” You first see it, this unlikely vision, shortly after turning onto Canyon View Drive, a gently rolling street lined by the kind of anonymous homes that define American suburbia.
What is peeking up over the horizon is something decidedly different, however, and soon enough you will come upon it in all its remarkable glory: a four-legged organism of blackened steel perched on a scruffy ridge, its curving forms resolving themselves in a postcard view over the blue waters of a recreational lake. It could easily be something landed from outer space, the kind of house a James Bond villain might occupy, if he were to put down roots in a nondescript residential development 15 minutes from the drowsy heart of downtown Lubbock.
Inside, there are no aliens and no cinema bad guys. The house itself is unoccupied and has been since 2008, when Robert Bruno, the charismatic if somewhat mysterious sculptor who had made the house his life’s work, died at age 64 after a prolonged battle with colon cancer.
As meticulous as he was capricious, Bruno had built the house with virtually no assistance over the course of some 30 years, designing and modifying it as he went, frequently tearing out portions that no longer pleased him. On an apparent whim, he was known to jettison months of work. It was a process that seemed to take as many steps backward as forward and left friends and neighbors to wonder if he would ever finish. Indeed, after so many decades, they had come to understand that finishing was something that didn’t matter to him.”
I wasn’t able to embed the above photo in it’s PTgui format , but if the reader clicks the picture they will be taken to the original article where the above interactive picture may be manipulated in any direction thus providing a breathtaking view of the entire inside of Mr Bruno’s creation … Highly recommended
” By the end of his life, the house had grown into a four-legged beast, with three principal levels sprawling over some 2,200 square feet. To enter it from the street, one crossed a short gangplank, as if boarding a ship, which led to an arched doorway fronted by a gate of looping steel. Passing through it, one fully entered Bruno’s world, a multidimensional universe of swooping ribbons of rust-colored steel, with floors shifting up and down, and walls twisting and turning and fusing into themselves. Beckoning one forward into the space was a sunken living room with a lozenge-shaped picture window, its panes divided by curving steel tracery, that looked out dramatically on Lake Ransom Canyon.
Bruno’s makeshift bedroom, minimally furnished with a bed, a streamlined wooden desk he designed for himself and an antique Chinese cabinet, was set in an adjacent alcove, with a small bathroom to its side. A kitchen and second bedroom, stuffed with junk, could also be found on that main level. A torquing stairwell, with treads of dark olivewood, led to the top floor, an aerie with a long curving window and a patio off to the side, a space that seemed like nothing so much as the bridge of a ship.
“ If you look at it in the aspects of a house, I don’t know why anyone would want to live in it, but of course it’s art,” says Charles Hobbs, 79, a retiree with the bearing of John Wayne. Hobbs watched Bruno from the porch of his ranch house across the street. “I made the mistake one day of asking him if he was going to paint it, and he straightened me out real quick. If you painted it, it would be just like any other house.” “
It is truly a marvelous story about an incredible man and his awesome creation . Read the whole story of Robert Bruno’s amazing abode here