Paradise Found: LongHouse Reserve

I don't often visit the Hamptons, so the occasion of a talk on behalf of the Parrish Art Museum in Southampton gave me a chance to (finally) take up Jack Larsen's kind invitation to visit him at LongHouse Reserve in Easthampton. I knew about the place, of course; we had done several stories related to it at House and Garden.

Now I can only wonder why it took me so long to make the pilgrimage; but this is a perfect example of why I needed to learn some things about slow love. I made this visit at the urging of my friend Frances Palmer, the potter, who decided to come down from her Connecticut studio and accompany me. Everyone needs friends in their lives like Frances, who just have to see as much as they can, do as much as they can, and who love company on their adventures. One of my favorite activities now is field trips; I try to plan them into my schedule, as they always inspire and refresh me. I've found that it is important to make time to see new things--even if they are only around the corner from where you live.

One of the speakers on the morning's program was the artist April Gornick, who turns out to be enough of a techie that she graciously saved my slide show after long minutes of panic when the projector refused to communicate with my computer. April gave a provocative philosophical talk that included musings on how she was drawn to clearings, not only as spaces that inspired paintings, but as places that calmed and grounded her. I thought about how what I call Slow Love Moments come of mental clearings; one must give them a chance to appear, or, give oneself a chance to recognize and bask in them. LongHouse is such a clearing. And so is Jack Lenor Larsen himself. Some people are so special that simply to be around them is a profound experience.

Larsen has long been renowned as a modernist textile designer. He introduced interpretations of exotic weaves to this country, including ikat and batik, and he experimented with unusual yarns and papers. Many of his designs were bought by Florence Knoll in the 1950s for her eponymous line of furnishings; he also created upholstery for Pan American Airlines--back in the day when air travel was a thrilling adventure, and one dressed stylishly to board a plane. Larsen is also an avid collector of handcraft, focusing primarily on ceramics; the displays ranged in cabinets, hidden behind sliding doors and gently illuminated, are stunning. His pieces by Lucie Rie are among the most beautiful of her work I have ever seen; likewise the pieces by Jim Makins, whose elegant grey spires displayed stalks of Stachys byzantina, Lamb's ear--a perfect choice.

LongHouse, which he designed in collaboration with Charles Forberg, was completed in 1992. The design was inspired by the Ise Shrine in Japan; the building is raised on stilts so that visitors can gaze out over the expansive gardens filled with intriguing sculpture. One approaches across a bridge and then enters into a large, airy, light-filled conservatory filled with plants in the winter. The rooms unfold across its length, one opening into another; it has an open plan, and yet the spaces are clearly defined. The house is powerful, large and open, made of thick beams and walls, punctuated by expansive windows. It is a curiously American interpretation of a Japanese temple, with its giant scale and the immediate sense of material richness that greets its visitors.

Everywhere, no matter how small the corner or how large the table, the eye falls on moments of beauty, intimate landscapes composed of books, vases, stones, flowers, baskets; evidence of a live well--and passionately--lived. The central room is furnished entirely with delicate, sensual pieces from the 1940s by the legendary Wharton Esherick. In the living room, furniture by Edward Wormley is arranged around a modern hearth that provides the only heat in the winter; a grand piano is tucked away in the corner. I could almost hear music being played, which I want to be Bach, but I didn't think to ask whether Jack is a pianist, nor what it is he loves to hear. Many things, I suspect. I didn't get to ask so many questions...But I did get to savor the place. We were served lunch, with asparagus just picked in the garden, on ceramic plates that looked as if they had just dried on the potter's shelf; Jack is also an excellent cook.

The skies opened up, so we got a tour of the garden via golf cart. We whizzed past pieces by Buckminster Fuller, Yoko Ono, Lynda Benglis, Sol LeWitt, Willem de Kooning. The elephant standing on his trunk is by Miguel Barcelo. The "pond" fountain with the cross, at the end of this post (and please catch Jack's shadow...) is called Black Mirror, by Ed Drohan. The oval bench slathered with a concrete-like stucco, with water coursing along the top, is by Mia Westerlund. Sitting in its embrace, leaning against its high walls, which we were allowed to do for the briefest of seconds, we were surrounded by the sound of water washing over its steps. As we careened around other corners of the garden, with me hanging my arm out the back so that I could literally "point and shoot", I vowed that I would return in the autumn and linger. The gardens are open to the public to visit, though the house is not--as Jack lives there! Many of my pictures caught only a blur of impressions, appropriately enough. There was too much to take in on one visit. But what struck me forcibly was the demonstration of how one can live deeply, elegantly, serenely, and excitingly, in a place, surrounded by the treasure of passionate, engaged forays out into the world. Forays that always end with a return home.

We are used, now, to the look of mid-century modernism. In its day, though, it was provocative and exciting. Jack, who is in his eighties, was--and is--a radical; like all artists he brings a refined but idiosyncratic sensibility to everything he touches, whether he is designing his fabrics, or displaying his pots. He has never been afraid to live exactly as he wants to, and that alone is a valuable lesson.

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