And the 1968 Award for Most Beautiful Hidden Modernist Home goes to … architect Harry Bernard Kohl for his glass-and-steel extravaganza on Lake Simcoe's Kempenfelt Bay!
Or maybe that fictional award should be for Most Space Age California-style Home. Regardless, this house certainly is hidden, and it certainly is from the space age. Says one of the home's new owners: "I have no idea why they decided to build this here, however I'm glad they did, and I'm glad we found it."
I know why: To place this wide, T-shaped 2,500-square-foot-house - the top bar hovers over the bottom bar on 85-foot I-beams - in Toronto would have required a massive lot. And, even in 1968, it would have freaked the neighbours out, since this wasn't Los Angeles.
However, Los Angeles is likely where inspiration was found. The story, although sketchy, is that Mr. Kohl's client, owner of a major Toronto steel company, approached the award-winning architect with a photograph - I'd guess Julius Shulman's iconic image of Pierre Koenig's Case Study House No. 22 - and asked him to build something similar, and Mr. Kohl, an adventurous fellow, responded in kind.
The Toronto-born Mr. Kohl (1923-73) was one of the most visible architects of the 1960s. He designed the built-on-site model homes at the National Home Show from 1962 until 1969 (one called "The Asteroid" cost $75,000 to construct; another sported a geodesic-domed living room). His range was extensive: After graduating from the University of Toronto in 1947, he designed houses, synagogues, domed Highway 401 rest stops, apartment towers, community centres, a Fiji resort, financed by Peter Munk and David Gilmour, and at least one prison.
His name was often cited in Zena Cherry's Globe and Mail society column as well as in similar Toronto Daily Star columns: One identified him as a paying member of a new discotheque called the Banana Factory; in another, he's labelled one of the "beautiful people" at the Electric Circus.
"Part of the rhythm scene. Beautiful as opposed to dull. Or boring," Mr. Kohl was quoted as saying about the nightclub scene in 1968, though he could just as easily been talking about the Kempenfelt Bay house: The rhythm of balanced steel-on-steel. Beautiful as a bridge. Exciting to experience.
So, it's no surprise new owners Bob and Michelle don't want to reveal their surname, since a house this shagadelic should be enjoyed only by small groups of guests (or with their two kitties, Snuggles and Kilmouski). But, regardless, I will bestow the 2010 Award for Most Dedicated Converts to Modernism on the couple despite their spotlight shyness.
Why? Well, they've done a lot of things that qualify them, but it's mainly for what they didn't do: Build a traditional English cottage, complete with gewgaws, dormers and turrets, on the lot next door. That had been the plan, actually, until a fish-filled creek running right down the middle of the property scuppered it all.
But the lot beside them looked good - well, except for that weird "architectural ruin" that had been left for dead for the better part of two decades. Languishing on the open market since the early 2000s, it had scared off potential buyers by a demolition that would have been ridiculously expensive.
But Bob and Michelle have no fear. For the co-owners of a construction and land development company, a massive restoration is just another day at the office. Well, not quite, but since 2007 they've been hard at work: "There wasn't one thing on this place that didn't need replacing or fixing," says Bob, a cup of tea between his calloused thumb and forefinger.
"We lived like a mushroom in a paper bag for two months while they did the sandblasting," says Michelle with a laugh. "We must have been stupid."
Or brilliant, since the house shines like new again. Sitting in the living room at the bottom of the T (perpendicular to the shoreline) with a commanding view of the bay is an almost religious experience. Ascending the open-tread stairs to the bedroom wing at the top of the T (parallel to the shoreline), is practically like arriving on the bridge of a ship.
The couple didn't stop at the structural stuff, either. A new front door was fabricated to match the original groovy but damaged 1960s door; the left-behind Nienkämper dining table and chairs were restored; new modernist furniture was purchased, including a knockoff Eames lounger to match the two the owner took away; discontinued Welsh Ruabon floor tiles were shipped up from the United States; and, lastly, when Bob was unsuccessful in negotiating to keep the metal sculpture on the front lawn, he had something similar built by his "steel guys" using photographs as a reference. This tribute now sits, proudly, in the same spot and acts as wonderful curvy counterpoint to the house's hard lines.
How's that for dedication?
"It's been three years of hard slogging; however, it's been worth it," finishes Michelle.
And the Award for the Coolest House I've Seen in the Last Few Years goes to … well, duh.