Love Letters to Dead Architects: The Mata-Hari of Modernism

Dear Rudolph Schindler,

How ever did you survive the panther attack? I thought for certain I had found an acceptable means of eliminating my chief rival. I am impressed at your determination; you are much more dedicated than your counterpart: Richard Neutra.

As you know, Richard left me in a most cruel way in Vienna when he moved to the U.S. upon the insistence of Mr. FLLW. Luckily, I escaped to Italy before any real harm could be done, from there Paris, New York, Chicago and finally here.

Now, I have never much been one for idle gossip, but I heard through the California grape-vine that there is trouble in paradise between you, Frank and Dick. Something to do with you not being invited to Phillip Johnson’s latest International tea-party, the one EVERYONE else was invited to. Oh and wasn’t there something else about Richard claiming your work on Wright’s Imperial Hotel? You’ve got brains Rudy, what you lack is deftness, I can help you there. Be the Eris to my Mars, or the other way around, however you like.

I propose an alliance, you take out Wright and I’ll take Richard. I would take the Mid-westerner myself, but he would see that coming a mile away. He and I…well, the less said there the better.

If you agree with this arrangement, meet me at “The Pimento” in one hour and we’ll discuss logistics.

Yours,

Retly Corm


Dear Richard Nuetra,

If you’re reading this, then congratulations!

You’ve found my abandoned house. I left this morning, the drawings, the models, the miniature cyclonorama, they’re all gone.

And shame on you for coming around here like I owe you something. I OWE YOU NOTHING! YOU LEFT ME! Even Adolph Loos agreed with me that you were in the wrong and you know how he and I never see eye-to-mustache on anything.

There we were, having a perfectly marvelous romance and then BAM! You have to run off to California to “find yourself” with that wad Frank Lloyd Wright and your buddy Schindler. Did you ever once think of me, as you were lounging by your sharp, trendy pools in those sun-drenched valleys? Boozing it up with Ayn Rand in your fashionable 1920s patios?

No, you left me holding the bag in Vienna; do you know how those neo-classicists hunted me after you left? I couldn’t buy schnitzel without getting at least one t-square hurled in my general direction. Do you know what the worst part was? The WORST part was that you didn’t even say goodbye to my face. You left me a note. AN UNSIGNED NOTE.

I thought you might like this then scenario then, you always went on about the joys of irony. I know you better than you think. In fact, I know you so well that if my assumptions are correct and you are reading this letter at 2:34 in the afternoon on Thursday the 16th, you have approximately 15 seconds before the moat is electrified.

Good luck getting back sucka!