Golden Era of Georgia's Golden Isle

I know that there are many of you who, like me, have fond memories of summers spent at Sea Island, Georgia. Although my family usually rented houses there, the old Cloister hotel is what I remember most vividly. It was my first exposure to the work of Addison Mizner, architect of The Cloister. As a child, I had no idea who Mizner was. I just liked the Spanish style architecture of the hotel. I remember the hotel's Spanish Lounge where there was always a table set up in the corner with a jigsaw puzzle at the ready. The Dining Room at The Cloister makes me think of Baked Alaska (which I had there for the first time on my 10th birthday), finger bowls and doilies, and Kadota figs. Kadota figs were always on the menu for breakfast as was prune juice. I never indulged in either one. And of course, there were The Cloister's legendary Bingo games. Bingo was what you did at night after dinner.

The old Cloister was torn down back in 2003, and a new, fancy version replaced it. It's sad, really, as I miss that great old building. I came across these c. 1941 photos of The Cloister, part of the Gottscho-Schleisner Collection of photographs, over the weekend and wanted to share them with you. The interiors that you see here are credited to Francis Abreu, the noted architect. Although Mizner was responsible for The Cloister's architecture when it was built in the late 1920s, Abreu was the architect behind the adjacent buildings as well as later additions and renovations. The photo captions make note of the "new" dining room, so I'm assuming that the dining room seen here must have been an addition to The Cloister around 1940.

So, for all of us who remember Sea Island for what it used to be, here is a trip down memory lane:


Large club room




Blue club room






Passage to new Dining Room




New Dining Room




New Dining Room




New Dining Room

Philip Johnson's Curtain Call

I was recently discussing the late Philip Johnson with my friend, Keith. He was fortunate enough to have visited Johnson's Glass House when it first opened to public, while I hope to make the pilgrimage this year. The conversation reminded me of a May, 1934 House & Garden article which profiled the Manhattan duplex of Johnson. According to the article, the duplex (which, by the way, he shared with his sister) was comprised of the two upper floors of a townhouse located on East 49th Street.

When Johnson bought the apartment, the lower floor was divided into a two story studio living room, a reception hall, another small room, and a kitchen. The bedrooms were located on the upper floor. Johnson tore out the walls between each room on the lower floor (with the exception of the kitchen), effectively creating one large room. Where the walls once stood, though, Johnson installed curtains that helped to delineate the spaces. What's interesting is that Johnson chose different colored fabric for each set of curtains. Johnson typically left the curtains half drawn so as to give "a vista the entire length of the apartment." If he were to entertain large groups, the curtains were left wide open. In the photo above, you can see how the apartment's lower floor looked when all of the curtains were open.

Pale ecru linoleum was used throughout the apartment to create a sense of continuity. Johnson chose a dull white plaster finish for all of the walls and ceilings so as to give the appearance of lightness. The furniture included now classic pieces like the Barcelona daybed, chairs, and ottoman by Mies van der Rohe.

On a Philip Johnson related note, Birch Cooper of Birch Books has recently written a book profiling Johnson's library at the Glass House. The book includes photographs of 100 different volumes found in Johnson's library as well as a complete inventory of the titles located at the Glass House. All proceeds from the book will go towards conservation efforts of Johnson's library at the Glass House. For more information on Cooper's book, please click here.




The two-story living area that was at one end of the open space.



When drawn, blue serge curtains between the reception hall and the living area created privacy for dining.



The view from the study, looking towards the reception hall and then to the living area beyond. Curtains were also hung along the exterior walls to cover the floor to ceiling windows.


All photos from House & Garden, May 1934.

Evans-Cucich House, Peachtree Battle Avenue

There is one house in Atlanta that I have coveted ever since I was a child. Located on Peachtree Battle Avenue, the Evans-Cucich house is one of the very few Art Deco houses in Atlanta. Before I even knew what Art Deco was, I could tell that this house was unique. It certainly didn't look like the other the 1920s and 30s-era homes in my neighborhood. Built in 1935 and designed by Atlanta architect A.F.N. Everett, the limestone house has a rather dark past. The original owner of the home, Hiram Evans, was an Imperial Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. Many of us who are native Atlantans grew up hearing rumors that a tunnel was built underneath Peachtree Battle connecting the Evans house to a fellow Klansman's house across the street. Then, sometime in the 1980s, I believe, the house was purchased by a man by the name of Cucich. I remember driving by the house in the 1980s and 90s and thinking "Someday, that house will be mine."

Fast forward to a few months ago. My friend Clary Bosbyshell (she and her mother Margaret are the talented design duo behind Margaux Interiors) emailed me late one night to ask me about a house with which she was fascinated. She wrote that she walked by it often, that it was the most interesting looking house, and that it looked like it had been foreclosed on. Before I even opened the attachment with a photo of the house, I knew that it was my house! A flurry of emails went back and forth. Clary, who also grew up in Atlanta, had long been intrigued by the house as well. We both did a little research on it and discussed the rumor of the underground tunnel. When Clary found out that the house was about to go on the market, she orchestrated a tour of the house with an agent. One dreary afternoon in March, Clary, Margaret, and I showed up with cameras in hand to see and document the interiors of the house.

What is sad is that the house is really in a state of disrepair. The limestone exterior still looks decent, but the inside...well...let's just say that it needs a lot of work. There are rotten floorboards, holes in ceilings, and a general foul odor. I even wonder about the condition of the flat roof. I'm not sure what happened to the previous homeowners nor if and how long the house has been vacant, so I suppose that I shouldn't belabor the condition of the interiors. But, I did take a lot of photos of the house for my own records. I wanted to share a few of them with you today. There are some interesting Art Deco architectural details both in the interior and the exterior of the house. You can tell that once it had been a most dazzling house. Fortunately for the house and for those of us who love it, the Evans-Cucich house is on the National Register of Historic Places. This is a godsend because it can't be torn down to make way for some horror of a new home. It's shocking how few Atlantans seem to have any respect for old homes anymore. I just hope that the new homeowners, whoever they might be, will restore and gently modernize it in a way that is suitable for both the home and the neighborhood. And no bad Art Deco flourishes, please!

And about that tunnel? We went down in the basement and found a padlocked door that we couldn't open. We wondered if it led to the tunnel, but I just don't know. Others who have inspected the house say that they found no tunnel. I guess that the rumor and mystery will remain for the next generation of Atlantans.


Apologies for the dark photos. It was dark both inside the house and outside as well, so taking decent photos was a bit of challenge!









Architectural detail shots of the limestone exterior





The entryway with Deco-style molding and detail.



The guest room had an interesting ceiling with those stepped insets. (Wish that I knew what the proper architectural term for this ceiling is!)




The home's original stair railing and newel post.



A Deco shaped doorway.




The kitchen's original refrigerator.




I'm assuming that the blue lavatory and toilet are original? What a great shade of blue.





There was an upstairs balcony that had been painted with a tropical mural by the most recent homeowner.




A Deco style telephone niche.




The Butler's Pantry.




The rear of the house.




The National Register plaque in front of the house.

All photographs copyright of The Peak of Chic/ Jennifer Boles

3525 Turtle Creek in the 1990s

Over the weekend, I mentioned to Clinton Smith that I was working on a few posts about 3525 Turtle Creek, and of course he knew: 1) exactly which building I was writing about 2) that Greer Garson had once lived there and 3) that Elle Decor had published an apartment in the building back in 1999. (If you know Clinton, then you know that this kind of knowledge is hardly surprising. He has a mind like a steel trap.) He was kind enough to loan me the May 1999 issue of Elle Decor in which the apartment of real estate investor Pat Patterson was featured. Ms. Patterson purchased her penthouse unit at 3525 from the estate of Greer Garson. (You know, Mrs. Miniver.)

What is striking about the home- besides the brise-soleils outside of the windows, of course- is the blend of traditional antiques, modern furniture, and contemporary artwork. Who knew that Flora Danica and Yves Klein would get along so well together? But what I think that I admire most are those chairs covered in an animal print pony hair. The pair of chairs, as well as the living room's curved sofa, were purchased from Garson's estate. Obviously, Ms. Garson was one chic character, and I think it fair to say that Ms. Patterson is too.




A Platner table and chairs. (Did I ever mention that the first time I sat in a Platner chair was in the ladies clothing department at Neiman's? I sat there often while my mother tried on clothes.)

A view from the top.






Impressive looking bookshelves.






Patterson's collection of antique Flora Danica hangs above a traditional dining table and chairs. Greer Garson's circular sofa is in the foreground.





I love the juxtaposition of Flora Danica china and King Edward flatware against the backdrop of the brise-soleil. It gives the table setting an edge.





The kitchen still retained the original cooktop, ovens, and cabinets.

All images from Elle Decor, May 1999; Ka Yeung photographer.

3525 Turtle Creek circa 1966

Continuing with the Howard Meyer designed high-rise in Dallas...

This apartment, featured in the July 1966 issue of House & Garden, was owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Lambert, Jr. Thanks to Google, I learned that Joe Lambert was a prominent landscape architect, and his wife Evelyn was a socialite and noted art collector. Looking through the photos, it appears that the apartment was quite large, had high ceilings, and boasted a spacious terrace. All of this makes me wonder if the Lamberts lived in a penthouse apartment. You'll also see that many of the windows only had the concrete sun screens on the upper portions, meaning that these windows were not on the West side of the building. (You'll recall from yesterday's post that only the West side had continuous screens.) As soon as I saw the photos of the windows shielded by the perforated concrete, I knew that it had to be the same Dallas building as the apartment of designer Christopher Ridolfi, and in fact, it is.

Update: After I wrote this post, a reader of mine confirmed that in fact the Lamberts' apartment was one of two penthouse units. The other one belonged to Greer Garson.

In the living room, the Lamberts hung a Stanley Hayter painting on the ceiling. A dining/garden room lies beyond the glass partition.




The drawing room boasted white and black artwork including a few Castellanis, a Mathieu, a canvas by Lucio Fontana, and a work with white wood beads and tennis and ping-pong balls by van Hoeydonck.




The morning room with more artwork.


All images from House & Garden, July 1966.

3525 Turtle Creek circa 2000s

I have always believed that had I not been born in Atlanta, I would have wanted to be a native of Dallas. Why? First (and maybe most importantly), it's the hometown of Neiman Marcus, my very favorite store in the world. Also, Dallas women love to wear makeup and jewels- and the heavier the makeup and jewelry the better. And finally, most Dallas people seem to love small talk and chit-chat just as much as I do. I will never forget calling the Porthault store in New York a few years ago to order additional pieces of my breakfast china. The surly saleswoman could have cared less that I wanted to buy more place settings. After giving up, I decided to call the Porthault store in Dallas, and not only was the saleswoman nice as pie, we proceeded to have a five minute conversation about how the espresso cups would be perfect for serving eggs en cocotte at a ladies brunch. See what I mean about chit-chat?

And let's not forget about the homes of some of Dallas' most stylish citizens. Look through a copy of Domestic Art: Curated Interiors (one of my very favorite design books) and you'll see some very sophisticated homes. One that has really fascinated me is the high-rise apartment of designer Christopher Ridolfi. I'm showing images of the apartment below, and perhaps you might feel as I do that the home has a well-edited flair. But it's not just the interiors that caught my eye; it's that perforated concrete screen that covers the windows and terrace. How cool is that?

The book mentions that this apartment is located in a Howard Meyer building, so I did a little research. Meyer was a modernist architect who moved to Dallas during the Depression. I'm pretty sure that the apartment featured here is in a 22-story building located at 3525 Turtle Creek Boulevard, one that was built in 1957. What makes the high-rise unique are its "brise-soleils", those cast concrete screens that were constructed to shield each unit from the intense Texas sun. Three sides of the building have screens that only cover the top portions of windows, while the West-facing side has continuous screens in order to help protect from the intense afternoon sunlight. The striking building is one of the few Modernist high-rises in the country that has earned a place on the National Register for Historic Places. And in case you're interested in a little trivia, the actress Greer Garson and entertainer and sausage maker Jimmy Dean both lived there.

Funny enough, I was looking through my old 1966 House & Gardens last weekend and found photos of a Dallas apartment that had the very same sun screens. A little sleuthing uncovered that this apartment was also in the same Howard Meyer designed building. I'll show those images tomorrow.











Image of building's exterior courtesy of Briggs Freeman; apartment photos from Domestic Art: Curated Interiors by Holly Moore, Ka Yeung photographer.

Paul Rudolph and the Wallace House

Watching the coverage of last week's devastating tornadoes has been very difficult. To see the destruction and suffering that the storms left behind is absolutely heart-wrenching. One area that was hard hit was that around Athens, Alabama, a small city located in the northern part of the state. For a while now, I had been planning to write a post about a house located in Athens, one that was designed in the 1960s by the late architect Paul Rudolph. The house, striking in its resemblance to a modern Greek temple, seemed unusual for a region known more for its more traditional architecture.

I debated about whether I should publish this post in light of what happened in Alabama and throughout the South. Discussing architecture might seem a little callous under the circumstances. But if you think about it, a post on a Southern house is important right now. Some Southerners might prefer traditional houses while others favor contemporary, but what almost all Southerners have in common is our love of home, that cherished place where we spend time with family and friends laughing, celebrating, eating, and often reminiscing about the good old days. For many people right now, the days are not good and won't be for some time. Perhaps if we do our part- in a big or small way- these people will once again have places to call home.

Click here to see a list of charitable organizations that are providing relief for the victims of the tornadoes.


About the house:

When I first learned about the Wallace House in Athens, I thought it odd that Paul Rudolph, former chairman of Yale's School of Architecture and architect of such noted modernist houses as the legendary townhouse of Halston, would have been called upon to design a house situated amongst the Loblolly pines of Alabama. It makes sense, though, seeing that Rudolph spent his childhood years there. It was during his high-school years in Athens that he met Frances Garth Wallace who, with her husband John, later commissioned this house in the early 1960s.

The house's architecture is based on Greek Revival architecture (so prevalent throughout the South), though Rudolph later compared it to Corbusier's Villa Savoye. Noted for its double row of 32 simple columns (faced in brick, no less, and built more for decorative purposes), the U shaped house has a central courtyard that is flanked by an open porch on its fourth side. Because Rudolph was raised in the South and was familiar with the oppressive summertime heat, he chose to paint everything white so as to reflect sunlight. It's open to the outdoors, yet it also provides sheltered spaces to escape the heat.

All photos from House & Garden, April 1966.