For as long as I can remember, I’ve been thinking about belonging; what it feels like to belong to someone, or to a place. I notice the spaces where I feel most myself, where I feel safe and alive, and I keep coming back to that feeling.

That’s what led me to think more about home. How we shape it, who we make room for, and what it asks of us in return. I also wonder about what a home gives back… how it holds us or even teaches us over time.

Over the past few years, my fiancé and I have been lucky enough to photograph a few architecturally meaningful places. Each time, I care less about how impressive they look and more about how they exist within the land. I’m especially drawn to architecture that seems to add to the natural landscape rather than detract from it.

So the last time I went home to Illinois to visit my mom, I asked her if she’d come with me to see the Edith Farnsworth House. I couldn’t quite explain it, but I felt like there was something there I needed to witness for myself. We got in the car and drove an hour and a half through open cornfields, until the farmland suddenly changed into a dense forest along the Fox River.

Long before any homes were built, the lush stretch of river and woods was home to Algonquin speaking peoples; the Potawatomi, Ottawa, and Ojibwe. They lived, fished, traded, and moved seasonally along the Fox River Valley.

Standing there now, it’s impossible not to feel the different layers of presence that came before, and to wonder what it means to belong to a place, rather than simply occupy it.

As we began our tour of the property, we followed a small dirt footpath along the river. The trees were vibrant shades of yellow and orange, reminding me of the impermanence of the season. Eventually, we found ourselves in front of a clearing, with the home situated opposite of the river.

I was lucky to capture a few photographs on film.

We had the loveliest of docents. He was an older gentleman who lived locally and knew all sorts of interesting facts about the home, as well as the designer and its original inhabitant.

Edith Farnsworth was a successful woman in her own right. She was a physician during a time when very few women were practicing medicine. Her research on kidney disease and electrolyte imbalance became published and regarded as foundational knowledge within the medical community. In addition to her scientific contributions, she was a patron of the arts and a poet. She had an idea to build a small retreat house so that she had a quiet place to escape the hustle and bustle of her urban life.

In 1945, Edith and Mies van der Rohe were introduced at a dinner party. She had recently bought a wooded parcel of land and mentioned to Mies that she was looking for an architect to help her with designing a small but practical weekend retreat property that would give her the space she envisioned to rest, read, play music and recover from her grueling hospital work.

After their initial dinner party meeting, she drove him down to see the land. They spent significant time together walking the riverbank, discussing space and what materials they could use.

Both Farnworth and Mies wanted the home to feel like it was lightly placed within the landscape. It was important the home did not dominate its surroundings. It needed to be in communion with nature itself. Mies boldly came up with the idea of all glass walls in order to let the landscape flow visually throughout the building, as to not interrupt the eye from the true focal point of the surrounding nature.

For Mies, he wanted to obscure the traditional boundaries between inside and outside. The glass allowed the trees to reflect into the house, which poetically blurrs the interior and exterior together. At certain times of the day, the glass creates an illusion almost like a mirror, allowing the house to be hidden within the trees.

What makes the property so special is that both Mies and Edith made sure that the existing trees remained untouched. This allowed there to be stunning filtered sunlight within the home and reduce the heating costs.

Unfortunately, when trees were lost either due to weather or disease and needed to be removed later on, it made the home significantly warmer and more exposed to the natural elements, illustrating just how much the design depended on the ecosystem.

Mies elevated the house on steel columns so that the land could continue to function naturally below. Mies believed that the elevation let the river and seasonal changes to occur without the home interfering with nature. The house was built 1 ft higher than any other home had been elevated at the time.

Unfortunately, mother nature always has the final say. One time, serious flooding caused the river to rise all around the house and damaged the interior. Edith and her poodle ended up escaping in a paddleboat with only her violin in tow.

Over the years, Edith made some minor adjustments to the home. Since the exterior was made of glass, it made privacy extremely difficult. Architectural fans and visitors started trespassing onto the property to get a closer look, which prompted her to install blinds and plant shrubs to create a sense of seclusion.

What I love most about the property is its simplicity. It isn’t elaborate or large. It doesn’t try to impose anything on you. The shared intention and creative synergy between Edith and Mies reverberate throughout the home and the surrounding property.

After visiting the Farnsworth House, I’ve come to realize that what I’ve really been searching for is immersion. Spaces that help me feel more deeply and bring me back into my body. Underneath it all, is a longing for a deeper sense of belonging. That longing is what guides my research and creative work.

So here’s to more creative expression that honors our belonging to one another and to the land.

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