By the way...

Drum roll, please--- have I remembered to mention that I'm writing a book?  About the cottages of the summer colonies of Down East coast of Maine, Rockport to Grindstone Neck, and of course Bar Harbor, it will be published by Acanthus Press in the early spring of 2014.  I have been a huge admirer of Acanthus and its handsome monographs ever since they started publishing, and could not be more pleased to be joining the others on the shelf.

If posting has seemed a little thin on the ground in recent months, now you know why.  Barry Cenower, the head of Acanthus, and I were working on the outline---and until we arrived at the final choices, much material was temporarily off the table.   The book will cover 50 of the most interesting of the 700 or so architecturally significant summer houses built up here between 1880 and 1940, with an additional catalog  appendix of fifty more.  

Castine, c.1895

 Northeast Harbor, c. 1905

 Many of America's most significant architects have worked in this region, and the book will contain some of their work, as well as houses that have never been published. There is a special sensibility to a Maine house that sets it apart from those of the Hamptons or Newport.

Dark Harbor, c. 1910

 The genre includes iconic gray shingled houses by the sea, turreted mountain top mansions,  Italian villas, designs inspired by the regional vernacular, modernist masterpieces, and a couple of one-off houses that will astound.  Photographs old and new, of houses, interiors and grounds, along with floor plans and architectural drawings will illustrate each chapter. I am having a ball seeking out new and unknown houses and material, and discovering the fascinating stories behind the houses.  I look forward to telling them for you.

Blue Hill, c. 1915

You think I'm going to tell you more now?  I'm contractually obligated not to---but stay tuned.  We will be releasing little teasers from time to time.  In the meantime, I'll be going back in full swing here---antiques, gardens, houses, interiors (except the ones in the book), road trips and more.

Bar Harbor, c. 1905

In other news, the Dilettante goes to a party HERE (Scroll to the last one at bottom)

And a recent Dilettante article about a notable tear-down HERE

Peter Pennoyer Down East

For almost every decade of the last century, one of the standard arguments in design has been new vs. old.  On one hand,  modernists insist that new is the only true religion, and that copying is bad.  On the other, traditionalists will put a gable roof on anything from cabin to shopping mall, and be satisfied that their God is being served.  Both sides have their points of course, but in the end, to my own eye, only one question matters---modern or traditional, is it good?  And in the last twenty years, as big traditional houses have come back in fashion, that question is more pertinent than ever as huge palaces of vinyl and sheetrock  have risen across the country, blighting the landscape wherever they land, often replacing older and better houses.

 Rendering of a house in Massachusetts, from Peter Pennoyer, Architects.  Described as 'Federal' in the book, it more fairly reminds this writer of the smaller houses of Philip Schutze.

Stair hall in the Massachusetts house.  Graceful in design & execution (I especially like the boxed treads and landing above the arch), its location in the center of the house recalls Ogden Codman's Berkely Villa at Newport

The reason I mention this is that I recently received a review copy of Vendome Press's new monograph, Peter Pennoyer, Architects, by Anne Walker, Pennoyer's collaborator on previous monographs about Delano and Aldrich, Grosvenor Atterbury, and Warren & Wetmore, and as I turn its lush pages, the question of tradition vs. modernism is foremost in my mind.

Mirrored Entrance Hall leads to central stair hall

 

Mr. Pennoyer first entered my consciousness years ago, when his country house for Louis Auchincloss was published.  It was an interesting house, designed for a book lover, traditional, based on Swedish precedent, and with more than a nod to post-modernism in its interiors.  Since then Pennoyer's houses have grown increasingly pure in their traditionalism, and exponentially larger and more expensively detailed, following exactly the pattern of wealth redistribution that has overtaken the country.  When looking at one of Pennoyer's designs, one is transported back to those halcyon years before the great depression, when understated but lush country houses were being built on Long Island, and quiet, elegant townhouses rose on the upper East side.  Mr. Pennoyer's architectural world recalls sleek limousines (not limos), silver cocktail shakers and Lanvin gowns, and nobody practicing today does it better.

Drawing Room in an upper East Side town house betrays no sign that it was not built and decorated in the 1920's

And herein, as I carefully examined each house pictured, trying to keep thoughts of revolution, or at least tax reform, from clouding my critical judgement, I had what was for me an interesting revelation.  And that is, that the houses that Mr. Pennoyer and his peers are creating for the latest generation of plutocrats, impeccably detailed, beautifully crafted, are interesting, not just for themselves, but because they are a new generation of the type---based not on early precedent, but rather on the latter work.  Thus, if a 1920's Long Island country house of classical Georgian design draws its inspiration from 18th century English precedent (or 17th century  England or Italy, or 18th century France, pick a style)---Jane Austen meets the jazz age, if you will---and the 18th century house in turn evoked ancient Rome, Pennoyer's houses go back to the latest model, and give a new, respectful version for the 21st century of the sophisticated, tasteful, architecture of ninety years ago.  In short, think if Ogden Codman channeled Blondel, Pennoyer is channeling Codman channeling Blondel.  This was brought home to me by a photograph caption, which gave inspiration for a beautifully carved Corinthian capital to Clarence Hanson, the carver who did much of Philip Schutze's millwork, rather than to the 18th century carvers who in turn inspired Hanson.

Stair hall in upper East Side Town house, again, purely evoking the pre-depression past

The best of these houses are beautiful indeed, with a level of correctness in design (no shortcuts taken here, moldings are full and complete, curving staircases sweep beautifully skyward), and a sure sense of proportion that is rarely seen in traditional architecture today.  These are buildings meant to convey a message of taste and luxury, of money that is correctly spent, and that rebuke the sprayon stucco chateaux and palazzi that have appeared across the country, in this latest gilded age, filled with Real Housewives waiting for their closeups.

 Channeling Delano & Aldrich--a Georgian paneled drawing room mixes with neoclassical in its oval shape, and acanthus grilles above the windows

If I have a quibble with the Pennoyer firm, it is that they are almost too respectful in their homage, and missing is the light anarchy of some of his heroes---the sublimely elegant reductionist designs of Delano and Aldrich, who made traditional so modern, or the picturesque and materials-oriented Atterbury, or the over the top, rule-breaking Warren & Wetmore.

But these are small quibbles indeed, and for this Down East Maine boy, the issue was brought home by a very large shingled summer house that Pennoyer designed on an island not far from here.  Variations on the Shingle Style have been the favorite of big new houses up here for the last two decades, and many of them are just bad---overwrought, over detailed, and over constructed.  Too many of these wannabes borrow too much from the famous examples, and are turreted, gabled, Palladian windowed and gambrel roofed within an inch of their over-designed lives.   This house takes it down a couple of notches---paying close attention to the local vernacular---and succeeds admirably, addressing its site and the conditions of the region, with none of the cliches that characterize much modern shingle work
 

  A shingled summer house on an island overlooking Penobscot Bay in Maine pays careful homage to the local vernacular without falling prey to standard cliches

The production values and photography in this book are first rate, as is Anne Walker's text., a welcome contrast to several recent design books.  As one would expect with a monograph of a living architect, critical assessment is beside the point, but the book is beautiful, and thought provoking, nevertheless.  I was especially delighted with the inclusion of several splendid renderings and sketches illustrating the Pennoyer firm's couture approach to design.

What could be more perfect than a library with a secret door?

A Little About the Past and How I Happen to Find Myself Starting This Blog

Preamble:  This is not going to be an autobiographical  'this is where I ate today' sort of blog----I have other fish to fry---but by way of introduction, a little background seems in order.  Although the following makes me sound ancient and cocooned (he said defensively), I'm in fact only in my fifties (again defensively), and tend to mostly live in the moment.  That said........

I grew up in a classic Maine village, of a type that now exists mostly in postcard memory---you know the sort---romantic, remote, with white steeples, rocky harbor, elm trees shading the Federal & Greek Revival houses lining the streets.  My childhood was soon enough after the great depression and WWII that we were still in something of a time warp, with unpaved side streets, old wooden bridges crossing a former mill stream, abandoned farms with the obligatory lilacs growing next to cellar holes.  The village was insular, with elderly widows and spinster daughters, last vestiges of a Sarah Orne Jewett world, many of them my relatives, inhabiting the old houses.  They worshiped at either the Congregational or the Baptist Churches, sewed for good causes, baked pies, did their wash on Mondays, hanging it outside to dry.  In that pre-feminist world, one heard talk of woman's work and woman's place, but in reality, anything the men could do, the women did too---farming, hunting, repairing the shed, drive the truck, repair the truck.  Oh, and there was gossip to fill long winters.  Much of it revolved around how everyone was related, with people who had died before the civil war still discussed as if they'd just left the room.  At the local schools, some teachers were still graduates of the vanished State Normal Schools, and taught classical curriculum.  The king of school sports was basketball (6'1" by 15, I had no talent for the game, to the dismay of my shorter, more jock-ish schoolmates).  The men worked hard at hard jobs, mostly seasonal---caretaking for summer residents, carpentry, fishing, subsistence farming.  My great great grandfather was lost off the Grand Banks in the early 1880's, a few weeks before my great grandmother, his daughter was born.  All her life she cherished a little crudely carved shelf that he made on the boat, as do I now.  Manners were uniformly genteel and old fashioned, faces and bodies weather worn.  Lest this sound too Ethan Frome by-the-sea, there is far more to the story, and the mix and the extremes made our village a fascinating place to grow up.

Main Street, 1870's

Culture was important.--the village library was first founded in 1796.  During the Depression, a kind and forceful woman in the village saw to it that our share of WPA money made it to town, and a handsome new building, ever since the center of the community, was built. Today the library rates as one of the to libraries in its class in the country, presided over by a succession of talented directors.  A small and varied summer colony had sprung up beginning in the 1880s, bringing with it music, art, wealth, and a glimpse of a bigger world.  In the same town where one could see smoke curling from the chimney of an unpainted farmhouse in Winter, one could also in summer spy world famous musicians rehearsing, a famous writer or five, the chairman of Standard Oil, heirs to a few Name Brand fortunes, and relatively indigent, dignified college professors.  Sleek sailboats mingled with the lobster boats in the harbor, and large shingled cottages along the shore complemented the tidy architecture of the village.

The Library, 1950's

Against this background, my interests were formed---a love of architecture from the handsome examples all around me; a fascination with interiors born at my great-grandmother's house, where time had stopped before WWI, its seldom used parlor all curios and faded wallpaper and it's kitchen with iron cook stove and sink with hand pump, so much more fun than the modern plumbing at home.  A love of nature and landscape was inherited from my mother, her own intense love of the natural world forged in her childhood exploring the woods and shore around her home.  Finally, a sense of history and heritage from my father,  his history professor brother, and their delightful parents, and of course, from living in a community where the past was always palpable.  A career selling books, and then beautiful things to people who like the same, has led to interesting and enduring friendships and exposure in the design world.

A typical house in the village, built 1830, photograph 1880's

While much looks the same on the surface, the 21st century has caught up.  We're discovered.  Lattes abound, Radicchio salad, in a fashionable restaurant is as easily, perhaps more easily, found as a baked bean supper.  People from away have settled in droves, prosperity, television, and the internet have brought us in line with the 21st century.  The side streets are paved, good thing given the crushing traffic of summer tourists.  The thrill of crossing a wooden bridge and seeing through the cracks to the rushing stream below is just memory.

My parents were (are) curious and interested about many things, and there were many road trips in my childhood to see anything and everything---rare plants growing in bogs, abandoned Federal houses on remote peninsulas, country auctions, art museums, ancient villages, egret's nests, a stretch of wild coast.  It was a visual feast, and remains so, and I hope this blog passes along some of that discovery and delight to an interested reader or two.

If you've read this far, please stay tuned.  After today, there will be few words about me, and more about things interesting and beautiful, with a New England bias showing----and pictures, lots of pictures.