30 11 2007 - LA Times: N ew owners of a glass-and-steel -Zadik Zadikian........

beauty in Glendale
hortcut to: http://www.latimes.com/news/local/valley/la-hm-lomax29nov29,1,5260496,full.story?ctrack=2&cset=true
How do you make someone else's dream home feel truly yours? New owners of a glass-and-steel beauty in Glendale rise to the challenge.

By Bettijane Levine, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
November 29, 2007
INNER LIFE
Modern, remixed Lomax
Stefano Paltera / For The Times
The Yeghiazarians, who are of Armenian descent, wanted to incorporate art in their interiors that reflected their heritage. Here, a bronze bust by Zadik Zadikian.
AIDA and Vahe Yeghiazarian had been in real estate for decades, had visited thousands of houses, had learned that even the most satisfied homeowners can grouse about small imperfections. "No house is going to be perfect," Vahe would tell himself.

Then the Yeghiazarians, looking for their own new home in Glendale, saw something modern they liked. They had no idea the extent to which it was an architectural find, or that its designer, Jerrold E. Lomax, was one of L.A.'s unsung Modernist masters. Nor did they know that the original owner, Chuck Rice, was a perfectionist who presided over construction of the place -- and had the building savvy and budget to choose the highest quality materials and workmanship.

The Lomax link



Only after they moved in did the couple realize they were living in a work of art.

"You know, when you buy a painting or sculpture, you either get bored with it and start to take it for granted, or you look at it with increasing pleasure every day. That's what happened with this house," Vahe says. "Whether I'm driving by, entering, looking at it from east or west, doing things inside or out, it becomes more fascinating to me every day."

Lomax and Rice had been friends for years before they embarked on building the house. Their tastes were similar, and they agreed on a purity of design that characterized the modern structure and the furnishings that Rice and wife Phyllis chose. When the Yeghiazarians took possession of the house in 2000, they were stymied: Exactly how would they honor the intent of those who built and first lived in the place yet change it to express their taste and make it their own?

From the street, their 5,900-square-foot house appears to be a concrete fortress: a blank, angular, windowless face on the world. Once inside the massive steel door, the house transforms into a crystal palace, airy and open to extraordinary views. It's composed of three volumes on descending levels.

An entry hall, library and utility room are at the front of the house. Bedrooms for two daughters lie above. Below the entry is the dining room -- a double-height atrium, walled in glass and topped by a glass roof. It has views of patios on either side and the valley beyond. Steps lead farther down to more glass walls framed in steel, enclosing the living room, family room and kitchen. Upstairs, the master suite and office, also with walls of glass, open onto the same wide-angle view as the rooms below.

On a clear day, Vahe can see downtown Los Angeles, even the Pacific and Santa Catalina from the promontory on which the house is built.

"But when I go outside, I tend to turn my back on all that and look at the house," he says. "I study the lines of it, the perfection of how it's put together. I wish you could experience the energy it creates."

His wife can't seem to find adequate words to explain.

"I love it here," she keeps repeating. "Whether I'm alone or with people, I am so content that it's hard for me to leave. I want to stay here all the time."

THE Yeghiazarians first saw the house with the original owners' furnishings in it, much of it by Mies van der Rohe and Le Corbusier. In the dining room, a glass-top table on metal pillars was surrounded by black leather chairs. More leather, chrome and glass graced the living areas.

"We admired that look, but we wanted to bring more intimacy, comfort and a feeling of nature into the rooms," Aida says. "Instead of a glass dining table, which we felt competed with the glass walls, for example, we wanted the warmth of wood."

The couple, fans of Italian modern design, went to the annual Milan furniture fair for inspiration. They thought the massive walls of glass and oversized living spaces in their new home called for pieces from one of their favorite Milan designers, Romeo Sozzi.

The dining table they selected is typical of his work. Called the Dumbo, it is elemental and unadorned -- a slab of rich, mellow, ancient oakseated on slightly curving, elephant-like legs.

"We love the look and feeling of the wood," Aida says, caressing the smoothness of it. The dining chairs, upholstered in a spicy rust-orange, connect in tone with the rust and pistachio-colored pillows on beige sofas designed by Sozzi that face each other in the living room.

Sofas and chairs throughout the house are upholstered in natural fabrics -- wool, cotton, silk. Occasional tables in the living area are the same rich, dark oak as the dining table. Only the family room is ablaze with color, its grouping of oversized sofa and chairs by Giorgetti upholstered in a zingy red-orange.

"Many people think a modern house can't be comfortable and homey," Aida says. "Ours is that and more. People say they relax here; they want to stay."

The house is practical too. Laundry rooms are upstairs and downstairs, saving legwork. Six separate air-conditioning units ensure that cooling occurs only where needed. All systems, including the cooling, heating, audio, video, lights and shades, are controlled through a centralized brain that can be operated by remote control or from any room in the house. "I can turn on lights and music while I'm still in my car driving home," Vahe says.

MARRIED 28 years, the Yeghiazarians are Armenian and grew up in Iran, although they met after coming to the United States. Paintings and sculpture by Armenian artists are displayed throughout their house.

In the library, an 18th century traditional Armenian dress of red embroidered cotton is showcased on a mannequin encased in glass. On either side, wall hangings are actually antique woven pouches once used in Armenia for carrying salt. A living room sculpture by Onnik Kartash depicts the suffering of those forced to flee their Armenian homeland and unable to find a place to settle, Aida says.

The plethora of glass walls means few spaces to hang all the paintings, but is that a complaint? No, no, she insists. The high-ceiling library's concrete walls provide a fine gallery.

Vahe finds nothing to complain about. He says he's made a hobby of looking for any tiny imperfection in the fit or finish of the structural materials, all of which are revealed.

"The way glass and exposed steel beams are finished and joined, how the large concrete and granite blocks are aligned -- there's nothing even a fraction out of line," Vahe says. He remains amazed at how the house projects different images of itself, depending on the angle it's viewed from and the hour of day. "It's newer, more glittering, more fascinating each time I look."

Rice, the original owner, says he acted as his own general contractor, and that all steel finishes were done by workers who usually refinish Ferraris and Maseratis for persnickety perfectionists. "They take brand new expensive cars, strip them down and refinish them because the original isn't perfect enough," he says. "These guys do flawless precision work and so the exposed steel of the house is as smooth as your piano."

It's also protected with a silver marine paint traditionally used for bridges and ships, Rice adds. The home's foundation, he says, "is anchored in such a way that if the earth on the hillside slips away, the house will remain in place."

THIS all would sound like mere hyperbole from proud owners were the house not designed by Lomax. The architect, who turned 80 this year, is probably not as well-known as his first L.A. employer, the late Craig Ellwood, whom some Case Study-era historians say received credit for work that a young Lomax and others actually did.

After nine years in Ellwood's office, where he started as the only employee, Lomax went out on his own in 1962. He has designed about 100 residences, all variations on Modernist themes. And he's still designing, now in Northern California, where he moved in 1995.

"The Rice house really is special because Chuck Rice was my good friend, and we shared the same goals, and he was willing and able to build it [the] best way it could be built," Lomax says. "That's a rare combination for an architect to find."

Lomax is gratified that the new owners have not changed any of the architecture, inside or out.

"They've really respected it," he says. They've also kept the dark wood built-ins and cabinets, he adds. "Of course they've brought in new furniture, which is to be expected -- but that doesn't change the basic structure of the house."

Lomax's body of work hasn't gone totally unnoticed. In 1975 the Pacific Design Center hailed him in its original "L.A. 12" exhibition, which recognized the contributions and potential of a dozen architects, including Frank Gehry, John Lautner, Ray Kappe and Cesar Pelli.

Architect Zoltan Pali, who worked with Lomax years ago, says Lomax never achieved the same level of fame largely because he lacks a knack and desire for self-promotion.

"He's just a very humble, friendly, down-to-earth guy who always felt his work should speak for itself. And it does," Pali says. "It has tremendous quiet beauty and restraint."

The architect's relative anonymity may be blown. He was named this year's "tribal elder" and keynote speaker at the Monterey Design Conference organized by the American Institute of Architects California Council. In Los Angeles, a retrospective of Lomax's work, including photographs and three-dimensional models of houses he has designed, is running at the MODAA gallery, part of Pali's offices in Culver City. Announcements for the event describe Lomax as "one of the most overlooked modern masters of midcentury architecture and of the Case Study program" and someone "whose work continues to unfold into a beautiful architectural tapestry across California."

Rice was at the opening, although with misgivings. He says that since selling his Glendale house, he's lived in a Lautner house in Malibu and about a dozen other excellent homes.
"None had the quality of workmanship or design that the one that Jerry and I built had," he says. "I miss that house. Selling it was probably the biggest mistake I've ever made."
bettijane.levine@latimes.com

Annette Melikian