The Purist's Dream

“I never forget a house.” My friend, Bronson Pinchot, and I were in a conversation about an old house that we both had toured eight or ten years ago. Given the fact that we have toured dozens, and have viewed hundreds (maybe even thousands) in photographs, I had prefaced the conversation with the question “Do you remember the one in…?”, which prompted his answer, above.

He was right. What is more, he was speaking for all of us who have a passion for old houses. For whatever reason, the memory of each one stays with us, sometimes in very vivid and specific detail. I realized this about myself not long after our conversation while scrolling through my database of photographs, a body of work that numbers in the tens of thousands. Some are categorized and labeled, but most simply exist unidentified. Nevertheless, I realized that I recognized each mantel, entryway, pedimented gable, stairway, sunburst medallion, and fanlight transom on sight.

Contrast this with my inability to go to the grocery store without forgetting the thing I went to the grocery store for in the first place, and you get a sense of what a singularly unique little talent this old-house-memory thing represents. While I don’t know of any official poll on the subject, my guess is that you could ask any old house enthusiast and get a similar story.

If you have ever wondered about the passion that frequently emerges when an old house dies, or is somehow mistreated, or looks as if it might be heading in either of those directions, look no further than this for insight. We value each detail. Original surfaces, even when worn (especially when worn), are prized. Authentic materials of the period - wood, stone, brick, wavy glass, lime plaster, slate tiles, copper - all expertly translated by artisans and craftsmen into wide plank floors, turned posts, carved medallions, corner blocks, moldings, mantels, arches - each is held in high regard.

Our outcry comes as no surprise, then, when we see “historic” houses for sale that make the rounds on social media, their owners so proud of the new aluminum or vinyl replacement windows, plastic floor tiles made to look like wood, silly exterior shutters without hinges that don’t have the capacity to shut, brand spanking new (particle board and plywood) cabinets with hardware that they saw on an HGTV renovation show and fell in love with, and “open concept” rooms with exposed posts and beams that look like true works of art trapped and forced to coexist in the middle of a flea market full of velvet Elvis paintings. To many of us, these types of transformations lean not toward historic-minded renovation but more toward old-house-rape.

The photos here represent a great old house that was recently on the market. It was billed as a “purist’s dream”, and for good reason. One look at these photos, which I took while touring the house, shows precisely why. Mercifully through the years, it had not been subjected to misguided renovations, had not been stripped of its character, and had not been fatally and irreparably altered. A sensitive and proper restoration had the potential to make this one sing an authentic song.

It is now under the care of new owners and undergoing restoration. I happened by a couple of weeks ago and snapped a photo. Judging from the exterior, work is underway. No one was on site, and I did not venture up to a window for a peek inside, so I cannot speak to what has happened to the “purist’s dream”.

I can hope, however, that it is being treated with respect. Creative enthusiasm for the latest trends has a place, but not under a roof such as this one. Please join me in wishing it and every other old and deserving house a safe passage for many years to come.

Photos by Beth Yarbrough.