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Excuse my month-long absence — I found myself once again preoccupied by Stonehenge. Despite not quite figuring out its purpose —I’m getting close! — I marvel at the precision with which the sarsen and bluestone were placed and I think to modern masters of the meticulous, like the Modernist master R.M. Schindler.
Schindler was known for his attention to detail, and his 1941 Druckman House is a prime example. Built on top and into a hillside (he had many successes on such “unbuildable” sites), the home perfectly executes a number of balancing acts: its exacting geometric shapes are countered by a focus on the surrounding organic nature, planes of old-growth plywood walls are striking yet romantic, and sculptural flourishes immerse its residents in art while doubling as convenient storage.
Much like the prehistoric Stonehenge, Schindler’s Druckman House has a magical way with light: for every leafy shadowed window there is another flooded with sun. I’ve always presumed Californians and Neolithic masons had little in common, but when gazing up through Schindler’s clerestory windows one must admit: everything shares the same sky.
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