including Kōzuke Sano funabashi no kozu (Old View of the Boat-Bridge at Sano) by Katsushika Hokusai, circa 1830, and Street Scene on the Giroza-Yedo by Ando Hiroshige are on display. Six prints in total were given as gifts by Wright to the Kaufmann family. The original mat of Street Scene on the Ginza-Yedo bears the inscription, “to Junior: at Taliesin, Aug. 14, 1951.”

Wright liked to work with odd numbers. To balance the room, there are three semicircular shelves next to the bed. These symbolically represent the three family members of Fallingwater: E.J., Liliane and Edgar jr. 

The adobe-style steps leading from the terrace outside lead to Edgar jr.’s study and bedroom on the third floor.

The zigzag adobe-style steps leading from the terrace outside Edgar Sr.’s second-floor bedroom to Edgar jr.’s study and bedroom in the third-floor penthouse are more form than function. They likely saw very little, if any, foot traffic, and, incidentally, put unnecessary stress on the terrace below.

A collection of books and sculptural objects grace the shelves of Junior’s third floor study.

Junior’s Bedroom and Study

On the third floor was the lair of the Kaufmanns’ son, Edgar jr. It consists of a stairwell library, a small den used as a drafting studio, and bedroom. The den also features cornerless windows. Junior’s sleeping alcove is at the eastern end of the passage. He preferred to be woken up by the early morning sun that streamed in through the spot created by the design of the bridge over the driveway.

Jean Arp’s abstract white marble Méditerranée II and Lyonel Feininger’s watercolor and ink on paper Church on the Cliffs VII are on view in Edgar jr.’s study.

Junior’s room wasn’t large — but it had a great view of the sunrise.

We exited Junior’s bedroom via a set of stairs and met at the second floor bridge connecting Fallingwater’s main house to the guest house. 

A 28-inch-tall stone statue of the Hindu goddess Parvati from India, circa 750 CE, rests atop a boulder at the end of the covered passageway, accompanied by a freshly cut bunch of rhododendron leaves.

Bridge to the Guest House 

The so-called “bridge” to connect Fallingwater’s main house to the guest house is actually a covered hall about 17 feet long that dead-ends at a boulder was left intact at the end of the passageway. There are five skylights equipped with bulbs so they can double as nightlights. 

We continued up a set of stairs and paused in front of the cast stone statue Serena, another work by Richmond Barthé. The subject is Rose McClendon, a leading African American Broadway actress of the 1920s and the co-founder of the Negro People’s Theatre in Harlem.

While designing Fallingwater, Wright insisted that no rocks or boulders were to be destroyed or moved.

The semicircular cascading concrete canopy resembles folded Japanese origami and extends from the cantilevered trellis of the guest house. The material defies logic and has an incredible lightness, supported only by slender steel posts. The flanges flare out on the way up, but seem to disappear on the way down: Painted Cherokee red, the posts start at almost 7 feet tall and continue to less than 4 feet.

A slatted wood partition wall was used to divide the room without building a wall.

Guest House Living Room

The Guest House at Fallingwater was completed in 1939 and offered additional space and privacy for guests. One of the first things you’ll notice is that the ceilings are noticeably higher than the main house. Or maybe the small, asymmetric fireplace is what catches your eye.

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, an 1877 painting by Jose Maria Velasco, hangs over the guesthouse bed.

Guest House Bedroom 

Rod told us that Liliane actually favored the seclusion and cross ventilation from the clerestory in the north wall of the guest house to her bedroom in the main house in the heat of the summer. 

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, an 1877 painting by Jose Maria Velasco, a mentor of Diego Rivera, hangs over the guesthouse bed. The Kaufmann family acquired the painting around 1937 for $500. It originally hung in Edgar Sr.’s apartment at the William Penn Hotel in Pittsburgh until 1954, when it was moved to its current location.

Fallingwater’s bathrooms feature cork walls and floors, a soft and durable material. The toilets are also low, inspired by Wright’s time in Japan.

Every piece in the Kaufmann family’s collection has a story to tell. There’s a chair in the corner of the guest house bedroom from the home of Irving Washington, author of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The Barrel Chair at the desk is Wright’s adaptation from an earlier design for the Darwin Martin House in Buffalo, New York.

Doors lead out to the 30-foot-long, 6-foot-deep spring-fed swimming pool on the terrace of the guest house. This was the result of a compromise between the Kaufmanns, who viewed swimming and sunning as an indispensable part of their enjoyment at Bear Run, and Wright, who resisted the idea of an artificial pool so close to a natural source of water. 

The swimming pool is spring-fed and located on the terrace of the guest house.

An incredible amount of labor went into the construction of Fallingwater. The main contractor responsible for the masonry work was Walter J. Hall, a self-taught stone mason from Northern Pennsylvania, whose earlier construction, Lynn Hall, a roadside inn outside of Port Allegheny, won him the role. Hall taught the unskilled laborers how to construct walls using Pottsville sandstone. Minimum wage at the time was 25 cents an hour! By the time the guest house was built, the stone masons had honed their skills to perfection.

Our guide Rod was a great storyteller and extremely knowledgeable about the design and construction of Fallingwater. One of the best parts of the In-Depth Guided Tour was that we were able to take pictures both inside and outside of the house. Other tour options don’t allow photography beyond the first floor, so be sure to choose the one that’s right for you.

Whether you love or hate Frank Lloyd Wright the man, there’s no denying that his buildings are impressive. Fallingwater was every bit as fascinating as the photos you see online, and it was a truly unforgettable experience. –Duke

A view of the West Terrace and Sung Dynasty Buddha head.

Fallingwater

1491 Mill Run Road
Mill Run, Pennsylvania 15464
USA

 

Frank Lloyd Wright and Edgar J. Kaufmann: The Collaboration That Became Fallingwater

Dive into the fascinating story behind Fallingwater, from its geological origins to its current status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Kaufmanns on one of the balconies at Fallingwater: E.J., Junior and Liliane

Unlike our visit to Graycliff, another Frank Lloyd Wright-designed home, where the weather forecast called for rain but miraculously cleared up by the time we arrived, the conditions at Fallingwater were not so kind. But the steady mist-like drizzle coming down on the rooftop covering the Visitors Center boardwalk didn’t dampen our anticipation for the afternoon In-Depth Guided Tour of Fallingwater. The nonprofit Western Pennsylvania Conservancy (WPC) offers various tours, which include a one-hour guided house tour, two-hour in-depth tour, brunch tour and sunset tour.

Pro tip: Book your tickets at least two weeks prior to guarantee admission to this popular attraction. Weekends fill up quickly. We booked ours about a month in advance.

Our group gathered in the Visitors Center around our docent, who welcomed us to the UNESCO World Heritage Site and introduced himself as Rod. He asked where everyone was from and if anyone had been to any Wright-designed homes or buildings before. As we shared our stories, it became clear that we were among other individuals who held a reverence for the architect’s prolific and unmistakable style. 

Kaufmann’s was once a legendary (and massive) department store in Pittsburgh. It’s now a Target.

Brought to You by Pittsburgh’s Big Department Store

Edgar J. Kaufmann and his wife, Liliane, the couple who commissioned Fallingwater, were also the owners of a popular Pittsburgh department store located at the corner of 5th Avenue and Smithfield Street. Like Marshall Field’s in Chicago, Kaufmann’s was a regional destination for shoppers to discover the latest in fashion, art and design.

In 2005, Federated acquired the store and continued to operate as Macy’s until 2015, when it closed its doors for good. The first floor has since been transformed into a Target, which opened in the summer of 2022. 

The Kaufmanns were wealthy, but they were also beloved in southwestern Pennsylvania. Their department store brought good taste and good design to the area at prices that people could actually afford. They were popular for their business model: They’d rather sell a hundred items at a penny profit each than sell one item for a dollar profit.

The dramatic cantilevers at Fallingwater are Wright’s way of mirroring the sandstone outcroppings in the area.

From Sea to Timeworn Sandstone: A Brief Geological History of the Site 

Rod offered us green umbrellas to take with us on our journey. “From experience,” he added, “make sure it works. Our umbrellas lead a pretty tough life here.” The color of the umbrellas complemented the natural surroundings, a detail that Wright himself would have undoubtedly appreciated. As we followed Rod down the gravel path leading to Fallingwater, he spoke about the geologic history of the site.

He stopped and gestured to the lush, hilly landscape before us. “As we walk down towards the house, I’d like to provide a brief timeline for you,” he began. “We’re standing at 1,400 feet above sea level due to a cataclysmic event that occurred over 400 million years ago.” He continued, “The tremendous pressure of the continental plates colliding caused the Earth’s surface to fold and buckle, creating the long, winding ridges of the Appalachian Mountains.

“However, 600 million years ago, this region was at the bottom of a sandy, shallow inland sea. Over millions of years, the inland sea drained, and the mountains were worn down by wind, weather and water,” Rod said. “The sedimentary deposit that was left behind was compacted and compressed to form Pottsville sandstone.”

Wright first visited the site of Fallingwater with Edgar Kaufmann Sr. to examine the natural landscape. He saw the weathered, horizontal lines of the sandstone outcroppings and referred to this as the “earth line” — and it became the inspiration for the layered stone walls and cantilevered terraces that mirror the natural environment.

Cantilever, you ask? It’s something that projects horizontally beyond its support, like a diving board, firmly anchored at one end and floating free at the other. You’ll see they feature prominently in the home’s design. 

One of the original wood cabins at what became Camp Kaufmann

Setting Up Camp at Bear Run

The Kaufmanns would flee Pittsburgh’s sweltering summers and infamously smoky air for the rolling hills and clear streams of Fayette County, Pennsylvania. In 1916, E.J. Kaufmann, as Edgar Sr. was known, began leasing a parcel of land at Bear Run from the Pittsburgh Freemasons. The grounds included the former Syria Country Club lodge, which E.J. renamed Camp Kaufmann.

Every summer, a third of Kaufmann’s department store employees would visit and stay in one of the many cabins that dotted the property. The camp was a place for employees to relax and enjoy the outdoors. They would hike, swim, fish and play games.

Not a bad perk: Employees of Kaufmann’s department store could go to the camp in the woods and swim under the waterfall.

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

In 1926, Kaufmann’s department store purchased the land and cabins from the Freemasons. However, the Great Depression forced it to quickly get out of the camp business. So, in 1933, E.J. assumed ownership of the land with the intent of building a modern weekend home. That same year, he showered his mistress Josephine Bennett Waxman with a quarter-million dollars’ worth of diamond and platinum jewels. The affair fizzled, but made headlines when E.J. attempted to return the jewelry to rival department store Horne’s, which sued him for non-payment.

Edgar jr. (left) worked for Wright (center) at Taliesin in Wisconsin. He introduced the architect to his father — and a beautiful partnership was begun.

As fate would have it, his artistically inclined son, Edgar jr., was studying with Wright at the Taliesin Fellowship in Spring Green, Wisconsin. During that time, Junior introduced his parents to the architect, and E.J. and Liliane decided to hire Wright to design their new home.

When Wright was hired to design Fallingwater, E.J. also commissioned him to create his executive office on the top floor of the flagship department store in Pittsburgh. It’s now on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. 

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

A Patronage of Epic Scale 

The Kaufmanns and Wright were kindred spirits. They shared Wright’s conviction that good design could transform the lives of those it touched and believed that architecture should be in harmony with the natural world. Wright was a passionate advocate for organic architecture. He believed that buildings should be designed to complement their natural surroundings, and he often used local materials and natural forms in his designs. He once said, “I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.”

By the time E.J. met the architect, Wright was 67 years old and had not completed a major project in a decade. He was widely considered a has-been by architectural critics — but Fallingwater would mark a turning point in his career.

Talk about a comeback: Wright and Fallingwater on the cover of Time

The woodland retreat in rural southwestern Pennsylvania had already gained international prominence before it was even completed. In January 1938, photographs taken by John McAndrew were exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City and subsequently published in Architectural Forum magazine. Additionally, Wright was featured on the cover of Time with his drawing of Fallingwater behind him, proclaiming it to be his most beautiful work.

After the success of Fallingwater, Wright’s career took off again. He went on to design over 400 projects, including the Guggenheim Museum in New York. Of these, approximately 200 were built, and about 79 have since been demolished or destroyed by fire. Wright died in 1959 at the age of 91.

Wright and E.J. maintained a lifelong friendship and collaborated on many projects, although only three of them were ever realized: Fallingwater, the guest house and Edgar’s executive office.

Not without my dachshund! Liliane liked to bring her six dogs on weekends at Fallingwater.

The Kaufmanns’ main home, La Tourelle, was an Anglo-Norman style country estate in Fox Chapel, an affluent suburb of Pittsburgh. The family had two options to reach their weekend home. They could take a train from Pittsburgh to the depot at the bottom of Bear Run, where the creek flows into the Youghiogheny River. (The last time the B&O line stopped here was in 1975). Or they could be chauffeured by car. Liliane preferred the latter because she liked to travel with her six long-haired show dachshunds.

Before his death, Edgar jr. entrusted Fallingwater to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy so it would always remain open to the public for all time.

Fallingwater: A Landmark Legacy

The house that has become an architectural legend was home to tragedy, though. On September 7, 1952, Liliane died of a sleeping pill overdose at Fallingwater at the age of 64. Three years later, E.J. died of bone cancer at 69. Their son, Edgar jr., inherited Fallingwater. 

The Kaufmanns didn’t have the best marriage. Edgar’s infidelities may have led Liliane to take her own life by overdoing on pills at Fallingwater.

Junior worked at MoMA from 1941 to 1955 and was an adjunct professor of architecture and art history at Columbia University in New York. 

In 1963, he entrusted the house and surrounding 5,100 acres of property, along with a $500,000 endowment, to the WPC to protect, conserve and, most importantly, assure that the home remains open to the public in perpetuity. 

Junior was gay and had a long-term relationship with Paul Mayén, a Spanish architect and industrial designer. Mayén's influence can be seen throughout the sunburst-shaped visitors pavilion, which was built under his supervision in 1980 by the Pittsburgh-based architectural firm Curry, Martin & Highberger. The complex complements its natural surroundings and makes great use of materials such as cedar, glass and concrete. I think Wright would have approved.

Paul Mayén, Edgar jr. and friend on the west terrace at Fallingwater. The men had a relationship for over 30 years.

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. 

Edgar jr. loved Fallingwater and when he visited Pittsburgh, he would often come and secretly lead tours. At the end of each, Rod told us, Junior would shock the group by asking, “Well, what do you think of my house?” –Duke

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RELATED: Frida, Diego and Fallingwater

Frida Kahlo visited Fallingwater (and seduced a fellow guest there!).

Learn more about her and Diego Rivera’s connection to the Kaufmanns and their iconic home.

The Charnley-Persky House in Chicago: America’s First Modern Home?

Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright collaborated on this sleek, minimal home that defied the ostentatiousness of the Gilded Age. Step back in time and tour this innovative but little-known architectural gem.

Imagine what people thought of a home like this — sleek, modern, horizontal — at a time when Victorians were all the rage. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

When dealing with such legendary icons of the architectural world as Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright, it’s not surprising that towering egos and intense rivalry come into play. But with the iconic Charnley-Persky House in Chicago’s Gold Coast neighborhood, who actually deserves the accolades?

“Wright wrote that he had designed the Charnley-Persky House entirely on his own.

The claim couldn’t be refuted, as Sullivan had passed away, and the firm’s records had burned in a fire. ”

Helen Charnley

The Charnleys Want a “Country” Home

Let’s start at the beginning to try to unravel this mystery. In 1891, Sullivan, 34, and his then-23-year-old apprentice, Wright, teamed up to design a residential masterpiece on Astor Street for their wealthy clients, James and Helen Charnley.

The couple were members of the one-percenters of the Gilded Age. James was a banker who made his fortune in lumber, and Helen’s father was president of the Illinois Central Railroad. 

At the time, Sullivan and his partner, Dankmar Adler, were basically the cool kids of the architecture world. They had designed the Auditorium Theater Building in 1889, which is still world-renowned for its acoustics. Business was good.

While many of Adler & Sullivan’s 180-some commissions were for commercial spaces, they also designed about 60 residences. Unfortunately, most of them are no longer standing. In fact, the Charnley-Persky House is the only residence designed by Sullivan that you can still tour today.

So how did the Charnleys manage to snag Sullivan as their architect? Well, it turns out that James’ brother, Albert, was an executive at the Illinois Central Railroad. As our guide, Jean, joked, “The rich like to hang out with other rich people.” 

Adler & Sullivan’s architectural drawing of the James Charnley home

But why did the Charnleys choose this location? They were ahead of the curve. While the Gold Coast is now an affluent neighborhood, at the time it wasn’t exactly a hot spot. In fact, even though it’s not that far north of downtown, it was considered the countryside.

Three-quarters of a mile in one direction, you would reach the Chicago River. Go three-quarters of a mile in the other direction, and you’d find yourself in a notorious slum charmingly known as Little Hell. It was gnamed for the smell of sulfur from the coal gas furnaces that permeated the air. It was so dangerous that even the police wouldn’t go there, Jean told us. (What did that neighborhood eventually become? The infamous Cabrini Green housing project.)

So how did this land become prime real estate? Well, Potter Palmer, Chicago’s richest resident at the time, had a lot to do with it. He built his own home on the corner of Lake Shore Drive, spending a whopping $1 million back in 1882. The house was called “the Castle” for its size and design. 

“Of course, it raised the value of all the land around it,” Jean said. “And so it started to get developed very quickly after that.”

You can see why the Palmer home was called the Castle. It helped make the Gold Coast a hot new housing market.

Sadly, no one could afford to keep up the Castle, and it was razed in 1950. 

Before that, this area was owned by the archdiocese, with parts of it acting as a Catholic cemetery, and the only other building in sight was the archbishop’s residence.

The Charnleys’ first home in the undeveloped Gold Coast neighborhood of Chicago was a site of heartbreak. Note the Palmer Castle under construction in the background.

The Charnleys Join the Neighborhood 

The Charnleys built their first home on Division and Lake Shore Drive, but lost their two young daughters (ages 4 and 6) to diphtheria shortly after moving in. The memories of that house weren’t happy, so they decided to have this one built instead. It was never intended to be a family home. They had larger homes in the suburbs of Lake Forest and Evanston, so this was simply their pied-à-terre in the city, Jean explained.

Even today, it stands out from its neighbors with its modern design, a product of Sullivan’s experimental phase.

After the Charnley’s departure, the house went through several owners, including the Waller family, who had a member living there until 1969. Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM) bought the house next for the headquarters of the Chicago Institute for Architecture and Urbanism and restored it. 

“They didn’t stay here long. But fortunately, they had deep pockets,” Jean said. “So they were able to restore the structure to the way it was, which no private owner could do before them.”

Philanthropist Seymour Persky later bought the house and let the Society of Architectural Historians (SAH) move their headquarters there from Philadelphia. This allowed the house to continue to stand and be appreciated for its architectural significance. As a token of its gratitude, the society added Persky’s name to the home. 

Bustling State Street in the 1890s, when Chicago was one of the fastest-growing cities in the world

Gilded Age Chicago

To put the time period into context, Chicago underwent exponential growth and development during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. 

In 1880 the city’s population was 500,000; in 1890 it had doubled to 1 million; and in 1910 it had doubled yet again to 2.2 million. 

“At that time, the turn of that century, it was the fastest-growing city in the world,” Jean said. “Of course, that’s a thing of the past now. But it was a very new, vibrant, lively, energetic city with lots of money, lots of wealth, lots of disease, lots of extremes.”

Rudyard Kipling visited Chicago around this time and declared, “I urgently desire never to see it again. It is inhabited by savages.” Rude. 

In 1889, the Chicago Sanitary District was formed to reverse the flow of the Chicago River, which had been dumping waste into Lake Michigan and contaminating the city’s drinking water. A New York Times article from the time said that the water in the Chicago River “now resembles liquid.” (Sorry, St. Louis!)

As Jean pointed out, the tail end of the Gilded Age in Chicago was a time of juxtaposition, when typhoid epidemics and inaugural symphony concerts were happening simultaneously. 

Start your tour of the Charnley-Persky House Museum where the servants used to spend most of their time, in the basement. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The Basement/Visitors center of the Charnley-Persky House 

Our tour of the Charnley-Persky House began in the basement, which is the visitors center. This floor was strictly for the servants’ use, so the family had no reason to come down here.

The basement contains a kitchen, boiler room, laundry room, bathroom, root cellar and butler’s pantry with a dumbwaiter.

The soapstone sink has a concrete basin. “I think the reason it’s still here is because it’s too heavy to move,” Jean speculated. “Some things are just too inconvenient to destroy.”

Overall, the house presented some design challenges, starting with its narrow footprint. It has 4,500 square feet spread across four floors — but it’s only 25 feet deep from one wall to the other. It’s essentially designed in the space of a row house, but with the entrance on the long side instead of the short side. 

What’s impressive is how Sullivan and Wright got creative with elements of the home’s design. Originally, another house was planned to be built against the back wall, so there were no windows on that side. The architects added interior windows to bring light into the space. How sweet of them to consider the welfare of the servants.

The Charnleys were lucky (err, rich) enough to have hot water in the home. When it came to heating, Sullivan and Wright went against the norm by hanging the hot water radiator below the floor — and saved a lot of room in the dining room upstairs.

This genius feature hides the radiator and saves all that space from making the dining room above more cramped. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

There’s a door off to the side of the main room that leads to the coal cellar. It’s actually built under the sidewalk, and a manhole out front offered access for delivery men to shovel coal in.

Higher-end Roman bricks were used on the front of the home, with cheaper Chicago common bricks at the back. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The Façade of the Charnley-Persky House

Most of the homes in the Gold Coast neighborhood are grandiose 19th century Victorian row houses with sharp vertical lines and elaborate ornamentation on their windows, doors, porches — basically everywhere. Many are made of rusticated brownstone and sport an asymmetrical design.

So one thing that sets the Charnley-Persky House apart is its horizontal layout.

“There’s nothing like it anywhere around here — even now,” Jean pointed out. 

Chicago was a brick-making center in the 1890s, manufacturing about 600 million bricks a year. This house reflects that. On the back side, Chicago common brick was used. Uneven in color and crumbly, they were made from clay in the Chicago River. They were also much cheaper than other types of brick. However, the front and sides of the home feature more expensive Roman brick and natural limestone.

The front door of the house. You can see the importance of horizontal planes and symmetry in the home’s design. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

In the design, Sullivan exaggerated the horizontal planes. The natural limestone goes all the way across the front section and the side. There’s a balcony that spans the front. It has pillars, but they are short and squat. The Roman brick is narrow. And you can’t see the low-hipped roof at all.

The design is notable for its lack of ornamentation around the windows and doors. “Sullivan wanted the mass of the building itself to be present to us, and not to cover it up with all kinds of frills and doodads — that’s the architectural term,” Jean joked.

Also in stark contrast to its neighbors, the house is completely symmetrical, with the front door and balcony in the center and the same number of windows on each side. 

The house is devoid of decoration, aside from the metalwork on the balcony, which features some of Sullivan’s recurring motifs. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Looking at the design of the Charnley-Persky House, there are a few key motifs worth noting. One of these is the incised pattern on the balcony, which can be seen throughout the building, including the front door. Sullivan loved to incorporate organic shapes and patterns into his work, and he often referred to the pointed oval motif as a seed pod. 

“He put them on every single thing he designed,” Jean said. “Everything, even down to the tombs in Graceland Cemetery.”

Sullivan was certainly ahead of his time with this house. He was so proud of it that he advertised it in architecture magazines in England, promoting it as the first American modern design. 

Louis Sullivan, on the left, most likely designed the Charnley-Persky House — but that didn’t stop Wright, on the right, from taking credit later in life.

The Sullivan and Wright Controversy 

Wright was working as a draftsman for Sullivan at the time the Charnley-Persky House was built. Evidence shows that Adler and Sullivan, well-established architects at the peak of their business, would design the entire plan of the house, including the decoration and wood choices. Then, Wright would fill in some of the details. 

“So, while there are some unique elements that may be Wright’s additions, the overall design was likely a collaboration between the three architects,” Jean informed us. 

But that’s not what Wright claimed. In his 1932 autobiography, Wright wrote that he had designed the house entirely on his own. And the claim couldn’t be refuted, as Sullivan had passed away in 1924, and the firm’s records had burned in a fire. 

“Sullivan and Wright were very close, until they weren’t,” Jean said. “They both had very big egos.”

Wright left Adler & Sullivan in 1893. He claimed he was fired for moonlighting, building other houses on his own.

“But evidence suggests Sullivan didn’t care,” Jean went on. “I think Sullivan said, ‘You’re fired.’ And Wright said, ‘You can’t fire me — I quit.’ It was one of those situations. I think Wright had reached a point where he had the skills and the confidence to leave and go on his own.”

Jean added that Sullivan was an alcoholic and very difficult to get along with, while Wright was brilliant and visionary. 

The narrow entrance hall at the home, where the fireplace takes center stage. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Inside the Charnley-Persky House: The Foyer

Step inside, and the first thing you notice is the foyer fireplace, which boasts original mosaic designs that echo flickering flames. The flue is hidden underneath the stairs and goes up the back. The fireplace has no mantel, which allows for an unobstructed view and emphasizes those horizontal lines that are a hallmark of Sullivan’s style.

Sullivan incorporated elements of the Arts and Crafts movement, which highlighted craftsmanship and natural materials. The use of wood as the main decorative element and the incorporation of organic motifs, such as oak leaves and acorns, were typical of this style.

Wide, expensive white oak panels feature prominently. Remember, Charnley was in the lumber biz. 

Those skylights illuminating the stairwell and landings is something you’d typically find in commercial buildings — not a family home. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The design of the Charnley-Persky House reflects Sullivan’s experience with commercial buildings, as well as his innovative approach to residential design. The atrium and skylight, which were more commonly found in commercial buildings, allowed for natural light and air to flow through the home. This was a departure from the typical dark, closed-off interiors of Victorian homes.

To either side of the door are cozy alcoves. The Charnleys didn’t leave any letters, diaries or photos, so we have no idea how the family used these spaces. However, there’s only one sitting room, so it’s possible that these alcoves served as small reception areas for guests before entering the dining room.

No one’s quite sure what the Charnleys used the alcoves to either side of the front door for. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

According to the 1900 census, the Charnley family had two live-in Swedish servant girls. “You know,” Jean said. “You’re a servant girl until you’re at least 80.” The “girls” did the cooking, cleaning and everything else that needed to be done around the house.

The dining room at the Charnley-Persky House was much less elaborate than most in the Gilded Age. Photo by David Schalliol

The Dining Room

Wide, beaded paneling was all the rage back then. You could buy strips of beaded wood and simply glue them onto a surface. Sullivan kept the room plain and modern, aside from the fireplace. The richly carved mahogany mantle with a stylized four-point seed pod motif, surrounded by a vegetal pattern, is set above African rose marble tiles imported from England.

“I don’t know why they’re not from Chicago. We made everything else,” Jean mused. “But anyway, that’s where they’re from.”

The rose marble tiles of the fireplace in the dining room came from Britain, while pretty much everything else was locally sourced.

The buffet isn’t original, but the woodwork suggests that there was probably a built-in piece of furniture there at some point. So the folks at SOM custom-designed one to fit in. Look closely: Its design mimics that of the house exterior.

Unusual for the more-is-more Gilded Age, there are no parquet floors or ledges to be filled with statues, crystal and the like.

The Charnleys were quiet folk who didn’t entertain much. In addition to the deaths of their daughters, James was diagnosed with Bright’s disease in the mid-1890s. This chronic kidney inflammation had no treatment or cure — it was a one-way ticket to the grave. He survived only 10 years after his diagnosis.

Unfortunately, the Charnleys couldn’t catch a break. James’ brother and sister-in-law ran off with $100,000 from the Fourth Presbyterian Church. Their two sons felt such shame at their parents’ actions that they both committed suicide.

“Money really cannot buy you everything,” Jean said.

But there’s a glimmer of happiness in this sad tale. Enter Seymour Persky, the philanthropist who swooped in and saved the mansion from demolition. He was a lawyer-turned-developer who made a fortune and then dedicated his life to collecting architectural artifacts, bless his heart.

The servants would do prep work in the butler’s pantry, where they could stay out of sight but still keep an eye on how dinner was progressing.

Off the dining room is the butler’s pantry. My favorite detail: the narrow window in the door, where the help could keep an eye on the diners’ progress. 

“During the Victorian era, they say children should be seen and not heard. I think servants were supposed to be neither seen nor heard,” Jean said. “They just sort of floated in when they needed to take a plate away.”

The Charnleys’ sitting room is now home to the Society of Architectural Historians library.

The Sitting Room

The highlight of the sitting room (now the SAH library) is the gorgeous tiger stripe white oak paneling. It’s called “tiger stripe” because it looks like, well, a tiger’s stripes. The wood didn’t come cheap. It’s cut from quarter-sawn wood, which is basically like slicing a citrus fruit into wedges. This is wasteful, but it brings out the beautiful and distinct grain pattern. Keep in mind, though: Charnley was a lumber baron, and wood was certainly an area where he could splurge.

At the time, the biggest commodities in Chicago were meat, wheat and lumber. While at least 200 lumber schooners entered the Chicago River every day, the industry had started to decline. The northern forests of white oak in Michigan and Wisconsin had been depleted. And on the day of the Chicago Fire, there was also a huge fire in Peshtigo, Wisconsin, a lumber mill town, which burned to the ground.

People switched to Southern yellow pine, and the industry dispersed instead of being centralized in Chicago.

The benches, cabinets and leaded glass in the sitting room are all original.

There’s another beautiful fireplace in here, this one with carved oak leaves. And again, African rose marble. 

Those scrolling leaves are pure Sullivan, but it’s believed that the geometric design in the middle of the sitting room fireplace woodwork was most likely a Wright touch.

One detail that experts believe came from Wright is the geometric ornamentation of the fireplace panels. It’s unlikely that Sullivan would have conceived the pointed arches and flat, almost Gothic stylized leaves, as this is an arrangement that one would expect from Wright.

The star of the show: The amazing screen that somewhat hides the staircase is one of the elements attributed to Wright in the home’s design.

Upstairs: The Staircase, Bedrooms and Balcony

In my opinion, the most striking part of the home is the staircase. The stairs are set back a bit behind a screen of slender oak spindles, so they appear to be floating. “It’s a beautiful way to illuminate the stairs without closing them off,” Jean said, adding that scholars believe this may have been a Wright touch as well.

Upstairs are two bedrooms, access to the balcony and beautiful (if a bit precarious) woodwork looking down to the first floor. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The bedrooms are now offices for the architectural society. The rooms themselves aren’t overly impressive, with small unadorned fireplaces ordered from a catalog. There was no need to impress others, you see; it’s the idea of private vs. public space. But they do boast unheard-of amenities at the time: Each has an en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. 

One interesting tidbit: Unlike most homes of the wealthy at the time, James and Helen shared a bedroom. But we knew they had modern sensibilities when they hired Sullivan to design the home.

Another staircase in the back corner of the landing leads all the way from the basement to the fourth floor, where the servants’ bedrooms were located. They were about half the size of the other bedrooms. While you might think the servants had it nice since the top floor has the best view, just remember that there wasn’t any air conditioning — and heat rises.

The only real outdoor space found at the Charnley-Persky House is the front balcony. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The balcony was the only outdoor space. Because the house is close to the lake (and this is the Windy City, after all) there’s always a nice breeze. It looks west, to what was a shop across the street. “Not much was going on,” Jean said. “And then Little Hell. So you didn’t need to see too far.”

That pinkish-putty brown color (Jean’s not a fan) matches the original hue of the balcony.

The house was given to the SAH, but unfortunately, there’s no endowment to support its upkeep. Tours, donations and the efforts of the architectural society subsidize the preservation of this magnificent house so that it can continue to be enjoyed for generations to come. 

If you are a Chicagoan interested in architecture or history, or are visiting Chicago and looking for something to do after you’ve seen the Bean, book a tour to experience the birth of the modern home, designed by two of the world’s most famous architects.

The home is open for docent-led tours every Wednesday and Saturday at noon year round. There’s an additional Saturday tour at 10 a.m. from April to October. Tours are free on Wednesdays and cost $10 on Saturdays. Reservations are required and tours are limited to 10 people. –Wally

Look for this fence to enter the small sunken courtyard that leads to the visitors center to start your tour. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Charnley-Persky House Museum

1365 North Astor Street
Chicago, Illinois 60610
USA

 

Twisted Tours at Trundle Manor in Pittsburgh

This roadside oddity is a neighborhood haunt worthy of a detour. A fun combination of the weird and the macabre, the home includes a secret passage, a tumor that serenades visitors and plenty of other strange delights. 

The approach to Trundle Manor has a Bates family home feel to it — and then there’s the scary alien monster and the barrel of nuclear waste.

While Wally and I were looking for things to do in Pittsburgh, he stumbled upon Trundle Manor, a house of oddities and a museum of the bizarre. The quirky roadside attraction has been a fixture of the quiet residential neighborhood of Swissvale since 2009.

Intrigued, Wally sent an email to the proprietors and received a reply from the mysteriously named Mr. ARM, who asked when we’d like to stop by for a tour. “With a name like that we have to go,” Wally said, and decided then and there to schedule our visit.

One of the cute friends you’ll meet in the front yard

My parents, who we were traveling with, are up for anything. So we decided to throw caution to the wind and tell them we had a surprise for them. I asked my dad to set the GPS to 7724 Juniata Street. As we pulled up to the curb, we saw a colorful hand-painted sign at street level that read, “Trundle Manor,” beckoning visitors in (or warning them off). 

Not far from the sign was a yellow barrel stenciled with a hazardous waste symbol oozing green goo. When we looked up, we saw a two-story Victorian manor sitting atop a steep hill. The brick house looked a bit ominous, not unlike the Bates family house in Alfred Hitchcock’s movie Psycho.

Mima has a hair-raising and electrifying experience on the front porch.

The manor got its name from one of the couple’s epic Halloween parties. They invented the fictitious Trundle Graves Funeral Home and Taxidermy Service as part of the party’s theme, and the name stuck.

Wally takes a ride on the Loch Ness Monster.

My mom and dad exchanged looks, but they didn’t say anything. They’re used to our strange sensibilities. We got out of the car and walked up the steps leading to the front door. I rang the doorbell, and a moment later, the door was opened by our hostess, Velda von Minx. From the moment we saw her, Wally and I knew she was a kindred spirit. 

Our charming hostess, Velda von Minx, spun a nonstop tapestry of twisted tales.

Velda had blunt bangs, long wavy blonde hair, smoky eyes and an infectious laugh. She explained to us that her name is a sort of mashup of Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of author F. Scott Fitzgerald, and B-list actresses. It works. 

Her husband’s moniker, Mr. ARM, is an acronym using his initials. Sadly, he was indisposed. He had stayed up late the previous night and was sleeping during our visit. (Outside the manor, the couple are otherwise known as Rachel Rose Rech and Anton Raphael Miriello.)

This is what you can expect at Trundle Manor — strange and creepy items everywhere you look.

Here Comes Trundle

We were ushered into Trundle Manor and followed Velda into the dining room, which was decorated in a Victorian style, while muddled old-timey music crackled in the background.

Mima: We thought the taxidermied bird outside was telling us to go home. 

“Oh no!” Velda exclaimed. “But I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to Trundle Manor, our personal collection of weird and dead stuff.”

We looked around. The room was packed with oddities. 

Most of the taxidermied creatures at Trundle Manor have some sort of whimsical elements, like this bear, with his cymbals and marching band hat.

“About 15 years ago, we decided to open our house to the public and show off our collection,” Velda continued. “Anton grew up as a weird little kid, always bringing home dead things. His parents are both artists, and they encouraged him and would take him to flea markets, where they collected antiques and Art Deco pieces. He would always find something else to add to his collection.”

“Are you still collecting?” Mima asked. 

“Always! It’s hard to stop!” Velda chuckled. “People bring us things all the time, which is nice. It’s like our own personal museum drop-off. If they know you as someone who collects unusual things, they’ll often bring you items that they’ve inherited or that make them uncomfortable. I guess it’s a way for them to get rid of something that they don’t want, but also know that it’ll be appreciated by someone who loves weird stuff. We say it’s great to know people in different professions. Especially if you have friends in the funeral home industry, medical industry, veterinary technicians, people who clean out houses or even theater people — you’ll likely find that they have all sorts of cool things that they’re willing to part with.”

A small glass jar with something ashen inside and the name “H.H. Holmes” written on it, caught my eye. I asked Velda if they were the ashes of H.H. Holmes, the notorious serial killer at the center of Erik Larson’s brilliant book The Devil in the White City.

“It’s grave dirt,” she said with a smile. “From our favorite serial killer — if one needs a favorite serial killer. He was hanged at Moyamensing Prison in South Philadelphia in 1896 and buried in Holy Cross Cemetery in Yeadon, Pennsylvania, but his grave is unmarked. A local historian friend of ours got us some of the dirt from his grave.

“We also have grave dirt from some other famous people,” Velda added. “Like Rod Serling, Patsy Cline and Edgar Allan Poe. On the wall behind you is a jar of Bela Lugosi’s grave dirt. If it’s Dracula-related, we must have some of the earth he was buried in.”

I asked if the three bronze faces on the wall were of Lugosi. 

“They’re actually of Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Vincent Price.” Velda replied. “We have Vincent Price’s autograph. My grandmother met him in Dayton, Ohio in 1972 during a summer production of Oliver! We also got to meet John Astin, the actor who played the original Gomez Addams, on The Addams Family,” she added.

Astin is an idol of Miriello’s, and the couple met him about 10 or 11 years ago when they drove out to Baltimore and pretended to be acting students at Johns Hopkins University, where  Astin was a director of the theater arts until his retirement in 2021.

Papa, Mima, Duke and Wally are only pretending to be scared. They loved their visit to this kooky home.

Velda eyed Wally’s iPhone with the chubby cat on the back. “I love your case,” she said. “Who’s the cat?”

“That’s our cat, Bowzer,” I replied. “He’s a bit of a chubster, but he’s a sweetheart.”

“Our cat was 25 pounds,” Velda said. “He was the ring bearer at our wedding. We had to weld together a little circus cage to carry him, because you can’t train a cat to walk down the aisle. We gently escorted him down the aisle, and he did a great job.

Wally laughed. “That sounds like a memorable wedding,” he said. “So, are you Mrs. ARM now?”

Velda smiled. “I guess so,” she said. “I always go by Velda von Minx, but of course I’ll take Mrs. ARM! We had a very unique wedding. We got married at the Braddock Carnegie Library, which was the first Carnegie Library in America. There’s a big Victorian-era music hall attached. We wanted a party wedding, so we had 12 bands, five belly dancers, a gourmet waffle buffet and an all-day open bar with an absinthe fountain. It was like a 14-hour event. That’s my wedding gown in the tall case.”

“Did you say an absinthe fountain? With real wormwood?" Papa asked.

“Not enough to make you hallucinate — but enough to make you good and drunk!” Velda chuckled. 

The couple’s wedding was an epic event, featuring multiple bands, a belly dancer and an absinthe fountain.

“And here we have our collection of medical oddities," she continued, gesturing to a nearby table. “Embalming equipment, vintage syringes, anal speculums, trepanation tools and a whole platter of gynecological tools that came in a box with a handwritten note that said, ‘Sorry, ladies.’ We had to have that.

Sorry, ladies! This tray holds a frightening mix of old-school medical devices once used for gynecological checkups, anal probes and trepanation.

“When we visit antique shops, we make it our mission to find the most upsetting things to buy. Like this embalming machine, used to pump fluid into a cadaver by a mortician. It would take a lot of cleaning, but I could totally see it as a margarita machine.

“Or this dental X-ray machine from the 1920s. It was used in a dentist’s office in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, up until the 1990s. There’s a sticker inside that says, ‘CAUTION: Radiation When…’ but the rest of the text has fallen off. Needless to say, we’re not going to plug it in.

“All of our taxidermy is real. We don’t  hunt or kill anything ourselves. We prefer the very old, kind of hungover-looking ones.”

“I love that one!” I said, pointing to a taxidermied fox sitting atop a cabinet wearing a tiny tiara and a pink ribbon.

“The Princess Fox?” Velda asked. “That’s our oldest, from the 1890s. And this is one of our creations: a werewolf-mermaid, or mer-wolf. The top half is our friend’s Rottweiler that died of natural causes and was donated to us. The bottom half is a carp. There are mahi-mahi fins and glass eyes from a blind human.”

Princess Fox, to the right in a tiara, is the couple’s oldest specimen, dating to the 1890s.

Velda directed our attention to a pair of hybrid creatures.

"This is also one of ours,” she said. “These fighting catfish are part cat and part fish, and they’re always fighting. We’re not expert taxidermists. We just have a glass of absinthe and see what happens. We’re influenced by gaffs, which are fake creatures pieced together from real animals. Think P.T. Barnum’s traveling sideshow stuff and the FeeJee Mermaid.”

She regaled us with a great story about one of her and Miriello’s adventures:

“One time, we saw what we thought was a cat that had been hit by a car on the main road. We felt really bad, so we pulled over to see if we could help. It turned out that it was actually a skunk. We had a kill kit in the back of our car, a briefcase with a cleaver and a bunch of Ziploc bags. I was wearing an evening gown, as I often do, squatting and holding open a bag, while Anton chopped off its head with the cleaver. We looked across the street and saw a little 10-year-old boy watching us. We were like, ‘Oh, sorry.’”

Wally asked, “What did you do with that skunk head?”

Velda replied with one eyebrow arched, “It’s sitting on a shelf somewhere in that cabinet.”

Wally asked Velda if she could share any stories of paranormal activity or spooky experiences involving their house.

“Technically, our house should be haunted,” Velda said. “The previous owner, Charlie, committed suicide in 2006, and we’re the first people to live here since. We learned from our neighbors that he didn’t have many people in his life, was a member of Mensa, and a bit of a hoarder. So, we like to think that he’s living vicariously through us.”

Velda continued. “Everyone who comes here is good-natured, whether they’re a friend, family member or guest at one of our parties. There’s always positive energy, and we get to see people’s best days. We like to think that we’re providing him with entertainment, if nothing else. When we go out of town, we ask Charlie to look after the house.”

Wally asked what the rest of the house was like beyond the museum. Velda replied, “There’s a total of four rooms that are open to the public. The upstairs is where we live, and it's more retro rockabilly. There’s a pinball machine, our Lego collection and a ’50s diner booth.”

She continued, “I should also mention that our most priceless item in this room is a tiger pelt from Indonesia. It was donated to us by a man who was cleaning out his mother’s home after she passed away. He told us that the pelt came from a small village in Indonesia where his father was born. Sometime in the 1950s, a young Sumatran tiger was spotted lurking near a densely populated residential area. Concerned that the tiger might attack or kill their children, the father shot it and had its pelt made into a rug.”

A Sumatran tiger that was killed in the 1950s and made into a rug was donated to Trundle Manor, and became their most priceless part of the collection.

So how did Trundle Manor come to be?

“What started out as a party space for friends and family, photo shoots, art shows, movie screenings and burlesque shows has turned into a roadside attraction. We now do about a dozen tours a week.”

Behold! Olivia’s Singing Tumor! One of the stars of the collection, this tumor came from their belly dancing friend, who still pops by to visit her erstwhile body part.

The Singing Tumor and Counterfeit Cash

Velda guided us out of the dining room and into the vestibule. 

“In our entryway, we have a human reliquary altar.” Typically, a reliquary is a container for religious relics that include the remains of saints, such as bones or pieces of clothing. “Ours contain parts of people that they’re no longer using anymore,” our charming tour guide continued. “We have my husband’s first mustache, in case his face melts off and I need to bandage him up and glue it back on. We also have a jar with a red lid that contains most of what’s left of a human brain. It was a wedding gift from our tattoo artist friend who received it as payment from a medical waste employee instead of cash. The original jar got thrown at him and shattered against a wall and is the reason why it’s incomplete. We also have a jar with a couple of months’ worth of skin flakes from our friend with psoriasis.”

A collection of prosthetic legs, lost to injury or illness, came from a friend who works at a retirement home. One from the 1940s has toes carved into the wooden foot.

Mima picked up some bills. “What’s this?” she asked. 

“We make our own money,” Velda explained, “because we loved the idea of having drawers full of cash like the Addams Family. We’re not rich, but we do have our own currency. I’m on the $3 bill, Mr. ARM is on the $13 bill, and our beloved cat, Little Devil, is on the $666 bill.”

Velda removed the covering from an object with a flourish to reveal the crown jewel of their collection. Floating within a custom-made steampunk brass and glass vessel (built by Mr. ARM) was a fist-sized mass. It wouldn’t look out of place among the contraptions of Captain Nemo’s submarine the Nautilus. This curiosity is Olivia’s Singing Tumor, bequeathed to them by their belly dancing friend, who still performs around Pittsburgh.

“This was a benign tumor on her uterus about 15 years ago,” Velda told us. “Hospitals typically don’t allow patients to keep surgical specimens, but Olivia was persistent, and they were able to freeze the tumor and give it to her in a Tupperware container.”

The assemblage sits upon an oak phonograph pedestal, complete with a pair of metal horns to amplify its “singing” — a song whose chorus Velda informed us is, appropriately, “I want my mommy.” Olivia occasionally comes to visit her tumor, Velda added. 

Also occupying the space is a bug-eyed, mustachioed 4-foot-tall animatronic Santa Claus wearing wire-rimmed glasses. It’s been remade into a likeness of Mr. ARM. It stands silently in the entryway. “We tinkered with it and re-recorded its voice to announce the collection,” Velda said. “But it malfunctioned after it got rained on and started singing ‘Jingle Bells’ in a rather demonic voice.”

The parlor at Trundle Manor has a bit more room — but don’t worry: It’s still stuffed to the gills with weird shit.

The Freeze-Dried Cat and a Gremlin Named Nigel in the Parlor

The four of us exited the entryway and followed Velda into the parlor, the largest of the rooms at Trundle Manor. 

“We can accommodate 12 to 15 people when we screen movies, which we do about once a month,” she told us. There’s a pull-down screen and a projector mounted to the ceiling. A couple of Velda’s favorites flicks include pre-code Hollywood horror movies such as Frankenstein (1931) and Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933). 

A portrait of Velda von Minx and Mr. ARM in the style of holy icons holds a pride of place on one of the walls. When I asked Velda about it, she told us that Anton’s parents are both artists who specialize in saint iconography painting.

“They’re not religious people,” Velda said. “But they’ve been painting saint icons since the 1970s. His dad paints the bodies and backgrounds, while his mom does the faces and hands.”

Velda added that the portrait was a wedding gift from her in-laws.

The painting of the couple was religious icons was done by Mr. ARM’s parents as a wedding gift.

I don’t think any of us were prepared for what Velda told us next about their dearly departed black cat, Little Devil. “We had him freeze-dried and preserved, and  placed him in a special glass box with a lid that unlocks so we can still reach in and pet him. We bought him a tiny top hat at the oldest hat shop in the world in London, where the royal family has had custom hats made for over 300 years. I’m surprised they let us through the front door!”

This handsome fellow is Little Devil, the couple’s cat, which has been freeze-dried. Gulp.

The fantastical throne in the parlor is a collaboration between Mr. ARM and his friend The Admiral. It’s their interpretation of the Eldritch Seat of R’lyeh and is an homage to H.P. Lovecraft’s octopus-èsque monster Cthulhu. The back piece was first sculpted in clay and then cast in plastic and treated to look like wood.

“We also built a birdcage with a miniature replica of the parlor inside,” Velda continues. Amazingly, she hadn’t run out of stories yet. “For a time, we thought we might have a gremlin, as we kept losing things in the house, only to find them again in places that neither of us had left them.

“So Mr. ARM and I decided to give our gremlin a place to hang out that we knew he would appreciate. We filled the decoy with real tiny dead specimens, a reading lamp, miniature Poe and Lovecraft books, custom leather furniture, a coffin to sleep in and my personal favorite: a fully stocked bar with bottles of absinthe, moonshine and an 18-year-old scotch. We named him Nigel, and if he is real, he’s living it up!”

One of the birdcages has a miniature setup of the room to keep the home’s gremlin, Nigel, so contented he won’t get up to mischief.

Wally noticed a birdcage themed like the Black Lodge from Twin Peaks and asked about it.  

“We adore Twin Peaks,” Velda said, scoring even more points with Wally. “That’s how we spent most of the pandemic, in the parlor watching David Lynch on repeat. There’s even a little cherry pie and miniature cup of coffee. Although I still need to finish making the curtains!”

Pointing to the wall, Velda said, “The moose is our biggest friend. We purchased him at an antique shop in central Pennsylvania. When we brought him home, we didn’t realize that he wouldn’t fit through the front door. We had to saw off his left antler in order to get him inside and reattached it upside down, because that’s how Pierre, the stuffed moose head in The Addams Family, had his antlers.

“Over in the corner,” Velda gestures, “and sitting atop a table near Little Devil is a fawn with a blonde wig that we call the Nudie Cutie. I don’t know why a taxidermist would have wanted a baby deer to look like a sexy pinup girl, but they did. I made her a bikini, and added false eyelashes and a wig.

“The big guy in the corner with the wooden leg and the ribs was something that my husband made when he was 15. His parents told him that he couldn’t have a dog, so he built one. It’s got the head of an alligator, deer bones and chicken wire. He would take it outside and drag it down the road on a leash.”

This creepy creature was Anton’s first creation, when he started playing Doctor Frankenstein at the age of 15.

In the barrister bookcase are two mummified cats. “Our neighbor found one under his porch and thought it would be a great gift for his wife, but when he gave it to her, she was horrified. The other one came from our friend who makes movie props. She found it when she was cleaning out her warehouse. She also gave us a dental chair from the 1930s and a perm machine from the 1920s. We call the perm machine our ‘feminine electric chair.’ The metal clips would attach to wet hair, and electricity would flow through its wires to cook it into being curly. The machine says: 115 volts/15 amps. One amp could electrocute a person.

Velda saw Mr. ARM tooling around town in his hot rods, stalked him on social and got herself invited over. It was love at first taxidermy lesson.

“My other favorite thing in the parlor is the two squirrels getting married,” Velda said with a smile. “They’re part of our love story.” 

For years Anton was part of the Drifters Car Club of Pittsburgh, a vintage motorsport club. “I would see him around town with his hot rods and sort of started stalking him on social media. And that’s how we met because I got myself invited over. That first night he said, ‘I’ve got a freezer full of dead squirrels. Do you want to learn taxidermy in my basement?’ To which I replied, ‘Of course!’”

Talk about a meet-cute! 

Nothing is as it seems in the Trundle Manor kitchen. Every cabinet opens to reveal a surprising mad scientist take on kitchen appliances.

That’s the Kitchen?!

Our final stop was the laboratory/gift shop/kitchen. The entrance is hidden behind a moveable display case in the dining room. It has all the typical appliances — they’re just concealed by panels, doors, buttons, switches, wheels and blinking lights that transform the room into a mad scientist’s laboratory. There’s even a device with an electric current that Mr. ARM uses to light cigars. 

Wish you were here?

Home, Strange Home

To some, Trundle Manor may seem a little disquieting and strange. But to its owners, Mr. ARM and Velda von Minx, it’s a labor of love. Their strange and wonderful collection fills every nook and cranny of the downstairs of their circa-1910 home.

Velda was kind, playful and genuine. Tours take about 45 minutes and are by appointment only. Velda von Minx and Mr. ARM accept donations of cash, booze or oddities in exchange for guided tours. 

If you’re planning a trip to Pittsburgh and are fans of oddities, as we are, it’s well worth making a reservation for a jaunt to this fascinating home. You’ll come away with numerous stories that begin, “You won’t believe this…” Obviously, Wally and I loved it, and my parents did, too. –Duke

Trundle Manor’s tagline is: The most unusual tourist trap in the world meets the most bizarre private collection on public display!

And we gotta say, that about sums it up.

Trundle Manor 

7724 Juniata Street 
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15218
USA

 

Fashion in Full Bloom at Billy Porter’s Extravaganza at the Phipps Conservatory

A journey through the impressive Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens in Pittsburgh, where the latest exhibit, Flowers Meet Fashion: Inspired by Billy Porter is a fusion of flora and fabulousness. Strike a pose!

Duke, Mima and Papa were so inspired by the Japanese Garden at the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, they decided to only speak in haiku.

I’ll say it: The Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens puts Chicago’s Garfield Park Conservatory to shame. It was definitely one of the highlights of our trip to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where we spent a delightful long weekend with my parents. This stunning gem of Victorian-era architecture, adjacent to Panther Hollow in Schenley Park, has captivated guests for more than a century — and is sure to do so for years to come.

Visitors to the Phipps are greeted by a towering figure standing in front of a pink neon sign that reads, "You are an Icon." The skirt is made of petal-like layers. If you look closely, you can see hidden details, such as a map of Pittsburgh and song lyrics from the musical Kinky Boots.

From Roots to the Runway

Throughout the year, the conservatory changes themes seasonally, and our visit serendipitously coincided with the opening day of their summer show, Flowers Meet Fashion, a celebration of native son Billy Porter's local roots, his sartorial style and his love of flowers. 

For those of you who don’t know, Porter is an Emmy, Grammy, and Tony award winning performer and fashion icon. Billy is well known for his bold, creative and androgynous style, and is a tireless advocate for LGBTQ+ rights. According to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the seeds for the show were sown in the summer of 2021, when Porter returned to the City of Champions to direct the movie Anything's Possible, a coming of age romantic comedy about a trans girl in her senior year of high school. While shooting scenes at the conservatory, Billy found common ground with the personnel and decided to become a board member.

As Billy wrote in his memoir, Unprotected:

I didn’t have the words for any of this at the time, just a child's awareness that people carried themselves differently in different clothing, that fashion could affect a profound transformation, on the outside and inside both.

The Phipps purchased a few favorites from past exhibitions to add to their permanent collection, including American glass sculptor Dale Chihuly’s Goldenrod, Teal and Citron chandelier. The stunning sculpture hangs in the atrium, where it can be enjoyed by all visitors.

A Welcoming Homage to Porter’s Pittsburgh Roots

Our experience began on the ground floor of the airy glass-domed Welcome Center, where a 7.5-foot-tall silver mannequin positioned near the entrance stood wearing a voluminous black gown. Entitled “Home Grown: Planted Roots,” the garment was designed by Madison Michalko, one of six professional costume designers tapped to create pieces for the show.

Michalko found her muse in Billy’s gender-fluid style and in the state of Pennsylvania. The bodice of the dress is shaped like a keystone, the state’s official symbol, accented with gold buttons and white mountain laurel blossoms, the state flower. The wide-brimmed hat is a nod to the crystal-fringed one Porter wore at the 2019 Grammys and features strands of LED lights that flicker like lightning bugs, the state insect.

This tuxedo dress by Damian Dominguez is a powerful statement about the importance of self-expression and the freedom to be who you are. The top is an homage to Mister Rogers, while the skirt is a nod to Dominguez’s Mexican heritage.

Palm Court: The Dress That Defied Convention

The four of us took an elevator up to the first of 14 interconnected conservatory pavilions and entered the spectacular Palm Court. The palms grow in the central and largest room of the conservatory, which reaches 65 feet in height, is 60 feet wide and 450 feet long. 

Holding court before us on a raised platform was a stunning dress by Mexican-American costume designer and Carnegie Mellon University alumnus Damian E. Dominguez. The look was inspired by the now-iconic black velvet tuxedo gown and matching bolero jacket designed by Christian Siriano for Porter to wear at the 2019 Academy Awards. Porter’s ensemble pushed boundaries and raised a few eyebrows at the somewhat restrained awards show. 

Like Siriano’s dress, Dominguez’s gown is also made from velvet but features a red tuxedo jacket in a nod to another Pittsburgh native, Fred Rogers. The hand-embroidered skirt includes a yellow bridge, as well as marigolds and dahlias, a nod to the designer’s heritage and the traditional full skirts of Mexico, where Dominguez’s parents were born.

Carnegie Mellon students Chloe Brown, Huixin Kang, and Jen Tepe reimagined a 1960s pantsuit that takes inspiration from the late British fashion designer Alexander McQueen's iconic Sarabande dress.

Sunken Garden: A Beacon of Hope

Our next stop was the Sunken Garden, which was filled with the colorful and creative designs by students from the Fundamentals of Costume Design class taught by Susan Tsu, professor of design at Carnegie Mellon, Porter’s alma mater. The students had been asked to read his memoir and then work in teams to create designs that reflected different aspects of Porter’s life and career. 

We paused to admire the sheer white pantsuit with crocheted fungi created by Chloe Brown, Huixin Kang and Jem Tepe. The designers explained that the fungi are a botanical metaphor for Porter’s exploration of his identity and his journey to self-reliance.

Could there be a pea in this pod? Caifeng Hong and Katherine Chung’s design was out of this world. 

Caifeng Hong and Katherine Chung’s look was inspired by the theme of contrast and rebirth. The dress is made of olive green netting layered over a green silk organza gown and collar that conceals the face of the mannequin. The contrast between the light and airy netting and the heavy and luxurious organza creates a sense of movement and energy. The collar, meanwhile, adds a touch of mystery and intrigue. The overall effect is a dress that is both ethereal and otherworldly, evoking something extraterrestrial.

Carrie Anne Huneycutt and Evan Riley’s collaboration was Somewhere Over the Rainbow, celebrating Porter's legacy as a trailblazing figure in the LGBTQ+ community. 

Carrie Anne Huneycutt and Evan Riley collaborated on the third look, entitled “Statue of Liberation.” The corseted dress is enveloped by a shimmering rainbow that soars above the mannequin’s head and is held aloft by a torch made of colorful fabric strips. The “flames” emanating from the torch represent Porter’s passion, determination and generosity of spirit.

Cathy Trostle-Olivar's dazzling Egyptianate look floats above the water of the Victoria Room. 

Fit for a Queen: From Camp to High Art 

In the Victoria Room, a luminous costume rose from the waters. The look was designed by Cathy Trostle-Olivar and was inspired by Porter’s glittering gold Egyptian sun god Ra costume at the 2019 Met Gala. The theme that year was camp, which Porter said can sometimes be seen as “cheesy.” However, when executed properly, it can ascend to “the highest forms of fashion and art.” The pavilion uses blue Egyptian lotus aka waterlily and tall stately papyrus to great effect. 

Three bronze maiden statues by Edmond Amateis, which originally stood within niches in the walled garden of the local Mellon estate, hold court among the formal French garden at the back of the Broderie Room.

The Broderie Room: The XIV Factor

Modeled after the formal period gardens of French chateaux during the reign of Louis XIV, the Broderie Room takes its name from the French “parterre de broderie,” a type of garden arrangement translated as “embroidery of earth.” This style of garden design came from a time when nature was considered a force to be tamed. 

I don’t speak French, but I think that this photo of Wally and Mima is très mignon. 

This fabulous footwear is a wink to the 2013 musical Kinky Boots, which Porter starred in, and a reminder that sometimes the most unexpected things can save the day. 

While visitors are discouraged from throwing coins into the many ponds and water features throughout the conservatory to protect the flora and fauna, a wishing well can be found here. 

Chihuly’s celestial Desert Gold Star sculpture provides a brilliant blast of color amid the green hues of desert flora.

These flowers are so whimsical, they could have been plucked straight out of a Dr. Seuss book.

Gallery Room: Blooming With Creativity 

Visual arts students from CAPA 6-12, a local creative and performing arts school, have transformed the Gallery Room at Phipps Conservatory into a whimsical wonderland. Using papier-mâché, the students have created larger-than-life flowers and animals that are sure to delight visitors of all ages.

The Gallery Room showcases a collection of critters created by local students.

The centerpiece of the exhibit is a towering salvia spike that nearly reaches the ceiling. The spike is made up of hundreds of individual flowers, all of which have been carefully hand-crafted by the students. And in the center of the room, a menagerie of amphibians and animals frolic in a whimsical forest.

These looks made from plant material by Phipps master gardeners were so avant-garde, they could be on the red carpet at the Oscars.

South Conservatory: “Hort” couture

The sound of camera shutters and the strobe of flashbulbs add a fun theatrical element to the red carpet vibe of the South Conservatory room. Wally spoke with one of the friendly conservatory staffers, who informed him that the topiary models were created by the master gardeners at the Phipps. The nature-inspired garments were fashioned from plant material sourced and crafted onsite at the conservatory and are so stunning, they would impress the judges on Project Runway.

The first mannequin featured a dried leaf hat in the shape of a lady slipper orchid, and a full skirt fabricated from clusters of blue hydrangea flowers contrasted by a form-fitting acid green palm frond bodice.

This look, inspired by a tetra fish, is sure to turn heads — even underwater!

The second look reimagines the scales of a neon tetra fish. Blue-painted magnolia leaves create a fish scale pattern on the jacket and hood, while salal leaves were used for the pants. Marigold-colored staghorn ferns are transformed into the cuffs and lapels, and painted monstera leaves create the “tail fin.” The deep-sea diver-like boots are made of upcycled accession tags, the metal labels that are issued to plants when they become part of the Phipps collection.

Well, this look is one fashion-forward way to channel your inner bird (note the nest atop its head and the dress details made of pheasant feathers).

The third look uses salal leaves trimmed with pampas grass and a dried grapevine garland to create drama and height, encircling the mannequin's waist and head like a bird’s nest. Completing the look are upcycled accession tag bracelets and white pheasant tail feathers.

The woman Wally had spoken with about the topiary models also told him about the Tropical Forest Conservatory, a 12,000-square-foot, 60-foot-high space located behind the South Conservatory. If she hadn't, I think we might have walked right by it, which would have been a shame. The incredible space is home to the immersive Tropical Forest Hawai'i, showcasing a variety of endemic and native species from the state. 

As soon as we stepped inside, we were transported to another world. The air was humid and warm, and we were surrounded by lush vegetation, with towering native trees and cascading waterfalls. 

This lettuce-covered look was a showstopper. I sure hope there’s an opening under the hat so the fish can eat!

The Serpentine Room: Salad Days and a Surprise 

As we made our way past the final five costumes, found in the Serpentine Room, I was unsure which look I liked best. But once I saw the aquaponics dress, I knew without a doubt that it was my favorite. The ingenious installation was a truly innovative and sustainable design. The clear acrylic body contained live goldfish, and the hoop skirt was made of living lettuce. A placard explained that the lettuce cleans the water and maintains a healthy ecosystem for the fish, whose waste, in turn, fertilize the plants. It was a truly beautiful — and functional —  piece of art.

Drag queen Thee Suburbia’s ruby red dress is a tribute to Porter’s uplifting message and blooms with the power of positivity.

Brooklyn-based drag performer Thee Suburbia designed the ruby red dress. She was inspired by a personal encounter with Porter, who spoke to the entire crew about the importance of lifting one’s surroundings, while working on a music video shoot for his song “Children.” Thee Suburbia’s gown pays homage to Porter’s attire that day as well as his words. The bursting blooms are a metaphor for the power needed to be an uplifting and inspiring force. It’s a friendly reminder to Phipps visitors that we can make the world a better place by lifting each other up.

Mindy Eshelman’s sustainable suit and cape is a sartorial love letter to Pittsburgh and our planet.

Next up was a white mandarin collar suit and oxblood-lined cape designed by Mindy Eshelman, associate professor of costume design at Carnegie Mellon. The sustainable, locally sourced and upcycled vintage piece was a perfect reflection of Porter’s deep connection to Pittsburgh, as well as the possibilities for our collective future — one in which caring for the planet is imperative. The look has been paired with vintage brooches, including flowers for Phipps, bees recalling our interconnectedness with the natural world, and butterflies symbolizing personal transformation. 

NYC performer Gloria Swansong’s designs evolved from the long-established pageantry of drag queen balls, a parade of gender expression and aesthetics.

To close out the show, New York City drag performer Gloria Swansong served up two stunning looks inspired by the underground 1980s ballroom scene. Category is: Botanicals Eleganza.

The first was an Old Hollywood-style gown made of shimmering blush pink silk organza. The sleek form-fitting dress was adorned with silk roses handmade in NYC by M&S Schmalberg.

The second look was an iridescent bouquet sleeve dress, a beautiful and meaningful tribute inscribed with the names of ballroom legends to honor their contributions to the community.

Don't forget to stop and “Strike a Pose” in front of the Instagram-friendly pink and green vertical wall before you leave the Serpentine Room.

Café Phipps: Lunch Break  

We arrived at the conservatory at 10:30 a.m. and were starving by noon. My dad and I are both notorious for getting hangry, so the four of us headed over to Café Phipps, which is located in the Welcome Center, across from the gift shop.

After taking a look at the elevated and healthy menu options, we agreed to have lunch there. The menu featured a variety of dishes made with fresh, seasonal ingredients. Wally and I shared a spinach and kiwi salad and a Hawaiian pulled pork sandwich. Both were delicious and satisfying.

Another Chihuly work, Celadon and Royal Purple Gilded Fiori, captures attention at the center of the Tropical Fruit and Spice Room.

Chihuly’s vibrant glass installation, Cattails, can be found nestled amongst the lush greenery of the Palm Court. 

The Porter-inspired show is a delightful experience, where talent and collaboration flourish. Whether or not you make this summer’s show, though, the Phipps is a feast for the senses. 

Be sure to find the Longfellows by Hans Godo Fräbel in the Orchid Room.

The Lowdown

Flowers Meet Fashion: Inspired by Billy Porter is on display at the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens until June 25. 

Admission is $21.95 for adults; $19.95 for students over 18 and seniors 62 and older; $13.95 for children ages 2-18; and free for Phipps members and children under 2. 

A bronze sculpture of Scottish poet Robert Burns, holding a plow and contemplating a mountain daisy, stands outside one of the Victorian glasshouses at the Phipps Conservatory.

Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens 

1 Schenley Park Drive 
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
USA

 

The King and Queen of Oddities

A Q&A with Ryan Matthew Cohn, with special guest Regina Marie Cohn! We chat about the Oddities Flea Market and a spooky encounter with a disembodied hand. And, of course, it wouldn’t be an interview with the Cohns without mention of disarticulated skeletons.

A portrait of Ryan Matthew and Regina Marie Cohn that reflects their delightfully warped sensibilites

Duke and I have always been drawn to the bizarre. I mean, we put the Island of Dead Dolls at the top of our CDMX itinerary, and we made sure to hit the Catacombs of Paris. Then there’s the oh-so-creepy Mummy Museum of Guanajuato. 

Looking around our place, that fondness for the unusual extends to our décor. A taxidermied monitor lizard. A fertility doll from Cameroon loaded with beads, animal horns and bells. A desiccated chameleon from the witch market in the Marrakech souk. A Javanese puppet head of a little girl in pigtails whose tongue pops out when you pull a string. Duke has decided that our style is “mélange de strahnge.”

Turns out we’re not alone. Ryan Matthew Cohn has made a career out of the growing passion for the weird and the creepy. He was the host of the TV show Oddities and now helps run the Oddities Flea Market with his wife, Regina. –Wally

A glimpse into the Cohn’s oddity-filled Victorian home in Westport, Connecticut

What first got you interested in all things odd? 

Ryan: I actually don’t know. I just always have been interested in things that are out of the ordinary. I don’t know if it was a specific event or item necessarily that sparked my interest. But I do know that even when I was very young, I had a huge interest in collecting. And so I think it really started with that. And then as I became a little bit older, my tastes seemed to gravitate towards things that were a little bit more odd in nature. And then, you know, they sort of blossomed into what they are now.

How do you define an oddity?

Ryan: People use this term, sometimes when we’re talking, they say, “Oh, well, that was different.” And I’m always like, “Tell me more. I happen to like things that are different.” So I think in terms of what oddities are like as a genre, it’s anything that’s sort of out the ordinary, curious, or, you know, just strays from the norm. 

For a really long time, it was stuff that people didn’t really want. It was stuff that you didn’t really find very often. And certainly a core group of people were collecting that stuff — but it's not anywhere near what it is today.

So oddity collecting has become more popular?

Ryan: Oh, for sure. Oddities is like a household word. Now, back in the day, you just had to hope that you’re gonna find that stuff. And actually, I used to find much more, because there was not much competition. And I think because it’s grown into such a huge subgenre of collecting and lifestyle, it’s made it definitely more challenging to find stuff. But that’s why we started the market.

What prompted you to start the Oddities Flea Market?

Ryan: We felt a strong need to bring a community together that didn’t really have a specific place to go. 

Regina: It started as a one-time event in March 2017. And when we couldn’t even get people through the door because the lines were so long, we realized, oh crap, we got to do it again. So we did it again. And then we realized, OK, this is really popular. We’ll bring it back next year. And then we started doing it twice a year. And the following year, I was like, I have a crazy idea: Let’s go to LA. 

Finding venues was always the hardest thing for us, because we’re not the type of event that is going to set up in a hotel or a gymnasium. We’re always trying to find the coolest event spaces, and that’s why we don't do a lot of them. We’re definitely more quality over quantity in general. So I don’t see myself doing more than three or four a year. Right now, it looks like New York, LA and Chicago are always going to be on the roster. And then if I can pull off a fourth one, I will. 

What’s your vetting process for the market?  

Ryan: It’s not necessarily that someone’s not odd enough. It’s curated in a very specific way so that we don't oversaturate what you’ll find in the market. We try not to have too many jewelers, or too many people that work with insects, or too many taxidermists. We try to really keep a very natural flow that makes sense so that when patrons come in there, they have a little bit of everything. We are very selective. It’s a pretty strict process that we go through in terms of deciding who’s going to be at a future market.

You’re dealing with taxidermied animals and sometimes human skulls and the like. Do you ever reject items? What part do ethical or cultural sensibilities play?

Ryan: You have to have a tremendous amount of respect for any of those types of things that you’re dealing with. Of course, with taxidermy, most people claim that they have ethically sourced specimens. So we tend to look for taxidermists that use ethically sourced specimens. Same goes for all of the natural specimens that people use in their artwork and such.

Ryan and Regina’s stunning collection of curiosities includes Spanish santos figures, reliquaries and other ancient artifacts.

What’s the favorite oddity you own?

Ryan: It’s hard to pick one — there’s so many different categories, at least in our collection. Right now, I’m very much into collecting early occult books — books that are from the 14th, 15th and 16th century. And I think those my most coveted items at the moment.

I do collect a lot of saints and reliquaries. Regina and I travel in Europe quite frequently. And every time I go to Europe, I realize that we’re just looking at the literal remains or scraps of what once existed there. It’s very difficult to find the types of things that we collect in America. So, when I go to Europe, I usually fill up a whole suitcase full of paintings and other such things. 

So other kinds of collections, I really try to focus my attention on early forms of memento mori: artwork, sculpture and paintings showcasing the skeleton, because my passion started in anatomy. 

What oddity of all time do you covet the most?

Ryan: You know, it’s funny — there have been large collections that I didn’t end up getting because maybe they went to auction. I’m one of those people, personally, that if an entire museum is for sale, I want to buy the whole thing. I don’t want one or two pieces. I want everything because then I can kind of figure out what I want with select pieces later: Keep the pieces that make the most sense with our own curations and collection, and then maybe sell some of the other pieces to help fund that collection. I feel like at this point in my collecting career, I have a lot of the pieces that I’ve always sought after.

What do you mean when you say you buy a museum?

Ryan: Say a natural history museum had to shut its doors. I’ll buy the whole thing. Or say a private lifelong collector had been compiling things for his whole life. I’ll get a call and we’ll buy it. I won’t buy two or three items. I'll buy like 3,000.

It’s funny when people are like, “Hey, I have this huge collection. Do you want pictures?” I’m like, “Not really.” I’d rather come there and assess it. Because, you know, you need to be there. You need to be ready to drop money and pounce on a collection. Because if you don’t, or someone’s thought about something for too long, there’s been too much time to think and it’s probably gonna go to auction. The kiss of death.

Have there been any supernatural incidents with your oddities?

Ryan: Both Regina and myself have always been open to the idea of spirits and energies and even actual ghosts in our home. But we’ve actually never really seen anything. We’ve just had a couple strange occurrences like, a doll ending up in another part of the house, but not moved by the dogs. 

Regina: One time I was struggling to pull off a zipper. And I turned around, thinking Ryan was helping me — only he wasn’t. He was downstairs. And I found myself making eye contact with a wax hand that was just staring at me.

Ryan: Mind you, the wax hand actually has a glass eye in the middle of it.

I don’t get freaked out about this stuff, personally. If I could get a spirit to manifest itself, I’d probably be a bit wealthier of a human being, cuz I could just charge tickets to come to my house.

Have you ever had any intense reactions from people at the market?

Ryan: Yeah, definitely. A lot of people avoid certain tables. I noticed it’s mostly taxidermy, that people are just so freaked out by it. Or we’ve had people that sort of wandered in from the street and bought a ticket only to go through the market for about two minutes. They are like, what the living hell?! No, that’s not a fake skull.

But for the most part, I think that’s only happened like a handful of times in seven years. Mostly people came to these events because they really wanted to spend time with the vendors and hang out with people.

You two seem to be kindred spirits. How did you meet — and realize you share this affinity for the bizarre?

Ryan: I lived in Brooklyn, and Regina was interested in a skull that I was parting with at the time. It led to meeting up in person because we live close. And, you know, the rest is kind of history. We said, I love you on the third date and basically started working together a year later, doing what we do now.

Regina: Yeah, and I didn’t really know what I was getting into. It was way more intense when I found myself actually entering this world. You know, I came from high fashion luxury. I was working at Agent Provocateur on Madison Avenue. So by day I’m selling lingerie and kimonos; by night I’m learning how to disarticulate a skeleton.

Two years later, I found myself working full time with Ryan. I left my 15-year fashion career to pretty much manage Ryan and then create all these markets.

Ryan: Yeah, Regina is actually the one that started the flea market. I kind of came along for the ride. I think I was more hesitant at the beginning than she was.

The couple collects santos figures like this one-armed articulated 18th century cage doll with glass eyes.

So what’s the best part of your job? 

Ryan: The fact that it never really feels like a job. I mean, obviously there are always deadlines. And we are always very busy, considering we have no kids. We never have time to do anything because we always have our hands full with this, that or the other thing. But we truly do care about our community of people. And that’s the best part about it.

Regina: I don’t have to do the market — I do it because I feel like now the vendors rely on me to do it. That’s how they’ve really launched their businesses on another level. So that’s the fun part of what we do, the Oddities Flea Market. There’s just so much more to our daily life — like we’re writing a book right now.

I was going to ask about your future plans. Tell me about this book.

Ryan: The book I think is gonna probably launch in late 2024. We’re working with Chronicle. It’s going in the direction of telling the tale of what purchasing collections is like, our two different points of views. And then what we did with the collection. 

There are other interesting adventures that we’ve been on. Because when you’re doing this stuff all the time, you sort of take it for granted. You go, oh, yeah, we just bought a museum. And yeah, that’s really fun. But we do it so frequently that it almost doesn’t seem terribly interesting after a while. But when we tell the story, people are always intrigued and have a lot of questions. And I think the book came as a result of that.

What about your art, Ryan?

Ryan: I actually have a gallery show coming up in November in Seattle at Roq La Rue Gallery. 

Because we travel so frequently, we tend to be pretty busy. I don’t get to work on my art as frequently as I used to. But I do try to be selective. I usually feature a piece or two a year in a show.

Most of the work that I do these days is based on antiques. So for instance, at this upcoming show, I’m working with 18th century saint statues that I’m articulating. And so they’re sort of a mixture of the earlier pieces that I did with osteological specimens but using antique wood, genuine pieces that were purchased from Italy and other places that I traveled to.

One of Ryan's Beauchêne exploded skulls

I know you’ve worked with skulls and broken them apart.

That’s something that I still do on occasion. But like I said, I’m very selective at this point in my career. I do as much of that stuff as I can. But it gets very, very time consuming and requires a ton of patience. 

Oddities Flea Market: A Bizarre Bazaar of Unforgettable Finds

Regina and Ryan Cohn’s warped brainchild is a fantastic journey of curious collectibles.

The Oddities Flea Market is filled with items to start your own cabinet of curiosities.

When I asked Wally about attending the Oddities Flea Market, an event that brings together vendors from all over the country to sell their unusual wares, his answer was a resounding yes. (Actually, he probably looked at me and said, “Uh, duh.”)

We knew we were kindred spirits when we met — but before Wally, I identified as a minimalist. He’s a maximalist and loves collecting things. Turns out that when a minimalist moves in with a maximalist, you end up with just a little bit more stuff. I decided to embrace the aesthetic and figure out ways to creatively curate vignettes. Eventually, I succumbed and became a maximalist, too. 

Our burgeoning collection of oddities consists of a human skull named Malachi that’s supposedly a World War II trophy, a taxidermied squirrel with an Elizabethan lace collar, a two-headed African fetish figure, or nkondi, stuck full of nails, and a mummified llama fetus our friend Hugo picked up for Wally in Ecuador — to name just a few. 

When it came to the fair, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew that local chef Halee Raff of Hardbitten would be there with her elevated and colorful riff on Pop-Tarts, as well as Woolly Mammoth, one of our favorite shops in the Andersonville neighborhood, but other than that I wasn’t sure what we’d find. 

Vendors from around the country have booths at the market.

Embracing the Strange: The Birth of the Oddities Flea Market

The Oddities Flea Market was founded by Regina and Ryan Cohn about six years ago. Ryan was well-versed in buying and collecting antiques and oddities while Regina was making a name for herself in fashion. They combined their passions into a traveling emporium that celebrates the weird and wonderful. 

Their first market launched in 2017 and introduced the concept of oddity collecting to the general public at the now-shuttered Brooklyn Bazaar. Since then, the Cohns have expanded to additional markets in Los Angeles and Chicago. “It’s only the second time we’ve been to Chicago,” Ryan told us. “So it was a nice reintroduction.”

I am doll parts: some of the creepy-cute creations from Sideshow Gallery

This year the Chicago market was held over two days in April at Morgan Manufacturing. The red brick building predates the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 and acts as an industrial chic event space in the hip West Loop neighborhood. 

We weren’t alone in our curiosity for curiosities. When we arrived at 11 a.m. for VIP early access, there was already a small queue forming. Some lucky attendees had planned ahead and signed up to take a cat skeleton articulation class taught by Ryan. By the time we had gotten our tickets, the workshop was sold out. Next time. Maybe. 

Death masks on display from Wooly Mammoth

Not for the Faint of Heart: Entering the Fair

After checking in, we passed a booth which featured a selection of T-shirts and totes for sale (black, of course). We took a closer look and noticed that the screen-printed images were of Ryan’s personal work — Beauchêne, also known as the art of the exploded human skull.

The soundtrack for the event was provided by Dead Animal Assembly Plant, spinning songs near the entrance, with a backdrop of projections of creepy vintage cartoons. 

Spooky and silly classic cartoons played above DJs from Dead Animal Assembly Plant.

Wally and I couldn’t help but salivate as we passed by the selection of Hardbitten’s delectable baked goods. Nearby, the sophisticated cocktail bar offered a variety of specialty drinks, each with an intriguing name: Memento Mori, Sideshow, the Veneration, Wunderkammer. No judging, but it was a bit early for us to imbibe. If you were seeking a caffeine fix, Spiritus Coffee from Lombard, Illinois was the place to go.

A seclection of Hardbitten’s treats, including their riffs on Pop-Tarts

We wandered through the market, discovering an impressive variety of wondrous wares: natural history specimens, taxidermy (both artistic and traditional), creative jewelry and a few truly macabre specimens. Here are a few of our favorites. 

A woman poses for her tintype photo from Blkk Hand.

A Handful of Shadows: Blkk Hand

St. Paul-based photographer Carla Alexandra Rodriguez uses an old-school process known as wet-plate collodion to create eerily beautiful tintype portraits. This method, which dates back to the 1850s, requires precise chemistry, accurate timing and a classic large-format camera. 

Silver nitrate is used in the processing of tinplate photography and is a highly reactive chemical that can cause skin to turn black if it’s not handled properly. Her studio, Blkk Hand takes its name from this phenomenon — and is why Carla always wears gloves when working. 

Nora Past, seen in a developing tintype photo, assisted at the booth.

How’s it work? The process begins with coating a metal plate with a collodion solution that contains a mixture of alcohol, ether and silver nitrate. Each plate is exposed to light in the camera, which converts the silver nitrate to silver metal. 

This challenging and time-consuming method produces incredibly detailed images with an ethereal quality, capturing the beauty of a moment in a way that no other type of photography can.

Memento Mori Los Angeles co-sponsored the flea market.

Death Becomes Them: Memento Mori Los Angeles

Our favorite booth at the flea market belonged to Memento Mori Los Angeles, run by Brad and Deidre Hartman, a Cali-based duo who create beautiful and macabre works of art. Their pieces are a reminder of the inevitability of death, while also celebrating the beauty of life.

Among their fascinating objects were skulls, insects, crystals, jewelry, and an assortment of devotional candles featuring musical artists like Siouxsie Sioux and Nick Cave. We were mesmerized at the offerings, including a riff on the infamous Fiji mermaid hoax, a glass cloche containing human teeth and a basket filled with supple leathered purses made from genuine cane toads. I was skeptical at first when I picked one up to examine it — but it was definitely real. Don’t feel too bad, though. These amphibians were originally introduced as a means of pest control, but ended up becoming an invasive species. So now, instead of eating cane beetles, they’re just hanging out as purses and looking cute. I suppose there are worse fates. 

A replica of the Fiji mermaid, a Witchling chick and other artistic takes on taxidermy from Memento Mori Los Angeles

I was particularly drawn to their Witchlings, yellow ducklings wearing tiny witch hats, as well as a two-headed duckling called Double Trouble. Brad and Deidre’s work is a reminder to live life to the fullest and to appreciate the beauty that surrounds us, even in death.

Playful fake taxidermied heads on display at the Odds and Ends booth

Faux Real: Odds and Ends 

We stopped by Odds and Ends, featuring the work of Atlanta-based Chloë Grass, who creates quirky faux taxidermy trophies and other oddities. She studied at the Arts University Bournemouth in the U.K., where she honed her skills in prosthetics sculpting and special effects makeup.

I loved her double-headed lamb, which was both cute and creepy. (I’m realizing I have a thing for two-headed creatures.) It was definitely a conversation starter, and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw it. Chloë’s creations reflect my favorite type of art: whimsical and a little bit weird.

A selection of vintage fake eyes at Eyeba’s booth

I Only Have Eyes for You: Eyeba

We were blown away by Brooklyn-based jeweler Amanda Maer Huan’s booth at the flea market, Eyeba. She takes antique prosthetic eyes and sets them in sterling silver to create rings, pendants and other fine jewelry.

As we browsed her wares, Amanda gave us a brief education on the myth of the round glass eye. While the visible portion of the prosthesis appears round, the part that sits within the eye socket is actually curved like a pasta shell. They’re custom-made to match the size and color of the wearer’s functioning eye. 

Windows to your soul? Amazing rings from Eyeba

The rings were hypnotic. I had to literally drag Wally away.

Deadskull Curio had the most macabre offerings at the market.

A Portal to Another World: Deadskull Curio 

Deadskull Curio was the most global booth at the Oddities Flea Market. It had everything from hand-carved wood masks to antique Asian marionette puppets to Tibetan kapala skull cups. They even had black and white morgue and crime scene photos from the 1960s, vertebrae and a horrific preserved cat’s head in a jar of formaldehyde.

The collection of death photos had a warning

The booth is owned by Paul Abrahamian, who, randomly, competed in two seasons of Big Brother. He was a cool guy who was obviously passionate about his collection. Items were flying off the shelves as we were looking at them — but we decided to pass on the cat’s head specimen. It would have been like having a pet cemetery in our living room, and we’re not sure our cat Bowzer would have appreciated it.

The saucy teacups from Miss Havisham’s Curiosities were inspired by the owner’s cheeky grandmother.

Steeped in Humor: Miss Havisham’s Curiosities 

Miss Havisham's Curiosities is a line of insult teacups created by Melissa Johnson. The idea was inspired by two sources: the jilted bride trapped in time in Charles Dickens’ novel Great Expectations, and Melissa’s grandmother, who expressed herself by writing offensive things on broken or chipped teacups with nail polish and then selling them at her antique shop.

On the outside, these teacups are proper, often vintage, china. But on the inside, they’re hiding naughty surprises: cheeky insults written in cursive:  “Syphilitic,” “No one likes you!” and “Not today, Satan!” The teacups are the perfect way to spill the tea and say what you really mean…without actually having to say it.

Hidden in the Poison Forest, 2021

We were drawn to Katie Gamb’s artwork because of its twee yet sinister quality.

Sugar and Spice, But Not Everything Nice: Katie Gamb 

Katie Gamb is a Milwaukee-based artist who creates whimsical and macabre worlds in her illustrations. Her work is a love letter to a childhood spent lost in books, where animals, humans and monsters like skeletons all live together in a world of wonder. As Wally and I looked at her work, I turned to him and said, “They’re adorable at first glance — but they get a little creepy when you look closer.”

“That’s exactly what I go for,” Katie said, smiling at us.

My Heart’s Still Beating, 2019

Like much of the art we appreciate, Gamb’s works tread the line between creepy and cute.

One piece depicted a bird fluttering within the rib cage of a skeleton, while another showed a girl dressed as a ghost in a forest of poisonous plants. Katie’s imagination is a portal to a strange and wondrous world, where anything is possible. I regret not circling back to purchase a sticker featuring a sad cat playing an accordion with a feather sticking out of its mouth.

Katie’s work reminds us that the world isn’t always as it seems. There’s beauty in the darkness.

Feral Femme Art’s booth evoked a freakshow from the past with interactive artworks.

Step Right Up, Folks: Feral Femme Art

We ended the show at the Feral Femme Art booth, with a conversation with Rachaela DiRosaria, a New Orleans-based folk artist who creates assemblages that evoke the nostalgia of Depression-era circus and sideshow advertising. Their hand-painted figures and moveable parts bring these sideshow performers and circus freaks to life. 

Artist Rachaela DiRosaria posing with Zach Wager, who spun records at the market.

Inveterate

Funhouse

The Tattooed Woman

Rachaela’s work is infused with a dark humor that’s both playful and unsettling — an interactive stagecraft of delight.

Double Trouble has found a new home amid the other oddities chez Duke and Wally.

After making our way through the different vendors, I turned to Wally and said, “I’d like to go back and get Double Trouble. Are you cool with that?” To which Wally replied, “Obvi.” 

Exploring the Oddities Flea Market was a quirky adventure that appealed to our inner freaks, and we’re glad we had the chance to attend. 

The next iteration will be held at the Globe Theatre in LA on October 7, 2023 — a perfect day, in my humble opinion, as it’s also my birthday.  –Duke