Here Today, Guano Tomorrow

Hundreds of people are standing on or below the South Congress Bridge in Austin, TX and waiting for sunset, which is expected at 8:20pm tonight. Most are tourists with cell phones or bulky cameras, eagerly anticipating the torrent of bats soon to emerge from their roost under the bridge.

The atmosphere is circus-like. Everyone is talking excitedly about the upcoming attraction. Young and old stand shoulder to shoulder;

people on bridge.jpgor find a blanket-sized parcel of grass to relax and watch the sun go down;

Lawn for bats (3).jpgor pull up in a boat to wait for showtime.

kayak.jpgOne fellow standing behind me seems to be mystified by the whole experience. “Are they gonna fly outta that sewer hole over there?” he wonders out loud.

P1010402.JPGHis misconception is immediately corrected by a 10-year old standing nearby. “Hey mister, this isn’t Batman, y’know! They come out from under the bridge where they live,” says Einstein boy.

“I hope they don’t come around me…that shit is poison,” says sewer man.

bat warnings.jpgI too am excited to catch the bats in flight, but I’m also interested in doing something different with my Lumix, which I’m still learning to use. I’m determined to capture the bats in motion!

As twilight approaches, the throng fills the empty spaces of lawn and becomes more animated.throng.jpgThe moment arrives when the first bats emerge, and the crowd gets giddy.

bat flight1.jpgAnd moments later, the floodgates open, and the bats streak across the night sky by the thousands–

bat flight2.jpga migration wave of epic proportions that approaches a feeding frenzy.

bat flight3.jpgI confess that the photos are experimental. However, I understand that there are traditionalists who need to see things as they are, versus my interpretation of the event. So, in fairness to those whose vision is less oblique than mine, I’ve increased the camera’s shutter speed to give a more accurate representation of the bats’ flight path…

Blue Angels.jpgsuch that even Meat Loaf would be impressed.

Form vs. Function

Just in case you’ve been living under a rock, there is no better rock to be living under than Fallingwater, located in the Laurel Highlands of southwestern Pennsylvania along Bear Run. Where else could you retract a glass floor to walk down a set a stairs from your living room, and soak your tired feet in running water spilling over rolling rocks? With stone quarried on site, and repeated themes of cascading concrete terraces that cantilever throughout the structure to resemble nearby rock formations, I can’t imagine another residence anywhere that is so bound by its natural habitat.

P1010122.JPGP1010127.JPGFallingwater is considered the finest piece of mid-century architecture anywhere, and it’s a treat to tour the house from the perspective of the Kaufmann family, who commissioned Frank Lloyd Wright to design the retreat at the age of 70 in 1935. Completed in 1937 for $155,000, Wright frequently battled with Edgar Sr.–a Pittsburgh department store magnate–to preserve his purist design.

While the family respected Wright’s vision and artistic integrity, moreover, they wanted a house that would work for them–a house that they could live in. And so, Wright, who was at the nadir of his career, and famous for his unwillingness to compromise, held his breath and took on a client who had an equally strong idea of how his house should function. That they would survive such a contentious relationship for the sake of art and design is a testament to patron/artist symbiosis.

The sound and smell of water is omnipresent from room to room. There are no blinds or drapes that would rob the senses of scenic vistas–only walls of glass that seam at the corners, or more miraculously, windows that hinge without a trace of interruption.

Much of the furniture is built-in, and would seem uncomfortable, as if to suggest to the tenant that it’s motivation is to drive you outside, where nature is always the winner. But there are touches of warmth as well, including a massive fireplace with a swinging cauldron that could easily provide gallons of hot toddies when pulled into the fire, and bathroom walls and floors lined in cork.

The steel beams that buttress the building are colored to respect the outcroppings.

P1010129.JPG

And other beams are playfully conversational and conservational.

The notion of unifying form with function is always contentious. The language of one easily dominates the other, leading to certain confusion and discord. But if both sides listen at the same time, and hear the quiet between the noise of overlapping voices, then something wonderful happens, and it’s called Fallingwater.