You’ve seen the photos. A white steel skeleton, floor-to-ceiling glass, and a house that looks like it’s floating over a meadow in Plano, Illinois. It’s the Farnsworth House, the ultimate Mies van der Rohe home. On Instagram, it looks like a peaceful sanctuary of high-modernism.
In reality? It was a battlefield.
Most people think of a Mies van der Rohe home as a triumph of "less is more." They see the clean lines and think, I could live there. But the truth is much messier. The story of this house isn't just about architecture; it’s about a messy lawsuit, a doctor who felt like a "prowling animal" inside her own home, and a legendary architect who arguably cared more about his portfolio than his client's comfort.
The Glass Cage: Why the Farnsworth House Was a Nightmare to Live In
Dr. Edith Farnsworth was a brilliant nephrologist. She wanted a place to play her violin and translate poetry. Mies gave her a masterpiece, but he didn't necessarily give her a home. Honestly, the "glass house" concept sounds romantic until you actually have to sleep in one.
Farnsworth famously complained that she felt like a fish in a glass bowl. Because the walls were entirely transparent, she felt exposed to the world. She couldn't even hang a coat without it "spoiling" the look of the house from the outside. Mies was a perfectionist. To him, the house was a pure expression of an idea. To Edith, it was a $73,000 lantern that attracted every moth and mosquito in northern Illinois.
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At night, the lights inside turned the house into a beacon. It was a literal bug magnet. She eventually had to hire another architect just to add bronze-framed screens so she could breathe without swallowing a fly. Mies, predictably, hated the screens. They ruined his "purity."
The 1951 Lawsuit That Shook Architecture
Things got ugly. Fast.
Construction costs spiraled. The original estimate was around $40,000, but by the time it was finished in 1951, the bill was closer to $73,000. That’s well over a million dollars in today’s money. Mies sued Edith for unpaid fees. Edith countersued, claiming he was incompetent and had misrepresented the costs.
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The courtroom drama was spicy. There were rumors of a failed romance between the two, though that’s never been 100% proven. In the end, the judge sided with Mies. He got his money, but the friendship was dead. He never even visited the finished house.
What Actually Makes a Mies van der Rohe Home Unique?
If it was so unlivable, why do we still care? Because Mies was doing something no one else dared to do. He wasn't just building a house; he was reinventing the "dwelling."
Basically, Mies wanted to strip everything away until only the "skin and bones" remained. He used industrial materials—steel and plate glass—in a way that felt like high art. If you look closely at a Mies van der Rohe home, you’ll notice a few things that set it apart:
- The Floating Effect: The Farnsworth House is raised 5 feet, 3 inches off the ground. This wasn't just for looks; it was supposed to protect the house from the Fox River flooding. (Spoiler: It didn't work. The house has flooded multiple times, including a massive one in 1996.)
- Universal Space: There are no internal walls, just a central "core" made of Primavera wood that hides the bathrooms and mechanical systems. The rest is one giant, open room.
- Invisible Details: Mies famously said "God is in the details." He spent a fortune hiding welds and bolts. He wanted the steel to look like it was magically fused together.
He also designed the Villa Tugendhat in the Czech Republic and the Barcelona Pavilion. These weren't just buildings; they were manifestos. He used expensive marbles and exotic woods to contrast with the cold steel. It’s that tension between luxury and industry that makes his work so recognizable.
The Flooding Problem Nobody Talked About
Mies was a genius, but he wasn't great at hydrology. He ignored local warnings about the Fox River. He insisted the house was high enough. He was wrong.
Since 1951, the house has been submerged several times. In 1996, the water got so high it smashed the glass and swirled around the interior, causing hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage. Today, the National Trust for Historic Preservation has to have a literal emergency plan for when the river rises. There's even been talk of putting the whole house on hydraulic lifts. Imagine a 20th-century masterpiece on a giant car jack.
Is it Still Relevant Today?
Kinda. We live in an era of "open concept" everything. Every modern farmhouse with a big black-framed window owes a debt to Mies. But we’ve also learned from his mistakes. We use double-paned, UV-protected glass now so we don't bake in the summer. We use curtains because, turns out, people like privacy.
If you want to experience a Mies van der Rohe home for yourself, the Edith Farnsworth House is open for tours. It’s located in Plano, about an hour outside Chicago.
How to Apply the "Mies Aesthetic" Without the Lawsuit
You don't need a glass box to get the look. If you’re inspired by his style, here’s what you can actually do:
- Prioritize Proportion: Mies spent years obsessed with the ratio of height to width. In your own space, focus on how furniture scales to the room.
- Honest Materials: If it’s wood, let it look like wood. If it’s steel, let it be steel. Avoid "fake" finishes.
- The "Less" Strategy: Look at your living room. What’s one piece of furniture you don't actually use? Get rid of it. Mies believed that space itself was a luxury.
- Connect with the Outside: You don't need 360-degree glass. Just clear the clutter away from your windows. Let the view be the "art" on the wall.
To really dive into the history, check out the trial transcripts or the book Broken Glass by Alex Beam. It lays out the fight between Edith and Mies in grueling, fascinating detail. Or better yet, go visit the house on a rainy day. Seeing the Fox River churn just a few feet below that white steel floor gives you a real sense of the "spiritual" (and slightly terrifying) architecture Mies was trying to create.