Vladimir Kagan's Blog

In Loving Memory of Vladi

 

VLADIMIR KAGAN MEMORIAL

April 26^th, 2016

 

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand Nantucket winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on Swiss Mountain snow.
I am the sunlight on each sandy grain.
I am the gentle Central Park autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of pelicans in weightless flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. 

Adapted by Vanessa Diserio from Mary Elizabeth Frye’s 1932 poem

           

 

Vladimir Kagan Reflection

Written and read by Margaret Russell, Editor-in-chief, Architectural Digest

IT’S A PRIVILEGE TO SPEAK ON BEHALF OF MY FRIEND, THE EXTRAORDINARY VLADIMIR KAGAN, AND I THANK HIS FAMILY FOR INVITING ME TO JOIN THEM TODAY. VANESSA HAS ASKED ME TO SPEAK A BIT ABOUT VLADI’S CAREER IN DESIGN.

AS YOU KNOW, VLADLIMIR WAS BORN IN 1927 IN A SMALL CITY IN WESTERN GERMANY, THE SON OF AN INTELLECTUAL CABINETMAKER AND HIS BEAUTIFUL WIFE, AND THE FAMILY MOVED TO THE STATES IN THE LATE ‘30S TO ESCAPE THE NAZI REGIME. HE EVENTUALLY STUDIED ARCHITECTURE AT COLUMBIA, WHILE WORKING DURING THE DAY WITH HIS FATHER, THOUGH HE WROTE IN HIS MEMOIR THAT WHEN HE WAS YOUNG HE WANTED TO BE A STEAM-ENGINE DRIVER ON THE RAILROAD. FURNITURE DESIGN WAS THE FURTHEST THING FROM HIS MIND. HE ALSO WROTE THAT THE TIME SPENT AT HIS FATHER’S CABINETSHOP, WHICH I THINK WAS THEN LOCATED AT 44^TH ST AND FIRST AVENUE, WAS DEEPLY STIMULATING, AND THAT SOME OF THE DESIGNS HE CREATED THERE IN HIS YOUTH BECAME THE KEYSTONES OF HIS LATER WORK.

THE FATHER’S LESSONS TO HIS SON WERE SIMPLE: LEARN TO DRAW, HONOR THE HANDCRAFT, AND MEASURE THREE TIMES BUT CUT ONCE. VLADI WROTE THAT HE FAILED MISERABLY AT THE LAST RULE—AND WAS ACTUALLY A LACKLUSTER CABINETMAKER—BUT THAT APPRENTICESHIP WITH HIS FATHER TAUGHT HIM BOTH THE LIMITATIONS AND THE POSSIBILITIES FOR CREATING AVANT-GARDE DESIGNS.

VLADI SAID HIS EARLIEST PIECES WERE INFLUENCED BY THE BAUHAUS—CLEAN, MINIMAL LINES, FORM FOLLOWS FUNCTION, AND LESS IS MORE, BUT HE BELIEVED THAT HIS MISSION AS A FURNITURE DESIGNER WAS TO INTERPRET HIS CENTURY, NOT TO SIMPLY EMULATE THE PAST. HIS MANTRA EVENTUALLY BECAME MORE IS MORE, BECAUSE WHO WOULD EVER WANT LESS?

HIS WORK FOCUSED ON PURITY OF LINE AND THE NEEDS OF THE USER—AND TO THAT END HE MADE COUNTLESS DRAWINGS OF THE HUMAN BODY AND EVEN STUDIED ANATOMY. THE SWOOPING SILHOUETTES OF HIS CHAIRS AND SOFAS WERE INFLUENCED BY THE CURVATURE OF THE SPINE, GIVING LUMBAR SUPPORT TO THE SMALL OF THE BACK, AND RESPECTING AND CELEBRATING THE BODY LONG BEFORE THE SCIENCE OF ERGONOMICS WAS DEVELOPED.

IT WAS THIS ATTENTION TO DETAIL AND TO FUNCTION THAT LED VLADIMIR TO BECOME ONE OF THE MOST INFLUENTIAL FURNITURE DESIGNERS OF THE LAST CENTURY. HIS DISTINCTIVE SIGNATURE PIECES CAN BE FOUND ACROSS THE GLOBE, IN INTERIORS BOTH CLASSIC AND CUTTING EDGE. IN FACT, TOM FORD REBOOTED VLADI’S CAREER YEARS AGO BY ORDERING THE KAGAN OMNIBUS SOFA FOR 360 GUCCI STORES THROUGHOUT THE WORLD. IN HIS FOREWORD TO VLADI’S BOOK, TOM APTLY DESCRIBED HIM AS AN ARTIST, A SCULPTOR WHO WORKS WITH STEEL, METAL, WOOD, AND FABRIC—AND HE OBSERVED THAT HIS BEST PIECES COULD CHANGE THE LANDSCAPE OF A ROOM.

I COULDN’T AGREE MORE. VLADIMIR ONCE SAID THAT HE DESIGNED HIS SEATING TO BE AESTHETICALLY PLEASING FROM ALL VANTAGE POINTS, AND IN MOST INTERIORS I’VE SEEN THEY ASSUME A PRIDE OF PLACE BOLDLY OUT IN THE OPEN, NOT LURKING NERVOUSLY IN THE CORNER.

THERE’S A SEDUCTIVE BEAUTY TO VLADI’S DESIGNS, WITH THEIR LUSH TEXTURES AND SENSUAL CURVES. IT’S FUNNY, BUT I’VE ALWAYS FELT LIKE VLADIMIR’S FURNITURE WAS HAVING A CONVERSATION IN A ROOM EVEN WHEN NO ONE WAS IN IT. HIS PIECES ARE FRIENDLY—THEY EMBRACE YOU, AND THEY EMBRACE EACH OTHER. TABLES NESTLE AGAINST AN INVITING SOFA, CHAIRS CURVE INTO THEIR OTTOMANS. THERE ARE NO HARD EDGES; ALL IS WELCOMING.

ALL IS TIMELESS, TOO. TOM FORD ALSO WROTE THAT HE WAS FASCINATED THAT VLADI’S DESIGNS MANAGED TO BE SO CONNECTED TO THEIR TIME AND YET SO TIMELESS. YOU COULD SAY THAT ABOUT THE MAN AS WELL.

RALPH PUCCI, WHO REPRESENTS VLADI’S FURNITURE, TOLD ME THAT HE WAS ASTONISHED THAT VLADIMIR WAS ALWAYS WORKING, EVEN AT AGE 88, AND THAT HE SURROUNDED HIMSELF WITH SO MANY YOUNG, CREATIVE TALENTS. AND I’VE BEEN SO INSPIRED BY THE FACT THAT HE WAS ALWAYS ANTICIPATING WHAT WAS COMING NEXT WITH A HEADY SENSE OF OPTIMISM, AND ALWAYS EMBRACING THE NEW—NEW MATERIALS, NEW SHAPES, NEW OPPORTUNITIES, AND NEW EXPERIENCES.

A FEW WEEKS AGO, JACOB BERNSTEIN FROM THE NEW YORK TIMES CALLED TO ASK ME WHAT VLADI WAS LIKE. I TOLD HIM THAT “HE WAS THE MAN WHO COULDN’T SAY NO.” BUT I HAD IT BACKWARDS: VLADIMIR KAGAN WAS THAT VERY SPECIAL MAN, FILLED WITH ENERGY AND JOY AND LIGHT, WHO ALWAYS, ALWAYS SAID YES.

MAY GOD BLESS HIM. THANK YOU.

 

My Father

Written and read by Jessica Kagan Cushman (daughter)

My father; he knew everything and taught us so much...

he knew the back way to JFK and Yankee stadium 

he could hypnotize lobsters 

he taught me how to ski as soon as I could walk and let let me drink the foam off his beer when I was little

he taught me to love herb Alpert and the Tijuana brass

he could yodel like a Swiss mountaineer 

he built me a treehouse and indulged my every whim 

he always drank his coffee black and he wore a hat to bed every night   

he tried to teach me math in the car on the way to school. it didn't work - I still can't add

he put scotch bonnet peppers in our morning eggs

he taught himself to play the accordion and to overcome his fear of flying he learned how to fly a plane 

he taught me the importance of a beautiful signature and distinctive handwriting

he taught me perspective drawing and all about proportion and pattern and line and color

he made a mean Vladi-tini and he made friends everywhere he went 

he could be terribly fierce but he was never more that a minute from mirth

he was an old dog who reveled in learning new tricks and he never passed up an adventure 

he taught me to find beauty in everything and joy in the simplest moments 

he taught me the importance of hard work and he worked until the last hours of his life.

I can't believe he's gone...I just assumed he was immortal

and in a way he is...I see him in the lilies of the valley he loved that are starting to pop up in my garden  

and in the decaf coffee I make every morning according to his specifications

I see him in my living room that's filled with his furniture

I see him in the shape of my fingernails and in my daughter’s curly hair; 

he's here in the myriad things I do very day that I learned from him and he's here in my dreams. 

 

WHAT A PARTY!

Written by Vanessa Kagan Diserio (daughter)

Read by Illya Kagan (son)

What a party. For sure that is what our father would say this afternoon. And boy, did he like a good party.

But let me explain, his definition of a party and yours is probably very different. He would wake up in the morning and come to the breakfast table and if there was bacon cooked, coffee steaming and a perfectly boiled egg ready – we would hear the refrain, WHAT A PARTY! A party to our dad did not have to be at night, it did not have to involve throngs of people, and it did not have to include vodka, although he loved those kinds of parties too. A party to him was a moment that needed to be appreciated for its simple pleasures. It would be the times in the very early hours on Nantucket as small children when he and our mother would wake us up and take us in our pajamas to the south shore for a morning run and skinny dip. It would be that moment Vanessa and I had been tucked into bed by our nanny and our mother and father would come in to say goodnight and instead of just a kiss, they would rile us up. They’d play games of tie me up, a hybrid of wrestling and tickling. They would help us put on every article of clothes in our closet, one over the other, so they could be taken off in an elaborate fashion show! It would be the times he would spend in Woodstock with Jessica after our mother died, as they would revisit places and people from his past. As a young adult he would hitch hike to and from Woodstock most every weekend and as we learned on many car trips with him, getting there was half the fun. There wasn’t a drive that wasn’t an adventure and we never rode straight through. We always stopped along the way discovering new places to eat, antique shops, or a random aquarium and maybe a farm stand. These ecstatic moments didn’t happen once a day, they happened all day long. They happened as he sat at his desk drawing on what he called his dead sea scrolls, or while sitting at a work bench fine tuning a curve on a piece of clay, or even in the simple pleasure of a warm bath after a long day on the race course. Things that you or I might find banal, he would be elated by, and he always would be sure to let us know.

Now don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of things that displeased him and he was quick to point it out. Remember that boiled egg? If it was not runny in the middle, he would be livid. The evening’s salad dressing was always a point of contention. It had to be made with the correct proportions of cider vinegar, chopped onion, maggi and dill, otherwise there would be hell to pay. But salad dressing faux pas’s and general wrong doings were quickly replaced with a loving comment, a hand squeeze and a return to his giddy self. It is that genial person that touched so many lives. He would make friends with anyone and everyone. Rare was there a family dinner that didn’t include a friend or perhaps someone he met at an art opening the day before, or on ski lift or in sailboat. Our house was always filled with people; he liked to be surrounded. Winning people over was a game he played. If he met someone who was brusque, that gave him even more of a challenge. He told us “you get more bees with honey” and we would watch him, with a combination of embarrassment and amusement, at countless Dr’s offices as he worked the nurses till they fell for his charm. He wanted to be loved as he loved, and he was loved by many. If we take one thing from our father’s life it is to remember that today and each day of our lives can be filled with joy. Be sure you savor it, each and everyday, all day long – we’ll miss you, daddy - what a party.

 

Reflection

Written and read by Mallory Cushman (granddaughter)

I had the privilege of being Vladi’s granddaughter for 29 years.

Many people in this room know him as Vladimir Kagan, designer. I simply knew him as Dappy.

Dappy who loved being surrounded by his 6 granddaughters.

Who loved to drive around Nantucket in his Model T, and sail his Indian ever Saturday in the summer. Who loved to get into fancy dress every year and star in skits for the Constable Cup.

Dappy who came to my all girl’s boarding school for grandparent’s day and suggested to my somewhat buttoned up head mistress that he come teach a class - not on furniture design - but on how to make the perfect martini.

Dappy, who loved nothing more than throwing a good party, clasping his hands together and exclaiming: What a party!

I will miss him. I will miss him at the breakfast table where our family gathered in Nantucket. I will miss him out on the water and every time I hear his favorite band Coq au Vin playing. I will miss him calling me his Mouse.

I will miss him on my wedding day and on each of my cousin’s weddings days. We will miss him every day.

I would like to read a poem called I Think of You, by Goethe for my Dappy.

I think of you,

When I see the sun’s shimmer

Gleaming from the sea.

I think of you,

When moon’s glimmer

Is reflected in the springs.

I see you,

When on the distant road

The dust rises,

In deep night,

When on the narrow bridge

The traveler trembles.

I hear you,

When with a dull roar

The wave surges.

In the quiet grove I often go to listen

When all is silent.

I am with you,

However far away you may be,

The sun is setting,

Soon the stars will shine upon me.

If only you were here!

Reflection by Sophia Diserio (granddaughter)

Poems by Erica Wilson Kagan ready by Sophia and Olivia Diserio (granddaughters)

When I was in Eighth Grade my parents told us we were moving in with Mummoo and Dappy. I was reluctant to say the least. Now we feel so incredibly lucky to have had the opportunity most grandchildren do not have. Every morning at breakfast and every night at dinner, Dappy brought laughter and wisdom to the table. Not only was he our patriarch but he was the brother my sisters and I never had. It would be impossible to sum up our 7 years of living with Dappy in his apartment in New York so instead we would like to read two poems written by our Mummoo, Erica Wilson Kagan.

IN LA MOLE

Written at 3am

August 2000

Velvet nights,

Perfumed with lavender and sage,

Warm stones underfoot…

Below, the glow of lights in the valley

Outlines the distant hills.

The trees stand silent in a dream

The cypress’ spire

Reaching up to a crescent moon.

The rush of time

Swift as a shooting star

Stops here, under the arch of sky

And this moment

Basking in solitude

Seems eternal.

 

SAILOR’S SONG

May 20, 2004

Feel the sun’s warmth.

Hear the bird’s song,

This is the earth

We’ve loved so long.

Get in your boat

Sail far away

Hear the gull’s cry

Feel the sea spray.

Don’t say goodbye

Although we must part

Your memory will always

Stay in my heart.

 

VLADY

Written by Tanya Josefowitz (sister)

Read by Polly Herring (niece)

He told us

And showed us

What was on his mind

He was one of his kind!

He was a creator since the age of four

We love him sooo

We wanted more!

But he said:

“That’s it

The show is over!”

Now roll me in the clover!

“That’s it –

I took the giant leap –

In your hearts

Please do me keep!”

Have a martini! Don’t cry for me!

I’m in good company!”

“Don’t cry for me!

I’ve had my day

Sit on a chair

I’m here to stay!”

I did pretty well

All I wanted to do –

Now its up to you to

Follow through!”

 

 

Final words delivered by Rev. Sam Rodman

Vladimir, we are eternally grateful for your vision, your passion, for your love of life and for your love of us. These gifts have not been taken away by your death, only deepened. And your energy and creative spirit live on in your design, in each person here who has been touched by your love, and in your voice which still fills this room, even as it still fills our hearts.

 

Violin Tribute by Joanna Hay

 

 

The Kagan Family wish to thank all those who have expressed their love and support from around the world. Vladimir will be missed but never forgotten.

 

 

 

A Blog for Foodies!

The Importance Of Weight Maintenance

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, April 1, 2016

 

Everyone is obsessed with weight loss; I am concerned about weight maintenance. This is important for sustaining happiness. It is difficult to do under the pressure of the weight-loss movement.

These are my recommendations:

Breakfast: the eye-opener meal - very important to start the day right!

‘Firstly’ a good breakfast is mandatory. It provides you with the energy to get through the day. This is NOT a meal to have on the run. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee and bacon must fill the air to prime you for this major repast. Start with fruit and nuts to provide you with necessary fiber. For the main course, have some pre-buttered toasted English muffins (they must be Thomas’ accept no substitute). Add additional butter to suit. Alternate choice; a New York bagel. Next the choice of a ‘schmear’; jam, jelly, honey, peanut butter creamy or chunky or cream cheese. I like to add Scottish smoked salmon with a squeeze of lemon. For those choosing a more exotic fare, try English Marmite. Add eggs any style. If you are still hungry, add cereals; granola is a good source of fiber – substitute porridge, if you are an Anglo. Linger at the table, it aids digestion and allows you to dip into the jam or honey jars instead of adding sugar to your coffee. You’ll be surprised how energized you will be and ready to face the day ahead.

Nothing like a relaxed lunch with a good glass of wine

 

Lunch. Don’t neglect this. Americans tend to too often ignore this important meal. They swallow down a sandwich on the run, while the ladies tend to graze. Some even skip lunch entirely. Lunch is very important. Eat heartily and don’t deny yourself the satisfaction of a digestive glass of wine. Remember, a noontime meal is easier to digest. In some civilized countries a siesta is mandatory.

You are now primed to survive into the evening and won’t be famished at dinnertime. Don’t think of early dinner, some people eat early in time for the seven o’clock news. The news is always depressing, better to relax with a cocktail; my tipple of choice is a Vodka martini. A late dinner makes you tired and preps you for bed. It’s too late for the theater or movies. People will tell you it’s bad for the digestion to eat too much too late. Ignore that. That’s what anti-acid pills were invented for. If tiredness overcomes you, try a strong cup of coffee; I have a Nespresso machine wherever I reside just for this purpose. Go to bed and toss and turn yourself to sleep. It is subliminal exercise and you will eventually drop off into a heavenly slumber, dreaming of the day’s meals.

A well fed person is a satisfied person - happy dreams!

 

If you are still loosing weight: consult your doctor!

 

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This Blog is dedicated to my kid-sister, and fellow foodie - Tanya

Madness at the MAD Museum

The MAD Museum finally has its MAD show

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, March 27, 2016

The Kagan team - Chris Eitel, my design director - me - Illya Kagan, my son the artist

“I’m just a guy who can’t say no!” I go to every party. I even fly across the continent when sent tickets. But, for once in my life I passed on an opportunity. This time I really regret not showing up for a book signing for Flemish designer Jobs Smeet and his Dutch partner, Nynke Tynagel of Studio Job, My rational? “Who needs another book for my already overflowing bookshelves?”

Sprawling over two floors of the MAD Museum, (Museum of Art and Design) in New York, just opened a new exhibit for Studio Jobs. These ‘guys’ are at the top of the heap of ‘wacky’; a new genre of designer/artists working on the fringe. They dissect, they ridicule, they question the obvious, the rational and the logic. They spew out an obtuse, gobble of kitsch, and “fringe-art”. Smeet and Tynagel are geniuses of the genre.

In this genre you can count Jeff Koons as the most successful, so is my friend Sebastian Errazuriz and now, with this ‘one-man’ show we have Studio Jobs. It’s the 21^st Century version of Memphis. It is high-class camp. The works are magnificently executed.

Stained glass windows, marquetry in precious woods, traditional Belgium cut and tinted glass vessels dominate the exhibit. At first glance, you see heroic tributes to the mundane, but not to be taken seriously, they stick their thumbs at the public and their patrons. The subject matter is as diverse as the imaginations that created them.

When the artists had a romantic break-up, they created a train wreck of painstakingly modeled steam engines colliding head on. A cloud of highly polished bronze smoke is pouring out of the smokestack coalescing into a hammered polished tabletop, juxtaposed to the chaos that created it. The symbolic statement: out their personal chaos comes a darn good business relation that can be successful.

  

A beautifully sculpted horse’s head with flaring nostrils and color-changing eyes is mounted on a perfect replica of a tank vacuum cleaner, a tribute to Jeff Koons. An illuminated 12 foot high tower, Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world is being climbed by a humongous “King Kong” and circled by propeller driven airplanes. It’s symbolic message is ???? A stained glass window commissioned by a Dutch doctor for his office, depicts the creation of life intermingling with Christian symbolism, a reference to the church opposite the doctor’s office. Syringes, a baby with its umbilical cord being cut, test tubes and dispensing bottles of poison. There is an ordinary garden spigot, four times its normal size ridiculing a modern fountain as it drips droplets of water into a pail. Tynagel and Smeet are precise artists, rendering each concept with meticulous details. Their imagination bursts with ideas for their sculptures. They work in a 20,000 square foot studio with 20 artisans executing their outlandish concepts.

 

               

 

I'm thinking about giving up designing comfortable furniture, when I can make much more money designing non-sitable sculpture!

c         

Notice the sketch shows the Stars and Striped while the model has a Union Jack! Is that political politeness?

The 'Critic' doing the show!

Every work has a message and a double entendre. It’s a formula for a very complex rational. The show will run through August 21. I thoroughly enjoyed it, I hope you will too.

Mid-Century Modern in Palm Springs

From Palm Beach to Palm Springs

An Odyssey

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, February 20, 2016

In November of 2015 a conspiracy was launched to drag me from the East Coast to the West Coast: Palm Beach to Palm Springs. That didn’t sound too daunting all those months ago, but as time grew closer, the reality set in. Why leave Florida’s sunny beaches for California’s arid deserts? Answer: They needed a feature speaker for Palm Spring’s Modernism Week –Who better than me? I could talk up a storm about Mid-Century Modern.

This is what the road into the desert should look like unless you have a four and a half hour traffic jam! 

 

Michael Boodro, the editor of Elle Décor, was to moderate the event. Smart, poignant questions were floated. Michael requested a short Power Point presentation to illustrate my thoughts. ‘Short’ is not in my make-up – “More is more, is more like me.” I prepared a lovely talk with over 150 slides. Editors being editors, Michael pared it down to 45! 

Michael Boodro, Editor Elle Decor, Michael Hinkle, Manager, Donor Relations and myself, previewing the slides for the lecture

                                                                                                    photo Lani Garfield

 

(See the Q&A’s between Michael and myself at the bottom of this article)

The Palm Springs Art Museum has the magnificent Annenberg Theater that can seat four hundred-thirty-three people. That was to be my stage! (Empty seats are the kiss-of-death for a performer.) To my surprise they sold over three hundred tickets and at the book signing that followed, I scribbled my notes, sketches and good wishes into over 125 books! The Mid-Century is alive and flourishing in California!

 

 

 

Elisabeth Armstrong, the Executive Director of the Palm Springs Art Museum and me before my lecture

  
 

   

I loved the spacious open plan of the museums architecture and the use of local lava stones to veneer the exterior walls

Here is where I got 'artsy' and created an abstract photo of the Museum's interior.

 

The Museum has a huge footprint for a small community. It even has a separate building, totally dedicated to architecture and design, converted from a seventies bank designed by E. Stewart Williams a celebrated local architect.

 

photo   Dan Chavkin

 

The Museum is blessed with members who have a big hearts and deep pockets. But, like everywhere else, prying their hands out their pockets takes skill.  But enough of the community’s patrons have made this small museum an architectural treasure with a significant collection.

 

The Henry Moore Sculpture Exhibit on the ground floor

     
The Museum's magnificent exhibit of Henry Moore Sculptures on loan from a local collector, shown with photos of the sculptures  in their garden setting.

 

Meandering through the museum, I found art that amuses me... it may not be a critic's choice, but it's mine    

 

A sculpture made entirely of steel cubes

 

A spoof of a car and the ubiquitous installation art of trash bags, except these were executed in bronze!

Taking a leaf out of my friend Seward Johnson's sculpture, this couple is waiting to converse with you.Just pull up a chair!

And especially for me, a luscious nude, real enough to cuddle - (where did Henry Moore find his models? Ha ha)

Every museum needs a Chihuly - thanks to his high level of productivity, every museum can own one!

Louise Bourgeois' Spider creeping up the wall. I saw a thirty foot tall version at the Tate. Does size make it more valuable?  Is it more art?

This giant Puppy is entirely made of felted wool.

A wonderful horse, made out of desert drift-wood and cast in bronze.

The museum's two upper floors are divided into focused exhibits: one is dedicated to the core concern of all Westerners - water, another exhibits beautiful indian pottery and jewelry, there is superb contemporary glass. I could have spent the day, but my rule of thumb is that you don't spend the day in a museum when the sun is shining...

 

My book signing was a breeze, in the museum's garden, under a half moon, with balmy temperatures and plenty of food and booze to keep everyone happy. I could have signed all night,  but my hosts' were getting hungry and squirreled me off to a fancy, noisy restaurant for a delicious Valentine's Day dinner.

A stack of books awaiting my signature

One of the celebrity guests at the event, my friend Trina Turk, the fashion designer

 

I traveled with Mark Minichiello, the COO of my company, whose mission was to make certain that I didn’t get into trouble with a buxom starlet. I was hoping that he’d bring back a whopping big order! He succeeded in the first mission, but fell short in the second.

Mark is a man of military precision. I did not know that when I read his resume. He plans ahead like a drill sergeant, which is quite contrary to me. I live on ‘Kagan time’, which has suited me for quite a few years, but I may have to change my watch to accommodate Mark.

 The weekend was delightful, plenty of time to relax by the pool and acquire an instant suntan; I was squired from cocktail parties to receptions and dinners. Star status has its advantages.

Our departure from Palm Springs was delayed due to inclement weather in New York. We managed to squeeze in two more days in paradise. Back east this is considered a boondoggle – out west it’s just the right thing to do.

On our drive from L.A. to Palm Springs we encountered a typical California four-and-a-half hour traffic jam. Mark was not about to let this happen again. He plotted our return four days in advance and with careful calculations, determined our departure needed to be 7:45 AM. At the precise moment of our scheduled departure, the electric lock in my hotel room hopelessly jammed. We were prisoners in my room. A half hour later with the help of a three-man maintenance crew, we were finally set free. Mark’s veins were popping in his forehead. In my Blyth spirit, I found it amusing and apropos to what can go wrong when you plan too seriously ahead. In the end, all went well and we made it to the airport two hours before our flight. 

The rescue team that pried open the door 

 

As a farewell present to our friends in California, it actually started to rain as we were departing!

 

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The Q & A session with Michael Boodro of Elle Décor Magazine

The connection between modernism and decorative arts.  Why do you think so many modernists were antagonistic toward decoration?

Modern was driven by a mission for purity – less is more - decoration is a sin. 

I embrace decoration as part of my design esthetic! I come from a family that worshipped the decorative arts. My father had two art-galleries in Germany; He sold the works of Deutche Werkstätte and Wiener Werkstätte including creations by Joseph Hoffman and Eileen Grey. The range of products included metal work, leatherwork, bookbinding, jewelry and ceramics.

   

On the opposite site of the spectrum was my grandfather’s shop. Volkskunsthaus Wallach, in Munich, focused on folk-art from painted furniture, printed textiles, and accessories. My father hated my grandfather’s taste and vise-versa. I lived with both. Combining decorative arts and modern was a natural.

That's my mother, age 18, sitting in her father's shop

Many of your designs—even pieces from the 40s—seem so modern as to be futuristic, but you have always looked to natural and organic forms. How do you make organic inspirations seem so contemporary?

It was my devotion to the Bauhaus philosophy that stimulated my earliest modern esthetic. Before my work became ‘amorphous’ I was a devotee of linear design. My studies in architecture found expression in my first furniture designs.

I developed a corollary between modern and organic forms. . My organic shapes follow the human body. I design ‘vessels’ to hold the body. Human anatomy is not angular.

However, I have always been under the influence of Bauhaus ideology. “Less is more.,” meant eliminating clutter. A large amorphous sofa could seat ten to twelve people and eliminated the clutter of chairs. The second inspiration was, “Form follows function,” an admonition to create comfort. No piece of furniture, no matter how beautiful, is functional unless it is also comfortable or useful 

 

Why are your designs timeless?

I have always understood the need to restrain the superfluous. I design disciplined, structurally rational lines.

What has changed home design over the past fifty years?

Apartment living has accelerated the shrinking space. I anticipated this in the 60’s and 70’s and designed the Omnibus Sectional Sofa Collection to accommodate smaller spaces. Omnibus was designed to float in the middle of a room, the sections are relatively small, built for apartment living and each element can be assembled like a ‘Lego’ construction. Not all spaces have shrunk. There are today’s affluent young. They live in multi-million dollar apartments and villas, decorated by trendy interior designers. Thankfully, these are my clients, – My design philosophy suits their 21^st Century esthetic. 

You have seen so many styles/trends come and go—you have ridden the wave, a few, such as Post-modernism, you embraced yourself.  You have been in and out of fashion; embraced by Tom Ford and Bill Sofield at Gucci in the nineties. Did that surprise you? It seems you are more ubiquitous in high design than you ever were. How does that feel?

 With my celebrity clients like Tom Ford, Sir Elton John, Tommy Hilfiger, and Angelina Jolie, I floated to the top of the heap. Yes, that is very satisfying. Staying on top, however, takes work. Coming up with new creativity is inspiring and challenging and keeps me energized. Did I ever fathom it would happen? NO. Will I ever retire? Hell NO.

How do you feel about your early work being considered collectible, even as you create new pieces?

It is very flattering that my early works have retained their value and those children that have inherited their parents early Kagans are very lucky indeed. It is flattering that when my furniture comes up at auction, it brings ever-increasing prices.

The Palm Beach Modern & Contemporary Art Fair 2016

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, January 23, 2016

 

I wasn’t going to write about this show.

 

contemporary art has become a science class. Experimentation is the buzzword. 'Putz' around with LED lights; flashing, changing colors, twirling, snaking. There were neon signs of yesterday reinvented. There were three-dimensional ‘paintings’ with appliquéd metal, plastic and paper. There were the tricky paintings intended to fool the eye, trumpe l’oeil. There was art using automotive enamels, a robotic artist painting all day on an electronic canvas, a diminutive Indian artist ‘plucking’ paper. There was manipulated photography and there was the usual infatuation with bare breast. To qualify as a contemporary art, it is fair game to try anything as long as it is different. This produced some interesting stuff, but is it ART?

As for Modern Art? Anything goes. Slap some colors onto a canvas and let it drip, depict humanity as artsy, disfigured bodies, add a samplings of installation art, and there you have The Palm Beach Modern & Contemporary Art Fair 2016… in a nutshell.

In spite of this jaundiced overview, there was some delightful art to enjoy. We found some exquisite pencil and pen drawings, an art form virtually missing in contemporary shows. Sculpture still found its antecedent in tradition. Casting bronze has not changed. The most imaginative experimentations were with glass. Glass is a most time honored material, a molten mass of sand cannot be easy be fooled. The glass artist is wedded to tradition. He or she must respect the material’s limitations. Therefore their experimentations are all the more exciting.

Art is in the eyes of the beholder, one person’s treasure is another’s junk. Below is some of the ‘art’ that I found interesting. I am sure there will be many who will disagree.

   

 

The Fernando Botero's lying nude was the first piece of art I encountered on entering the show. Botero is one of my favorite contemporary artists. I love him for glorifying the obese and fat and making them lovable.

 

This pair of life-sized  black children was one of my favorites as the artist caught their youth, despair and wisdom in their faces.

Marek Zynga mixed media sculture is beautifully executed in clay and glazed tiles. You can recognize him as the artist as he and his subject are dressed alike.

I have always loved aboriginal art. This five by five foot painting was done my Esther Giles Nampitjinpa, a diminutive native Australian. To know her is to love her, but you would never associate this little woman with her bigger-than-life-art.

 

  

 A few miles North of us in Tampa, works Marlene Rose, an amazing artist pouring hot molten glass into sand molds. The ball gown with the decollate is a spoof, but her work is serious. She is doing a job more frequently done by brawny men able to take the extreme heat of the furnaces. Marline has gone back to the ancient art of casting glass as sculpture and her Buddhas, ceremonial bells and ancient relics in a range of colors from subtle to vibrant are amongst the finest works in the show this year.

     

Marlene and many of the glass examples above, are represented by Habitat Galleries of Royal Oak, Michigan, the finest art glass  gallery in America.

I like the growth, simplicity and use of color in this life-size enameled steel sculpture.

 

 

I was intrigued by the textile-like character of these wallhangings even before I met Neha Vedpathak, the charming young Indian artist, who created these 'plucked paper' hanging. Her's is a most time consuming task, using Japanese handmade paper, which she laboriously pulls apart with a fine needle, inch by inch.

 

 

Two drawings by an Italian artist.
The lightness of line were executed with a minimalist's skill, They were among our favorite in the show.

Quite to my amazement, I found my 1970s Day Bed in mint condition, in the exhibit of The Silver Fund, a gallery on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach. The sofa is covered in the original fabric I had hand woven in Munich at the time. It is a rare example of my lesser-known linear minimalist designs.

 

Some of the most intriguing avant-garde art came from the ArtLabbe Gallery from Santiago de Chile including the ribbon sculptures below by Solange Heilenkotter and the glass and stone sculptures by Alejandro Herrera.

   
 

These slender ribbons of sliced plastic sheets were made by Sollange hellenkotter. Her work was amongst the most original of the new experimental art at the show.

Using thin shards of rigid plastic, this three-dimensional painting was one of the more intriguing works at the show.

 

Two black marble and glass sculptures were a unique mix of two disparate materials.

 

...And to finish off the show, the ubiquitous "installation Art"

 

 

 NOTE: The show closed tomorrow, Sunday afternoon. If you're not stuck in the snow, try and visit this great Art Fair.

Frank Stella - six decades of being on the top of the heap

The Stella Retrospective at the Whitney

Copyright Vladimir Kagan January 3, 2016

Walk off the elevator on the 5th floor of the Whitney and you are confronted with a 30 0r 40 foot long paining of 'The Earthquake in Chili". Why Stella chose to write the title in German escapes me.

 

Let’s talk Frank Stella – my favorite artist. 

Frank Stella is prolific, imaginative, a powerhouse. He neither stands still nor rests on his laurels. Other artists live and die with their signature handwriting; Stella reinvents himself and emerges more vivid with each rebirth. The Whitney Museum’s Retrospective, in their new home on Gansevoort Street in New York, is a comprehensive exhibit of the six decades of Stella’s work. beginning with his pre-black period, the Black Paintings and finally to his recent sculpture. This comprehensive show includes nearly one hundred pieces of his paintings, reliefs, sculpture, prints, drawings and Marquette’s. It is the first Stella retrospective since 1987 at the Museum of Modern Art and is the Whitney’s inaugural exhibit devoted to a living artist. 

This its the Stella we all recognize - squares, lines, rainbows - black on black or vivid  colors

 

Stella was born in 1936, in the small town of Malden, Massachusetts the son of Constance and Frank Stella. His father was a gynecological doctor and his mother dabbled in painting. She became a proficient landscape artist of the Sunday-school variety. Stella’s early inclinations were toward sports, not the arts. The closest he came to wielding a paintbrush was helping his father paint their house - house painting was his father’s hobby.

Young Stella was fortunate to go to Philips Academy in Andover, an elite boarding school not far from home. The school catered to an elite cadre of upper class, old-moneyed students. Socially, this was a new experience for Stella. While he was not an outstanding student, he was a good wrestler and a member of the school’s team. - The school is one of the few educational institutions with its own museum, The Addison Gallery of American Art. Under the influence of Bartlett Hayes Jr. the gallery’s director and Patrick Morgan, his studio art teacher, Stella developed a fascination with the concept of abstract art. Philips Academy was a life-changing experience for Frank.

After graduating from Philips, Stella chose Princeton University, geographically the furthest he could get away from home! At Princeton, he came under the influence of William Seitz, the respected art historian and Stephen Greene, who was an early exponent of abstract expressionism and taught painting at Princeton. Both stimulated Stella’s appetite for the arts. He was too young to have personally met some of the early modernists who shaped the post-war art scene; however, he greatly admired the works of Franz Klein, Hans Hofmann and Joseph Albers, all exponents of the German Bauhaus. Their art inspired him to experiment with his own expression. He did not emulate them - he followed his own muse.

     

 
 

No wall was ever too large for Stella to cover end to end

The rainbow series

 

 
Playing with designer's tools, Stella incorporated the French curve in many of his paintings

 

While others dripped and sprawled huge blobs of paint on their canvas, Frank Stella was diligently painting straight lines – exquisite lines in monochromatic colors, using texture and enamel for contrast. A lesson subliminally learned helping his father paint their home. The rigid lines of the clapboards; the straight lines of the wooden façade found expression in his early works. After graduating from Princeton In 1958, Stella moved to Greenwich Village in New York. The Village was the epicenter of the thriving art world. It was in this bustling environment that he created his seminal ‘black paintings.’  When his work was included at the Museum of Modern Art’s 1959 ‘Sixteen Americans’, Stella, at 23 years, was the youngest artist in the show.       

 Stella moved from black into metallic, bronze and aluminum paint - exploring the subtle shimmer and contrast of hues affected by the changing light. By the 1960s. His paintings no longer followed the traditional square or rectangle of the canvas, his angular lines, as if drawn with a T square and triangle, delineated his canvas. Abandoning his monochrome foundation, he added color, first tentatively, later with bold intensity, using vibrant fluorescent hues. He next merged his bands of colors into geometric rainbows. 

Stella kept his paint rich in color and smoothly applied to the canvas. Size was never a deterrent. Stella always thought big, Ideal for a museum walls where everyone could see the work. 

 

Never stuck in a groove, by the 1980's Stella again radically changed. He abandoned geometrics for three-dimensional expressions. These huge paintings exploded out of their canvas, liberated from their background and leaping into your face and consciousness. 

     

 

 

 

Stella's sculpture leave no stone unturned - he explores every media, material - some feather light - others weighing a ton and paints them with profusely like a graffiti artist

By the 1990's Stella expression took a radical turn once again as he abandoned canvas altogether! His latest creations are huge unearthly sculptures suspended in space or flying off the walls. Twisted metal, plastic, computer generated objects, some boldly painted, and others raw metal combined with found objects. This is limitless expression. Stella’s work is no longer produced in an artist’s studio. His sculptures are fabricated in a huge factory space using the latest automated machinery. It takes an ‘army’ to create these works: sophisticated machinery, computer technicians, welders, and dozens of craftsmen working under Stella’s astute eye. 

 

If you follow the prescribed route for viewing this overwhelming show, you arrive at the museum’s picture windows with a panoramic view of the Hudson River. There, with a backdrop of a setting sun, was the surprising tabletop exhibit of wire-constructed Maquettes reminiscent in their delicacy and lightness of Alexander Calder and the Swiss artist Jean Tinquely. These fragile sculptures stood in stark contrast to the explosive works of Stella’s latest works.

 

Stella's miniatures are light, playful and delicate  

 

Don’t miss this colossal exhibit. The exhibit will be on at the Whitney until February 7, 2016 and then moves to the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth.

 

“Bravo Frank Stella! You still surprise and enthrall me after all these years.”

An Ode to a Bridge

In Celebration of the George Washington Bridge

Copyright Vladimir Kagan December 20, 2015

I cross the GWB (George Washington Bridge) four or five times a week to and from my studio in Clifton N.J. Thousands of cars and trucks join me each day. For trucks it’s the only route between Manhattan and New Jersey as they are banned from the tunnels.  This enormous overpass is the conduit for millions of cars each year. It boasts the most traffic of any suspension bridge in the world.

To pass the time, I am on my cell phone or directing the Uber driver to ignore the ‘Google lady’ giving him wrong directions. Though the view is spectacular, I take it for granted! I seldom look out of the window.

That’s a huge mistake!

One day I took a moment to look-up and rediscovered this magnificent structure. The realization that mere humans conceived this gorgeous bridge was mind-boggling.  Engineers and architects, whose names have long been forgotten and the hundreds of human hands brought it to fruition. And yes, the forgotten workers whose lives were lost in its building.

         

 

I was awe-struck by the massive chunks of concrete anchoring the cables at each end. It is unfathomable to contemplate the amount of concrete needed to create them. Imagine the number of cement trucks it would take to build such a mass. (The builders wisely had their own cement factory on sight.) Visualize the teams of men riveting each red-hot rivet into the superstructure. Squint into the sun and look at the height of the towers and the cables extending from them. Then imagine tiny men manipulating strands of steel stretched across the river’s span. If you are lucky, you might see the high-wire-act of today’s maintenance crews painting every inch of the bridge or servicing the string of light bulbs along its cables.

.

++++

I have a wonderful connection to this bridge!

 In my early teens, I lived on Riverside Drive and 103^rd Street, in a gracious old building with a wire-caged elevator and a spectacular view of the Hudson River. I would often sit in our living room window and paint the changing seasons on the river. With a little stretch of the neck I could see the GW Bridge off in the distance.

My water color painting of Ice on the Hudson River - circa 1943

Though I was a good student in most subjects, I had a terrible time with math! I couldn’t visualize the hypotheses of mathematical formulas; algebra, geometry and trigonometry stifled me. I could not accept a theoretical truth.  If it wasn’t visual, I flunked the test. 

A few floors above our apartment lived a friend of my family, David Bernard Steinman. D. B. Steinman, as he was known to all. Mr. Steinman was an affable man who loved puffing on his pipe and explaining the theories of mathematics to me. He made mathematics visual. D.B. Steinman was not a tutor; he was the world’s foremost bridge designer!

D.B. Steinman was born on the lower east side in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge. He fell in love with Roebling’s masterpiece and determined … he wanted to become a designer and builder of bridges. At age thirteen, he was the youngest pupil admitted to City College.  He graduated with honors and went on to Columbia University receiving his PhD in engineering. 

His career as a consulting engineer struggled for a number of years. He recalled … his first consulting fee was $5! Ten years later he was offered a job to work with Holton Robinson, who built the Manhattan and Williamsburg bridges across the East River in New York.  Mr. Holton wanted to enter a competition to build the Florianopolis Bridge in Brazil. The firm won the competition largely due to D. B. Steinman’s revolutionary new concepts for suspension spans. The Florianopolis Bridge was hailed worldwide as a huge success.  His revolutionary concept laid the foundation for the successful design of the George Washington Bridge, which at the time was twice the length of any suspension bridge ever built.

In addition to the Florianopolis Bridge, Mr. Steinman’s list of successes include the Henry Hudson Bridge and the Triborough Bridge in NY, the Mt. Hope Bridge connecting Providence with Newport, the Mackinac Bridge in Michigan and the Messina Straight Bridge linking Italy with Sicily. One of his favorite projects was the commission to modernize the Brooklyn Bridge, the first love of his life. D.B was an avid writer and wrote many books of poetry and the best selling ‘The History of the Brooklyn Bridge’ and ‘The Biography of the Roeblings, THE BUILDING OF THE BRIDGE.’ 

In his memoirs Mr. Steinman gave words to his meaning of a bridge: “A bridge is more than a thing of steel and stone: it is the fulfillment of human dreams to link together distant places. A bridge is more than a problem in stresses and strains; it is a challenge and an opportunity to create the beautiful.”  

He and I would sit for hours discussing bridges. The conversation would eventually be intermingled with the explanation of the bridge structure’s connection to math.  His patience and love of math helped me to understand the theories of math well enough to pass my exams!

During our chats, he explained how the Tacoma Washington Bridge disaster could have been averted with a simple sea anchor to stop the oscillation that finally tore the bridge apart. He explained his theory of how a bridge could be built over the New York Harbor, even though it was considered impossibility at the time.  His dream became the Verrazano Bridge. He described how the George Washington Bridge was designed to be clad with steel plates like the Golden Gate Bridge, but it was decided that the structure was too beautiful to be hidden. When I first saw the GW Bridge, it had only one deck!  He explained that the clever engineers envisioned one-day, the increased traffic would need additional roadways and so their original design factored-in the second level.

These pieces of knowledge have stayed with me for sixty odd years, imbedded in my mind forever through the teachings of the indomitable D.B. Steinman.

Today, I no longer keep my head down. I love the approach to the bridge from the Henry Hudson Parkway. It looms up through the fog, glistens in the rain or shimmers in the sunlight. This massive work of art is nearly eighty-five years old and still one of the great wonders of the world. Next time you have a chance to cross the Hudson, enjoy all that is before your eyes. 

A Walk in the Country - part two

A Walk In The Country

PART 2

Discovering Grace Farms

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, December 10, 2015 

 

…. By mid-afternoon the weather had turned to glorious sunshine - just in time for our visit to the newly opened Grace Farms. Most people have never heard of Grace Farms as it had only opened to the public a few weeks earlier.

 photos Dean Kaufman

 

Like all architectural masterpieces, Grace Farms would not have seen the light of day without its patrons.

Versailles, had King Louis XIV, the Louvre with gratitude to Napoleon. The Parthenon in Greece, the Pyramids in Egypt, the Coliseum in Rome, all had their benefactors. The ‘Glass House’ owes its existence to the wisdom of Philip Johnson’s father, who bestowed some ‘worthless’ Alcoa stock onto his son.

Below is the history of Grace Farms.

Grace Farms had the gracious support of Grace Farms Foundation, a private operating foundation established to support initiatives in the areas of faith, the arts, justice and community. This vast project was quietly underwritten by a discreet group of like-minded individuals, who thought saving a sprawling landscape, once used as a private equestrian training facility, from a developer’s 10-lot subdivision, and opening it to the public as a shared space was a worthwhile endeavor. 

In 2009, the leadership of the Foundation initiated an international search for an architect to develop the idea of Grace Farms. The Foundation selected Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa of Tokyo to design this sensitive project. Shortly thereafter, their firm, SANAA was awarded the most coveted prize in architecture, the Pritzker!

Quoting from Grace Farm’s brochure, it is “A welcoming new place, where a building designed by SANAA is seamlessly integrated into 80 acres of open space for people to experience nature, encounter the arts, pursue justice, foster community and explore faith”.  Faith was an underlying factor: Back in 2007 a group of individuals affiliated with Grace Community Church, purchased 48 acres of property with the intention of gifting it as open space for the town. In 2009, these individuals formed Grace Farms Foundation, which purchased 27 additional acres and gratefully accepted the donation of the original 48 acres. The concept of Grace Farms became a reality.

 

 photo Iwan Baan

 The delicate River Walk snakes down the hill - all five buildings of the 'Farm" are integrated under the one slender roof

 

The River consists of five glass-enclosed volumes that are virtually transparent - nestled under a sensuous continuous roof that flows down the slope like a lazy river and becomes a part of the landscape. The River begins on a knoll, and then flows down the long, gentle slope in a series of bends, forming pond-like spaces (volumes) on its journey. The River uses only a fraction of the property’s acreage so that it totally blends into the countryside. The rolling hills and changing seasons becomes the artistic palette for visitors to enjoy. The pebbled path gently winds down the hill like the river’s dry-bed cutting its path lazily into the valley. The buildings are enclosed by 203 slabs of curved thermal glass panels each custom fabricated in Germany and Spain – none are duplicates of the other, neither in size nor shape!

 

                                                                                                                       photo Dean Kaufman

          

 

I was fortunate to have my electric tricycle in the trunk of the car, as the hill to the top of the property would have been too much for anyone to push me in a wheel chair. Along the way I snatched the one man in the complex who turned out to be ‘The Guru’ of all that I needed to be explained about Grace. Bill Stonebridge had been the construction manager during the two and half years of its building and now was in charge of maintenance of the entire facility! I bombarded him with tons of question.

What’s the walkway material that looks like pebbles but feels like a carpet?  “Resin Bonded gravel.”

Where’s the lighting? “Primary lighting is recessed into the floor surfaces and small surface-mounted spot lights reflect off the wooden ceiling"

How does the roof drain? “The project uses a New England gutter which directs water to several open scuppers where water gracefully cascades into gravel drains.”

How do the glass windows keep from compression fractures? “The windows are not load bearing. Each panel is constructed of the double glazed thermal glass.”

How’s the place heated – is it energy neutral? “Fifty-five Geothermal wells were bored 500 feet into the ground, to provide heating and cooling for all but one building - making the entire complex energy neutral. Grace Farms has applied for LEED Certified for High-efficiency mechanical, electrical, plumbing and lighting systems.”

Bill had more precise answers and additional information as we meandered up the ‘River’.

What happened to the forest? “In clearing the site, a number of magnificent red oak trees, birch, hickory and ash had to be cut down, but they were not wasted. Seven eighteen foot long dining tables were custom fabricated out of the felled oaks and other furniture is custom built out of the other woods.”

How is snow removal done? “The long winding covered pathways are carefully cleaned by hand as it is too risky to use conventional snow blowers where a small pebble could crack one of the curved glass panels.”

“And the Chapel? Called the Sanctuary, the multi-purpose amphitheater stands on the top of the hill and seats 700 people in comfortable Thos. Moser armchairs. Thoughtfully, the Sanctuary has a glass enclosed “quiet room” where parents can take a screaming child until it calms down. This Sanctuary volume has the longest unsupported (Glu-Lam laminated) timber beam roof of the five River volumes, which was custom fabricated in British Columbia and transported by specially modified trucks across Canada to New Canaan.”

 

While I was wanting more, poor Amy was agitating to go home as it was getting close to cocktail time and her evening date.

This will not have been my last visit to ‘Grace Farm’. I hope you’ll be inspired to see it yourselves.

SUMMARY:

The Glass House and Grace Farms offer a perfect study in contrasts from the mid-twentieth century to the twenty-first.  Compare the ethereal serenity of the Grace Farms ‘River Walk’ with the celebratory styles of the ‘Glass House’ and you feel the dichotomy of our times.

This statement does not hold true for most 21^st century architecture – by contrast, look at the monumental projects that Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid have created.

While the ‘Glass House’ has an impressive baronial drawbridge barrier that is majestically lifted to admit invited guests, the entry to Grace Farm is accessible through a modest white gate and a drive down to the old stables. These buildings have been converted into modest offices and programming space. There is no ticket-office as the admission is free.  The property is open and available to all who come.

 

 

 

                                                                                                                      photo Dean Kaufman

Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa of the firm SANAA - The Tokyo architects that designed Grace Farms and won the coveted Pritzker Prize

New Canaan, home to classic modern.

A Walk In the Country

In Search of Modern

PART 1

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, December 2, 2015 

 

A few weeks ago, I lauded my friend Zaha Hadid.

This time I sing my praise to two Japanese architects, Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa of the firm SANAA. Both Zaha Hadid and SANAA have won the Pritzker Award; both are at the peak of their success; both compete for the same projects.

There is a tug-of-was between the deconstructionism of Zaha Hadid and Frank Gehry vs. the esthetic understatement of Mssrs. Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa. Both styles are important statements of the 21^st centuries. One is explosive, a tribute to modern technology; the other a return to the drawing board. Neither could achieve their masterpieces without the 21st Century’s new technology.

I had recently received an invitation to a luncheon at Philip Johnson’s ‘Glass House’ in New Canaan Connecticut and used this occasion to explore the newly opened ‘Grace Farms’ near by.

This is a Blog in Two Parts for you to enjoy both properties

 

Though the weather started grey and raining, it was a beautiful fall day in Connecticut. The trees were in full color and the ground covered in glistening golden leaves like a carpet.

    

A carpet of fall leaves

Our destination was New Canaan long known for its iconic mid-century modern architecture spearheaded by The Harvard Five, a young architectural cooperative back in 1949: Marcel Breuer, Landis Gores, John Johansen, Philip Johnson, Eliot Noyes and my old skiing and sailing buddy, John Black Lee. They were affordable modern houses; some two stories others ranch, nestled into the woods, often precariously cantilevered on jagged granite boulders protruding out of the ground. My son-in-law’s mother lives in one of them - A little gem perched on top of one of these boulders.

 

Early 50's houses in New Canaan designed by The Harvard Five Architectural Group

Too many of these gems were demolished by enterprising builders and replaced with hideous “McMansions” and clapboard houses that now dot the neighborhoods - all too readily visible behind the historic stonewalls so ubiquitous in this part of Connecticut. Mercifully, the town fathers of New Canaan finally came to their senses and put a stop to this destruction. Today, what’s left of these examples of mid-century modern is landmarked!

 

 

++++

 

Our destination was the Philip Johnson Glass House. A return to a landmark I had written about a few years ago in one of my earlier Blogs. The centerpiece of the property is the Glass House. Its primary purpose was for entertaining. However, behind a partition wall was a beautiful bedroom open to the sky and the prowling deer; it was for show only or the occasional privileged guest. The bathroom has a secret tunnel that leads to the real sleeping quarters some hundred feet away!

 

The Philip Johnson Glass House was a tribute to his friend Ludwig Mies van der Rohe

 

The occasion of our visit was a private viewing of the paintings by Enoc Perez; huge wall to wall, floor to ceiling paintings of Philip Johnson’s pink granite office tower nicknamed the ‘Lipstick’. The event was a discreet fundraiser sponsored by Peter Brand and his lovely wife Stephanie Seymour Brant, both great patrons of the arts. My friend Amy Lau managed to get us invitations for this event. 

   

Enrico Perez with Scott Dreving, Deputy Director of the Glass House and Amy Lau and myself

(photo Patrick McMullan)

 

Enrico Perez's striking paintings of the Lipstick Building

The Philip Johnson Compound was built in the 50’s on 49 acres of hilly wooded land. The property is a celebration in opulence; money well spent on the indulgence of beauty. Each structure is a tribute to Philip Johnson’s fertile and whimsical mind. All the buildings on the rambling property are accessible by footpath only. It is a sybaritic treat.

Age has its privilege  - I was comfortably transported in a golf cart from building to building

 

Tucked into the landscape discreetly away from the other buildings is a window-less fortress constructed entirely of bricks. Intimate on the inside with a fireplace, it has a huge elliptical opening in the ceiling that emits a glow of indirect lighting. This quite sanctuary houses Mr. Johnson library.

The library is a foreboding windowless structure (though hidden from view is a nice window into the woods)

   

Mr. Johnson's library was a place for peace and solitude

 

In a dell near the entrance to the woods is the ‘Ghost House’, designed by Johnson with his friend Frank Gehry as a sanctuary for growing Lilies. The two architects gleefully thought they had outwitted the ever-prowling deer on the property. Of course the deer outsmarted them and enjoyed munching on the succulent deer-candy flowers.   All that remained of the flowers were stems. The very ethereal look of this building gave it its name ‘Ghost House’!

   

The Ghost House was conceived as an outdoor shelter for growing lilies. It is tucked into the woods and is virtually invisible with its thin wire construction

 

A visit to the property would not be complete without venturing down the winding path through the woods to the Lincoln Kirstein tower and beyond that the bucolic pond with a miniature ‘floating’ pavilion that was Mr. Johnsons little ‘Folly”. He loved sitting there and contemplate the world.The Lincoln Kirstein Tower is an imposing sculpture, strategically placed at the edge of the woods overlooking the floating Pavilion.(it is interesting to note that Lincoln Kirstein was a good friend of my father and had Dad restore all the wooden sculpture of Eli Nadelman for a show at MOMA.)

    

 

 

Unfortunately, the beautiful White Sculpture Gallery with its subterranean caves was closed for repair. It houses Mr. Johnson’s diverse taste in sculpture from Greek Marbles to Frank Stella’s abstract constructions.

A view of the interior of the Sculpture House

 

At the top of the hill, near the ‘entrance to the property, is ‘The Monster’, an avant-garde building, created under the influence of Frank Gehry. It was the newest building on the property. Today, it serves as the welcome center for the complex.

 

The Monster guards the compound at the entrance - it is the most modernistic building on the property.

 (photo Patrick McMullan)

Almost invisible from sight with only a grass mount as a hint of something happening, is an underground bunker, reminiscent of a World War II airplane hanger. If the doors weren’t open, you’d pass it by completely. This is the treasure trove that houses Mr. Johnson’s phenomenal collection of modern art. – Three enormous carrousels of rotating panels conceal dozens, maybe hundreds of paintings to be viewed leisurely by rotating panel after panel.

The Gallery was set up for our little private luncheon

 (photo Patrick McMullan)

Lunch was a casual tête-à-tête with a group major art collectors and an interesting introduction to the works of Enoc Perez given by the host, Peter Brand. The luncheon was so hi-toned that only champagne or tea was served. I had no idea how addicted I was to my little dram of decaf coffee, and so a stop at the nearest Starbuck afterwards provided the right fix. 

TO BE CONTINUED

London - A short visit

A Nostalgic Visit To London

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, November 17, 2015

 

How does one describe a week in London, overshadowed by the recent tragedies in Paris?

Friday the 13^th took on new meaning. The shock waves arrived at a quiet dinner in an unprepossessing Indian restaurant.  The appalling news came via America. Billy, Jessica’s husbands called to ask “have you heard?” Once we turned on the ‘Telli’, the information flow went viral. CNN is macabre news reporting machine thriving on calamity. Their talking heads keep repeating their doomsday harangue none-stop.  My mother used to call it “oral diarrhea.” Thank you CNN – I am brainwashed.

 

But the subject of this Blog is Good Old London

My sister Tanya had lived there for twenty-six years. It was Erica’s and my second home for years. We both have mutual friends. This was a good opportunity to make a nostalgic visit before the Thanksgiving to Christmas holiday madness, when all our families take off in different directions.

 

Just like old times - brother and sister having a fun chat

 

First impression: Nothing has changed.  London is still a fuddy-duddy town. The plumbing is predictably archaic. After theater restaurants close their kitchens a mere thirty minutes after the last curtain fall.  Traffic comes at you from the wrong direction. Colossal traffic jams are endemic with Über cruisers cluttering the streets. When Obama comes to New York, a few lanes of Park Avenue are temporarily closed; when Mr. Mondi, India’s Prime Minister, comes to London the entire town grinds to a halt. 

That being said, the people are unchanged - lovable and friendly. An English Pub lunch is still the best bargain in town and a pint of bitters goes hand in glove with a ‘Steak and Kidney Pie’.

 

Jessica photographing our delicious pub lunch complete with pork-backs and other munchies. A half pint of bitters never tasted better with a steaming steak pie

Joe, Tanya's savvy driver

Joe has been Tanya’s driver for years. He knows the town like the palm of his hand. He wove us through back alleys and muses, barely wide enough for one car at a time and managed to thread us though London’s endemic bottlenecks.

 

London weather is always predictable, if the sky is sunny in the morning, rains showers are sure to follows. The weatherman can never go wrong forecasting “showers with intervals of sunshine.”  With Daylight Savings time, darkness descends early.  To compensate for this, the town is brightly lit with dazzling Christmas lights. You’d think the holiday was next week not next month.  Harrods is a gingerbread house lit by garlands of twinkling lights, not just for Christmas, but also year-round. It screams, “Buy – buy – buy.”

 

Christmas lighting to cheer up the early evening

 

My old friend, David Suratgar, as chipper as ever

The Westbury Hotel in Mayfair was perfectly located for the ladies to go shopping and me to visit the galleries around the corner. Gracious top-hatted doormen who can conjure up a taxi in minutes guard the Hotel entrance.

 

The hotel is home to a superb little Japanese restaurant, Tsukiji Sushi, which can hold its own against any fancy eatery in town. I made the mistake of dropping in at lunchtime with a visiting friend from Belgium, only to be turned away by a supercilious maitre D’ asking if I had a reservation – “DON’T YOU KNOW IT’S LUNCH TIME? WE ARE FULLY BOOKED!” who would have guessed!

However, everything in life has a purpose and we ventured into a most discreet restaurant decorated with wine bottles in glass coolers reaching from floor to the ceiling. The décor was subtle with the rich wood paneling finished in a deep shade of rosewood. Polite waiters and waitresses escorted you to your choice of tables. There were plenty of tables to choose from, as the only visible patrons were two tables with elegant Chinese patrons. We needed no reservation. It was so expensive that no self-respecting English man could afford it. The food was superb. Every dish was brought to the table with a prepared script recited by the wait-staff. It was worth the price of admission. The restaurant: Alyn Williams of Bond Street.

 

This gastronomic painting was my Foie Gras - the modest chocolate fondant took 20 minutes to prepare

 

Our hotel had recently embarked on a modernization program– a big mistake. The original rooms had an old world charm, a little shabby gentility but lots of closets, old fashioned bathrooms, ample lighting with crystal lamps and silk shades, drapes reminiscent of a Fortuny print. By contrast, the remodeled rooms were ‘moderne’ decorated with mirrors and inadequate lighting, bathrooms were fitted with the latest ‘English‘ toilets, (they were antediluvian) bathtubs with glass shower doors that only partially enclosed the tub so they permitted water to soak the towels, clothing and flood the floor (there were no hooks to hang anything). The Brits are talented designers when working in the genre of Christopher Wren, but fail miserably when it come to modern.

Finally –Architecture: London has radically changed, not for the better.  Monstrous shards of glimmering glass reach into the overcast skies. It is a litmus paper for the experimental flim-flam by the world’s leading architects. Norman Foster’s ‘Gherkin’ is no longer the tallest oddity on the horizon, but still looks like a pickle. Much of the architecture borders on weird – modern is not an English idiom.

   
 
   

Imaginative or just weird architecture along the Thames

 

Having moaned so seriously about my beloved England, there continues to be one praiseworthy constant, the LONDON TAXI!  They are the best in the world – both vehicles and drivers! It takes three years of studious studying to pass the test; the drivers are responsible for their car’s appearance so they are meticulously clean. The cars can turn on a dime, the passenger cab is commodious with jump seats to accommodate the four passenger legal limit but there is room for more.  The luggage space is generous and accommodates my walker, my wheel chair and four pieces of luggage.  Handicap access is thoughtful with handgrips at every possible location.  Finally, the passenger entrance provides a retractable platform for wheelchair access. There is one caveat: THEY ARE STAGGERINGLY EXPENSIVE!!!

 

Highlights of the week: 

• We were invited to Christies Auction House to watch a sale of ‘Chinese Jades and Bronzes’ selling at extravagant prices, all to Chinese bidders on the phone.  

All the audience was Chinese except for a handful of visitors

 

• A visit to the new Carpenters Workshop Gallery on Albemarle Street featured one of my Serpentine sofas. In the spring they will be launching my limited edition bronze furniture (See a preview of the designs in my new book VLADIMIR KAGAN on page 240 - 241)

My Serpentine Sofa is in good company with a Wendell Castle chair  and lighting by Nacho Carbonell

 

• While Jessica and my sister went shopping and did their cultural thing by visiting the  Ai Weiwei one-man exhibition at the Royal Academy, I perused showrooms and vintage galleries that featured my designs.  It was fun walking in unannounced and discussing the authenticity of my designs.

 

 • There were endless teas and dinners with old friend. One noteworthy discovery was a small Italian restaurant run by a bevy of adorable Italian daughters called ‘Pizzicotta’ in Kensington on High Street.

 

• A delightful lunch with Zaha Hadid in her new Gallery at 101 Goswell Rd, her private museum until she can move it into the abandoned London Design Museum she had purchased a few years ago. The Gallery is a collection of her far-reaching diverse work.  There were exquisite models of her newest buildings, (Buck Roger’s dream cities from the 50s come to life), her unique sculptured furniture, cars, boats, shoes, handbag – Zaha leaves nothing untouched. Each item bears her unique signature style. Zaha is a genius.  

A jovial lunch with Zaha and a selfie by Jessica

test-driving one of Zaha's sofas or is it a love-seat?

 

Zaha's Louis Vuitton handbag

   

A concept car and the staircase in Zaha's gallery

 

A display of Zaha's high-rise building concepts

   

This a "molten glass table" carved in clear acrylic

 

A concept model for an architectural sculpture

Me telling Zaha that she should make her seating more comfortable - ha ha!

 

 

• A visit to Wallpaper Magazine, who likes my work and me. Their creative director Sarah Douglas is as pretty as she is bright. Look for future collaborations. 

 

• Commuting toward the eastern reaches of London is quickest done by boat.  A half hour high-speed ferry up (or is it down) the Thames to the Isle of Dogs. 

     

I love bridges - especially their underbelly 

We were invited for an English tea by our friends Michael and Jenny Barracloughs. Though Michael is a medical doctor, he has a dual degree in architecture and has spent most of his life dedicated to turning the Isle of Dogs from a wasteland into an attractive habitable place. There are low-rise residential buildings occupied by young families and often their parents who were the original occupants of the island.

Michael has made certain that not all the island be built on and managed to preserve 60 acres of land for a park not devoted to Cricket Pitches, but to a working farm for city kids to feel and enjoy the county. Some 50 years ago, when Michael and Jenny built their cantilevered house over the Thames opposite Greenwich, they were the only occupants on the island.

 

The view from Jenny and Michael's house: Greenwich and the Cutty Sark

Michael and Jessica standing in front of a World War II Ack-ack gun that helped save most of London from the German bombings.

Jenny and me clowning around at tea - I'm trying on one of her exotic necklaces as a head decoration

 

• No trip to London is complete without Jessica perusing the Portobello Market. She chose a rainy Saturday to discover hidden treasures. Rain obviously doesn’t deter the English – the market was filled to the hilt.

 

 

   

Farewell at the Westbury -Tanya and 'Issy' her friend - Joe our driver, and the friendly top-hatted doorman

 

 The week evaporated into a kaleidoscope of events.  Now back in New York I’m trying to decipher them for your entertainment.