Tom and I have always had a love for all sorts of architectural styles and periods, and love to explore new places from a “curbside” point of view. Unlike most tourists who visit, well, whatever sights “normal” people go to see, we prefer a different path. We go for long runs through interesting neighborhoods, long drives along historic avenues, and long walks along cobbled streets, tripping over uneven brick sidewalks as our eyes soar ever upward toward the glorious shapes and textures that man has cobbled together. We wonder at the beauty that some mind has conceived and rough hands have assembled. We marvel in appreciation of those creative minds and those rough hands and strong backs who have created something more than just a house, a church, a school or a place of business, but rather something to instill a sense of comfort, inspire awe, enliven the mood, or simply place beauty for all to admire. To create beauty where only utility is called for is to reach a higher level of humanity beyond the flesh, a bravery to bare the soul for all to see. A chance to live on, even in anonymity, through that creation.
While we were more often drawn to Victorian architecture over the years, we hungered to see as much of America’s history as we possibly could. We visited every house museum we could find along our travels and especially hungered for those untouched places where societies, curators, the well-intentioned, and the ignorant had never had their way with creating their own version of the past. We saw many re-enactments of past periods but very few honest-to-goodness relics. As luck would have it, we ventured out one day among the Philadelphia suburbs and happened upon a home that had just recently been acquired by a local organization and was open for a “before” tour. This house was as “raw” as they come, having been inhabited by a single family for generations, and largely untouched and un-changed. The foreboding massing of the entryway as it merged into the unexpected asymmetry of the tower produced a sense of vertigo as one entered. From the oversized repeating porch columns, cacophony of windows and almost overpowering interior woodwork and massive fireplaces, this house was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.
Knowlton Mansion
Devoid of furniture, textiles and trappings, the bare bones of the interior of this house could only be described as “Gotham City, Batman, meets Victorian.” I was blown away and head-over-heels in love. I snatched a brochure, ignored everything the tour guide was saying, and scoured the literature for the one piece of information I HAD to have…who built this mastepiece? I learned that it was an architect from Philadelphia named Frank Furness (pronunced Furnace) who had also designed the Pennsylvania Academy of Arts in Philadelphia.
For years, as we traveled on our weekend forays up and down the East Coast, we referenced a book we had found that listed the works of Frank Furness, visiting as many of his remaining works as possible. We discovered the beautiful libraries, banks, and warehouses he built, as well as many of the residences that were designed by his hand. The most astonishing thing we discovered, however, was how many of his works, and even masterpieces, were destroyed over the years. Too many times I would get excited about seeing a building only to discover that the book listed a “built” date and a “destroyed” date. We soon realized that there were more buildings now gone forever than there were left standing. We often lamented that The Complete Works of Frank Furness often read more like an obituary than a field guide. I even put the book aside for a time after seeing photos of the Provident Life Bank building, only to realize that it was now gone. Destroyed on purpose. Demolished. The heartbreak was just too much.
My heartbreak over the loss of the Provident Life building, though it occurred long before I was born, was still raw, and soon turned to anger — one emotion that can motivate and focus my energy unlike anything else. When I get angry, I like to get even. Plans were just being discussed about what to do with the existing 1950s home-made kitchen, and I suggested a tribute to Frank Furness through that endeavor. Tom took to the idea, and within a few weeks had some preliminary plans drawn up on graph paper. Using elements from Fruness buildings and interior designs, as well as elements from Daniel Pabst furniture, he created the kitchen of my dreams. Mr. Pabst was Frank Furness’ cabinet maker and manufactured all of the interior woodwork as well as furniture both built-in and stand-alone for many Furness commissions. Many of Furness’ designs executed by Daniel Pabst can be seen in furniture collections in museums around the country. My favorite is a desk in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Another cabinet at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York is a close second.
But could this kitchen tribute actually be built?
To be continued…
Carla Minosh
While I am new to Blogging, I have always enjoyed sharing the stories of my crazy life, so this is simply another medium to share, and hopefully entertain and enrich others. Perhaps you can feel thankful that your life is so steady and predictable after reading these, perhaps you can appreciate the insanity and wish you had more of it in your life. Either way, the crazy tales are all true (to the best of my spotty recollection) and simply tell the tale of a life full of exploration, enthusiasm, curiosity and hard work. I hope you all enjoy being a part of the journey.
You wrote: "My heartbreak over the loss of the Provident Life building, though it occurred long before I was born, was still raw, and soon turned to anger"
I had to smile a bit as that was exactly my reaction upon discovering this extraordinary, and now lost, structure.
Yes, seriously — some business person came up with the idea of destroying it, and financed its destruction. A government bureaucrat approved the action. A demolition company successfully bid for the contract for the privilege of destroying it. The public silently watched it fall. Not a tear was shed, not a voice was raised. I simply cannot comprehend the callousness and disregard for such majesty. But then again, I suppose someone, someday, will shoot the last existing tired old elephant because it is taking up too much room in the last existing, long-neglected zoo.
Hello Carla, I'm French and came upon your restoration blog through Restoring Ross' blog. Or Kelly's Old House Dreams. Can't recall! Anyway, I'm also interested in buildings, even common housing buildings. I have many books about American rowhouses, American vernacular architecture, painted ladies, etc. Can't really explain why I'm into this. When I'm bored at work I read OHD and try to find restoration blogs. Or look at listings or even Google Maps Streetview just to look at houses. Anyway, I also have your curbside POV, and when we went to NYC, I enjoyed going off the touristic paths and just walk in the neighborhoods, head up. We visited the Merchant's house to see a Federal bourgeois house, and the Tenement Museum, time capsule of early 20th C. when poor immigrants lived in these crowded small apartments. Anyway, If you haven't visited them, you'll surely enjoy them! I'm now going to continue my reading of your blog. I just love binge reading about restorations 🙂
Miss Apple, so funny, I visited New York City for the first time in November and those are the same two places I visited while there – I loved them!