“It is impossible to pay in money what is made by
heart and soul”
the project. “He don’t know anything about building
and he expects us to teach him,” Farnsworth quoted
one fellow in her memoir, “but that keeps us from
getting anything done.” Farnsworth began to doubt
Mies’ own ability when she saw him reject slabs of
travertine for the floor that he had already identified
as meeting his standards. At the end of that year, she
headed off to spend her first night in the house. “With
the light of a bare, 60 watt bulb on an extension cord I
made up [a] foam rubber mattress on the floor, turned
up the air furnace and got something to eat.” But this
was not a joyous sojourn, for “the glacial bleakness of
that winter night showed very clearly how much more
would have to be spent before the place could be made
even remotely habitable.” Farnsworth returned to the
city, “deprived of any further doubt that my economic
security had been jeopardized by my architect and that
my trust in Mies had been misplaced.”
In 1951, Mies sued Dr. Farnsworth for nonpayment
and she countersued for overcharges and incompetence.
The trial, which ended in Mies’ favor, in 1953, was an
ugly close to what had been a felicitous partnership
and could well explain the vehemence with which
Farnsworth later excoriated Mies. In her memoir she
mused, “Perhaps as a man he is not the clairvoyant
primitive that I thought he was, but simply a colder
and more cruel individual than anybody I have ever
known.” Farnsworth’s travails continued. There were
problems with the fireplace. The roof leaked. She was
forced to enclose the upper terrace with screens to keep
insects out and provide better ventilation. In 1954, the
Fox River rose and filled the house with four feet of
water. (It was inundated again in 1996, suffering even
greater damage.)
