Around the corner from where we’re staying is the house where Victor Horta lived. Victor, along with Gaudi in Spain, was a Fin de Siècle architect who defined art nouveau in buildings all over Europe. Museums, libraries, mansions, train stations, if it had the art nouveau stamp, the blueprints were probably drawn up by Horta.
Some of the houses in his neighborhood still have the art nouveau touches making up the masonry of the building.
His house has all the curvilinear features of a style that was a rebellion against what was felt to be the dehumanizing hard edges of the factories making up the Industrial Revolution. Anything to bend a straight line. Like the circular staircase in the center of the three story dwelling.
The furniture, the floors, the banisters, are polished wood, all with a graceful bend to it.
Wavy dark blue and lavender patterns of stained glass arched over the doorways in art nouveau patterns.
We weren’t allowed to take pictures on the upper floors. From what I could surmise it was because of the urinal in his bedroom that swing out from the wall on a lazy Susan. Great idea! Like Marcel Duchamp, I considered it a work of art and looked at the porcelain scoop a quick lunge from the bed with seventy-six-year-old envy.
The couches and settees had wonderfully bent wooden legs, but didn’t look that comfortable. Making it them less welcome to sit on were the purposely placed spiny shells.
Within the vertical nouveau swirl all three floors had small functional rooms like carved wooden cubby holes. The dark room where Victor developed his photographs was the same size as the kitchen which was the same size as the study. The greenhouse was just another small room with more windows. The house, warm with its wooden craftsmanship, was built for privacy, not open conviviality. It looked like a great place for children to play hide and seek.
While the kids were hiding in the attic, Victor was designing a shoe.
I’m guessing Victor was more of an introvert?