This week I took part in a Frank Lloyd Wright marathon down
at the senior hall starting with a book discussion of Loving Frank and ending with a viewing of a PBS documentary by Ken
Burns. Over five hours between the two. It would have been even longer if I’d
signed up for the bus trip portion the next day to tour a classic Prairie house
that Wright designed. I’ve been inside that house several times in the past and had no
desire to see it again. I’m not a fan of its rigid, tightly controlled interiors but
since my secret desire from age twelve to forty-five was to be an architect, I
couldn’t pass up an opportunity to learn more about a man that many call a genius,
thus the time I invested in the marathon was worth it.
PBS describes the films we us saw this way: This two-part
documentary explores the life of one of America's greatest architects -- hated
by some, worshiped by others and ignored by many. Using archival photographs,
live cinematography, interviews, newsreel footage and home movies, the film
tells the story of Wright's turbulent life and his extraordinary professional
career.”
Built over 800 buildings including the Guggenheim Museum,
known for his huge overruns, a hustler and a salesman/showman as well as a genius engineer
and designer, Wright was unique. His personal life was riddled with scandal---left
is first wife with a ton of unpaid bills and six kids to raise while he ran off
to Europe with a married woman and never looked back. Got married two more
times, had two more kids, Wright lived way above his
means but he didn’t seem
to care. His personal motto was, “Live in the now.” And just to keep his beloved Taliesin house in Wisconsin, his friends had to bail him out of bankruptcy on several occasions.
After leaving the movie marathon, I got to thinking about
other people who put their mark on the creative world who were
troubled or outrageous in their personal lives. Vincent Van Gogh of Starry Night fame, for example, a
post-impressionist painter who suffered with what people now guess was bi-polar
issues. He killed himself at age 37 and was said to have cut off his ear in a
fit of madness. (Although not all historians agree on whether he or his friend
Paul Gauguin lopped off the ear with a sword during a fight.) Then there’s
Georgia O’Keeffe, considered to be pioneer of American modernism. I hate, HATE
her canvases of enlarged flowers and I have no clue why one of them sold for
44.4 million 3-4 years ago. She was legendary for her “independent spirit” but
her personal life was filled with anxiety, depression and hostility. And who
could leave out Beethoven in a discussion of famous works created by people with
a messed up personal life? Alcoholic, extreme highs, suicidal lows. Ken Burns
compared him to Wright because near the end of his life when he could no longer
hear the music Beethoven wrote the notes on paper to create masterpieces that
have passed the test of time and Wright, well into his 80s, did the same with innovative
and pioneering engineering concepts.
What does it take to be so creative that your work is your
immortality---to be a genius in your genre like Beethoven and Wright? Do you have to be a self-absorbed ass-breath? Someday
will, say, Harvey Weinstein’s cutting-edge achievements in film production, his
194 credits, be a large enough legacy to transcend his personal failings and flaws?
Will students of film study his movies like architect students study Wright, overlooking
the people Weinstein hurt like the people Wright hurt fell by the wayside? Does art---The Work---rise above its creator? Or do the scandals, the
whispers of wrong-doing, the self-promotions and the self-adsorptions actually help
to elevate their greatness---calling attention to the mystique of the misunderstood
artist that translates into upping their commercial value after death?
I really want answers because when I turn 80 and check
myself into a nursing home I want to be the next Grandma Moses. I want to get “discovered”
by a newly minted arts and activities director for building fanciful structures
out of Popsicle sticks and paper clips and or for painting noses and lips,
eyeballs and ears swapped out of their proper places on portraits of my fellow
inmates. I want my work to make me immortal but I don’t want to be considered crazy
or misunderstood until I’ve got someone else lined up to do my laundry and fix
my meals. ©
