The Inspiration of Nature: Frank Lloyd Wright and Japan

By Margo Stipe

Frank Lloyd Wright at the entrance of Taliesin III with Japanese doors, 1955 Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation (Photography by John Engstead)

Art, to be fully appreciated, must be true to contemporaneous life. It is not that we should ignore the claims of posterity, but that we should seek to enjoy the present more...Slavish conformity to traditions and formulas fetters the expression of the individuality in architecture...We marvel why, among the most progressive Western nations, architecture should be so devoid of originality, so replete with repetitions of obsolete styles. Perhaps we are now passing through an age of democratisation in art, while awaiting the rise of some princely master who shall establish a new dynasty. (Okakura, p. 67-68).

Frank Lloyd Wright (1867-1959) has been called `simply the greatest artist [America] has ever produced in any field of the visual or musical arts' (Campbell, p. 6). In addition, he was perhaps the greatest architect of the twentieth century, the father of the modern and creator of some of the century's most innovative and honoured buildings, including the Frederick C. Robie house in Chicago (1908), the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo (1916-22), Fallingwater, the Edgar J. Kaufmann house in Bear Run, Pennsylvania (1936), the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York (1943-59) and his own homes, Taliesin in Spring Green, Wisconsin (1911-59) and Taliesin West in Scottsdale, Arizona (1937-59).

Wright was born in rural Wisconsin, the son of a musician-minister and a dedicated educator. From his father, who taught him to see a symphony as an `edifice of sound' (Wright, 1943, p. 13), he gained a lifelong appreciation and love of music; from his mother and her family, Welsh Unitarians with Transcendentalist leanings, he gained an appreciation for books, imagination, hard work and the wonder that is nature. During a lifetime that covered nearly a century and a career that spanned seven decades, this radical builder and poet of space took full advantage of the material opportunities presented by the unprecedented scientific and technological advances of his time, without losing the spiritual and romantic values of the nineteenth century with which he had grown up, and transformed the way we live.

he hill-wing tower and Guanyin statue at Taliesin III in 1996 Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation (Photography by Jim Wildeman)

In a rapidly changing industrialized world that spared little thought for the human cost, Wright believed all Americans should be given the opportunity to claim their birthright of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and with it, the right to live in and with beauty. His goal was not just to create an architecture that addressed the issues of contemporary comfort and convenience, but also to restore the lost poetry of what he considered the `Mother Art': The building as architecture is born out of the heart of man, permanent consort to the ground, comrade to the trees, true reflection of man in the realm of his own spirit. His building is therefore consecrated space wherein he seeks refuge, recreation, and repose for body but especially for mind...architecture...as poetry to the soul. (`Two Lectures on Architecture', in Wright, vol. 2, 1992, pp. 97-98).

Wright called his architecture `organic', defining it as that which `proceeds, persists, creates, according to the nature of man and his circumstances as they both change'(`An Organic Architecture', in Wright, vol. 3, 1992, p. 331). Convinced of the rightness, and even the morality, of his cause and armed with definite ideas about what constituted good architecture, he uncompromisingly preached the gospel of the organic through his buildings, writings and lectures: To thus make of a dwelling place a complete work of art...lending itself freely and suitably to the individual needs of the dwellers, a harmonious entity, fitting in color, pattern, and nature þ this is the modern American opportunity. Once founded, this will become a tradition, a vast step in advance of the day when a dwelling was an arrangement of separate rooms...to contain aggregations of furniture...An organic entity this...a higher and more intimate working out of the expression of one's life in one's environment. One thing instead of many things; a great thing instead of a collection of smaller ones. (`Ausgefuhrte Bauten und Entwurfe von Frank Lloyd Wright', in Wright, vol. 1, p. 115).

Architecture must stand as a unified whole, governed by the laws of nature, grow from and be a blessing to the landscape, all parts relating and contributing to the final unity, whether furnishings, plantings or works of art. What was needed were environments to inspire, characterized by beauty, tranquillity and harmony, brought to life by those they nourished. This was architecture as a way of life, and for such a way of life Wright found inspiration and support a long way from home in the art and culture of Japan.

Japanese art, or more accurately the Japanese wood-block print, had captured Wright's interest early in his career and would inspire him for the rest of his life. He became a major collector and art dealer, spending much of the money he earned as architect for Tokyo's Imperial Hotel making additions to his collections. He made his first trip to Japan in 1905, and he states in his autobiography that even this was in `pursuit of the print' (Wright, 1943, p. 194). The print he found in abundance, but perhaps more significantly, in the culture that produced them he discovered a way of life that made the realization of beauty a living principle. The Japanese did not distinguish between the beautiful and the practical. From the polished wood columns supporting the roof to the brocade-bordered tatami floor-mats, the kimono to the teacup, every necessity was considered an opportunity to surround oneself with beauty. According to Wright: No more valuable object lesson was ever afforded civilization than this instance of a people who have made of their land and the buildings upon it, of their gardens, their manners and their very gods, a single consistent whole, inspired by a living sympathy with Nature as spontaneous as it was inevitable. To the smallest fraction of Japanese lives what was divorced from Nature was reclaimed by Art and so redeemed. (`The Japanese Print: An Interpretation', in Wright, vol. 1, p. 119).

In contrast to the Western view of a duality between man and his environment, the religious and intellectual traditions of East Asia stressed the unity of life. The belief that everything in nature has a spiritual place þ whether rock, tree, water or man þ played a central part in the development of Shinto, the indigenous Japanese religion, and this, combined with the influence of Buddhism and Daoism instilled the sense that man was an integral part of the natural world, his role being not to fight nature, but rather to be in harmony with it, and if necessary to endure its inconveniences. In Japan this reverence for the natural world crystallized into a way of life with the cultivation of the beautiful becoming the centre of artistic daily rituals. It was a way of life that had flourished in the Heian period (794-1185), the world of the Shining Prince so beguilingly described in the eleventh century literary classic Genji Monogatari (Tale of Genji). The Heian courtier had softened the ancient cultural patterns adopted from China. By their love of beauty in nature, ceremonious refinement of manner and a tendency to view all things in terms of aesthetic appreciation, the Japanese created a more contemporary culture of their own. This unrestrained and ultimately decadent consecration of beauty as a way of life found its way to the present through the more austere filters of Zen Buddhism and the tea ceremony, establishing itself even in the most humble home. Wright believed he had found a culture which Western science had not yet corrupted by its conceit that art was less than necessary. Here science and art still worked together to reveal the inevitability of beauty in the unity of humanity and nature. Wright called this Japanese way of life `A Song to Heaven'. `Why', he questioned, `are we so busy elaborately trying to get earth to heaven instead of seeing this simple Shinto wisdom of sensibly getting heaven decently to earth?'(Wright, 1943, p. 200).

Wright imbibed deeply of this culture and was inspired by its discipline. The reverence and respect for nature and its materials displayed by the Japanese and the ability of the Japanese artist to grasp and reveal the essence of nature `which distinguishes the stick of timber of the wood-cutter from the tree of the poet'(Ralph Waldo Emerson, `Nature', in The Best of Ralph Waldo Emerson: Essays, Poems, Addresses, Roslyn, 1969, p. 75) fascinated him, because of the beautiful result and its relevance to his own work.

Broadly stated...the first and supreme principle of Japanese esthetics consists in a stringent simplification by elimination of the insignificant and the consequent emphasis on reality...Always we find the one line, the one arrangement that will exactly serve...that inner harmony which penetrates the outward form and is its determining character...what Plato called the `eternal idea of the thing'. (`The Japanese Print: An Interpetation', in Wright, vol. 1, p. 118-19).

Wright believed, as did the Japanese, that lives without an appreciation for art, and hence beauty, were lives poorly lived. We find the proposition put forth by Okakura Kakuzo (1862-1913), Curator of Oriental Art at the Boston Museum of Art, in The Book of Tea, a 1906 treatise on Japanese aesthetics: Real appreciation of art is only possible to those who make of it a living influence...the cut and colour of the dress, the poise of the body, and the manner of walking could all be made expressions of artistic personality. These [are] matters not to be lightly ignored, for until one has made himself beautiful he has no right to approach beauty. (Okakura, p. 110)

Wright himself chose, whenever possible, to make art a living influence. Throughout his career he was criticized by his more prudent friends for his inability to deprive himself or his family of luxuries when the necessities were overlooked. `This love for beautiful things þ rugs, books, prints or anything made by art or craft or building...kept the butcher, the baker and the landlord always waiting' (Wright, 1943, p. 118). His own homes were works of art in progress, constantly changing as his vision changed, to create ever more beautiful spaces and landscapes. He surrounded himself, his family and his associates with beautiful things, outfitted himself and those close to him in handsome attire, encouraging those who came in contact with him to do the same. He believed that: Whether people are conscious of it or not, they actually derive countenance and sustenance from the `atmosphere' of the things they live in or with. They are rooted in them just as a plant is in the soil in which it is planted. (`The Natural House', in Wright, vol. 5, p. 112).

Harmony brought repose. Gracious spaces encouraged gracious behaviour; looking one's best encouraged one's best work. This was the goal of all of his work þ to create spaces of serenity and nourishment for those who would live and work in them.

I think fundamentally the Mother Art is here ready now to go to work to persuade humanity that the basis of all culture and essential to it is this matter of building yourself into a harmonious environment. Harmonious with nature wherever you are. Not to insult the site, not to outrage the elements of beauty to which you are born and in which you yourself should be beautiful too, of course, but if beauty is the highest and finest kind of morality, and I believe it is, there is your religion. There is where your center of life should be strong. (Frank Lloyd Wright talk to the Taliesin Fellowship, no. 1014.041, 5 June 1952, p. 12).

Wright took his crusade one step further in 1932, when he and his wife Olgivanna founded an architectural school called the Taliesin Fellowship. While the main emphasis was on the training of architects, all areas of life and work were designed to be part of the programme. Wright described the fellowship as `a study, a serious study in the direction of the beautiful, consecrated to it and willing to take whatever comes if we have to'(Frank Lloyd Wright talk at Camelback High School in Phoenix, Arizona, no. 1041.231, 5 February 1959, p. 11). With something of a Zen-like dedication, no task was unimportant, no chore too lowly to be done and done well by each fellowship member in turn. Fellowship life at Taliesin continued the pursuit of the beautiful. In advocating this ideal, Wright said: I tell you plainly and sincerely, that nothing is worth a man's time, and that means a woman's, except a search for the beautiful and an attempt to establish it in human life by way of the human being and his existence. There is the secret we've missed as a nation.' (Frank Lloyd Wright talk at the University of Oklahoma, no. 1014.241, 2 May 1952, p. 14).

The greatest examples of Wright's success in this endeavour are his own homes, Taliesin (twice destroyed by fire and rebuilt) and Taliesin West. `Taliesin' is a Welsh word often translated as `Shining Brow' and makes reference to Wright's siting of the house on the brow of a hill in his native Wisconsin. Taliesin was also the name of `a Welsh poet, a druid bard who sang to Wales the glories of fine art' and the appropriateness of this name can hardly be lost on any visitors to Wright's homes, where buildings and landscapes, furniture and fine art combine to create spaces of great beauty, islands of serenity subtly shining amidst the architectural mediocrity that largely dominates the American landscape. (Wright, 1943, p. 166).

At Taliesin and Taliesin West, the buildings and the gardens, orchards and fields contribute to the total composition and they fit as smoothly into the natural terrain as if they had grown there. `Taliesin was to be an abstract combination of stone and wood as they naturally met in the aspect of the hills around about. And the lines of the hills were the lines of the roofs, the slopes of the hills their slopes, the plastered surfaces of the light wood-walls, set back into shade beneath broad eaves, were like the flat stretches of sand in the river below and the same in color, for that is where the material...came from' (ibid., p. 171). The walls at Taliesin West were built using `desert masonry', a technique where natural stone was encased in concrete. Inspired by the natural terrain of the area, the site gives the impression of having been excavated from the surrounding environment. Wright described the interaction between desert light and masonry walls in the following way:

Sun-acceptance in building means that dotted lines and wall surfaces eagerly take the light and play with it and break it up and render it harmless or drink it in until sunlight blends the building into place with the creation around it. (`To Arizona', in Wright, vol. 4, p. 36)

What Wright said of Japan applies equally to his Taliesins:

[The] buildings, like the rocks and trees, grew in their places. [The] gardens were idealized patterns of their landscapes. They were native shrines, in themselves a form of worship for their native land. (`The Print and the Renaissance', in Wright, vol. 1, p. 152).

Wright lived to create beautiful spaces and fill them with beautiful things and many Japanese and other East Asian works of art frequently found their way into his architectural compositions, but only if each was properly digested by the whole. While the `Taliesin library of Genroku embroidery and antique colored wood-block prints all stayed safely inside [the fire-proof vault]...Chinese pottery and sculpture and Momoyama screens overflowed into the rooms where...every single object used for decorative accent became an "antique" of rare quality. If the eye rested on some ornament it could be sure of worthy entertainment. Hovering over these messengers to Taliesin from other civilizations and thousands of years ago, must have been spirits of peace and good-will. Their figures seemed to shed [a] fraternal sense of kinship from their places in the stone or from the broad ledges where they rested' (Wright, 1943, p. 174).

Frank Lloyd Wright and the Japanese, at least the traditional Japanese, had a great deal in common; their beliefs, if not exactly the same, were extraordinarily complementary. Wright was born too late to personally experience much of a world he came to admire greatly through their arts. The determination of the Japanese to catch up with the West sounded the death-knell for much of what Wright, and later generations, admired the most þ a civilization which made poetry and beauty common characteristics of everyday life. However, the principles have endured through the arts, and it was the principles, not the forms, which Wright identified as sympathetic to his own.

Given the shared reverence for nature and principles of good design, it should not be surprising that Wright's philosophy of an organic architecture should be reflected in work displaying characteristics also common to traditional Japanese design, most notably in the integration of interior and exterior space, the strong horizontality, the use of natural materials, the overall proportional relationships based on a human scale and the consequent qualities of harmony and repose. Despite these shared characteristics, however, Wright's spaces were clearly visions created by `an American child of the ground and space' (`The Natural House', in Wright, vol. 5, p. 79). Nonetheless, their foundation in natural law made them a particularly suitable companion to the East Asian works of art that Wright so genuinely admired and collected. There is a magic about Wright's architecture that is richly enhanced by the careful integration of these ancient `messengers'.

While uncompromisingly modern, Wright's buildings are timeless creations. They are `interwoven, not with industry and social experiment, but rather with the earth upon which they rest and that transcendental spirit which inhabits meadow and hill, stream and tree, seems also at times to inhabit them' (Hudnut, 1940). As the spirit of all great art speaks to the receptive souls of generation after generation, the spirit inherent in Wright's architecture will speak to future generations if they have the heart and mind to listen.

I know well that my buildings see clearly not only the color, drift and inclination of my own day but feed its spirit. All of them seek to provide forms adequate to integrate and harmonize our new materials, tools and shapes with the democratic life-ideal of my own day and time. Thus do I know work that is for all time. (`Influence or Resemblance', in Wright, vol. 5, pp. 70-1).