Does time itself possess an olfactory signature, oscillating between past and future?
Within the pantheon of architectural movements, the triumvirate of Brutalism, Organic Architecture, and Mid-Century Modernism (MCM) achieves its apotheosis in the desert landscape. Each vernacular carries a signature shaded by passing deaths; little valleys of time drift when you take in a remarkable desert architecture, and I try to sift its particular scent at the Lautner Compound. Does time itself possess an olfactory signature, oscillating between past and future? This metaphysical inquiry became my criterion while traversing the Lautner Compound during Palm Springs Modernism Week, celebrating its 20th anniversary.
Upon entering, I deliberately lingered long enough to find a way to describe the redolence, trying to detect notes of an erstwhile serenity—a past epoch when time's passage seemed more languorous than our contemporary acceleration permits.
Transmuting like arcane chemistry, as a meditator observes thoughts passing without engaging, one must surrender to the wafts of earthy, slightly resinous notes and sagebrush artemisia that I hope did once proliferate in the late 1940, when petrichor had time to cool off its thermal equilibrium, allowing inhabitants to discern the subtle ferrous notes—a mere whisper of smoke threading through the atmosphere.
As Frank Lyodd Wright studied the desert for inspiration, his protege, John Lautner, incorporated precise geometries and reticulated verticals into his design for the compound, an embrace of the saguaro structure's porosity and inexorable rhythm. The strategic deployment of fenestration and natural illumination beckons a solar-imbued atmosphere: an essence at once tepid, substantive, and demure, extending a haptic invitation inward.
The judicious deployment of metallurgical elements enables the compound to retain its temporal bouquet. The smoky, metallic undertones carry like a firepit stone left to cool in the desert evening. It’s not sharp but relatively smooth and reflective, allowing arid dust to mix with a herbaceous sparse, crisp breeze wafting ethereally but so subtle you must remain detached to detect a seamless aroma.
Each hotel room's curved walls (Lautner’s no straight wall theme prevails in the design) and exposed red steel beams embrace you like a warm desert sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls invite the outside, offering an intimate view of the carefully curated desert terrarium beyond. The angular architecture frames these moments with deliberate precision, inviting subtle exposure of the neckline, angled at the perfect moment when a shaft of light consumes, offering an elusive hint of the earth exhaling. The ancient breath of the desert pulses laying claim; the infinite desolation of the desert overpowers the shelter, but Lautner ensures each breath remains in unison.
This sensorial dialogue between built form and desert essence exemplifies the quintessential aim of Desert Brutalism: to orchestrate an environmental symphony where material, space, and atmosphere converge. The architecture becomes not merely shelter but a chrysalis for transformative experience—a vessel through which time, light, and desert air are distilled into their most elemental forms.
The space elevates consciousness, maintaining a state of contemplative detachment—not ensnared in temporal turbulence but sufficiently tranquil to commune with the desert's primordial essence. Thankfully, the new owners, Tracy Beckmann and Ryan Trowbridge, who invested in the remodel, share a love of Desert Brutalism and avoided the compound from becoming a winsome enclave that will fade off as tchotchke.
The vitreous planes—a calculated indulgence—ameliorate concrete's inherent asperity. They act in conscious partnership to bring in a craggy, solar-burnished edifice scent. An amicable luminescence heats up, gradually increasing its incandescence over my visage. Unlike contemporary built environments that are assaulted by artificial illumination, the Kelvin gradient remains expertly modulated by coarse-hewn concrete planes. Inviting me to slowly run my hand over the unpolished surface to absorb a past era seeped in wisdom, dreams, and the audacity to manifest their architectural vernacular.
As I attempt temporal transmigration to 1947 when John Lautner set out to build the Desert Hot Springs Motel (now renamed the Lautner Compound), I’m unsure what to expect. Will the varnished rosewood’s rawness heat up and mix with a leather upholstery, spritzing a quiet elegant perfume? I am relieved that the remodel barely displays pretense and avoids the era’s atomic orange enshrined in many MCM interiors (including my bedroom growing up as a kid in the 70s).
Just as Aboriginal (please see footnote) songlines map consciousness across terrestrial geography, the architectural choreography here traces what - if I may- term 'sensorial songlines'—pathways of perception where material, light, and atmosphere converge to create a phenomenological cartography. These experiential meridians transcend physical space, establishing a dialogue between human consciousness and architectural form that echoes the timeless wisdom of Indigenous spatial understanding.
I spectate a heliotropic fragrance punctured by time, materials, and mathematics, designed to shift the human spirit. Can I meld in the horizon and be inspired by past visionaries who could see more mountain colors and capture more nuance of desert sunset than a 21st-century architect? Lautner seeks a space that can never be experienced the same way every day.
In architectural phenomenology, as well as in my own literary composition and collage artistry, I seek to discern whether the quintessential aura—that ineffable signature of original intent—persists in its authenticity. The Lautner Compound manifests as a temporal vessel, where Desert Brutalism's austere poetry converges with Modernism's clarity of vision, creating a structure and a crucible for transformative experience. Here, the architecture transcends its physical constraints to become a meditation on time, perception, and the eternal dialogue between human aspiration and desert sublime.
Footnote:
When visiting the area, I discovered a new development being marketed under the Disney trademark, branded with terms like "Imagineering" and "Storyliving." The slogan, "Not every oasis is a mirage," encapsulates the mindset of what is to come. However, I am taken aback and feel an abhorrence asking Palm Springs if this is what it has come to now. The development features an artificial lake, for which the developer has protected itself with fine print, disclaiming responsibility for maintaining or ensuring proper water levels. Could this be seen as an affront to good taste and harmony, especially considering Palm Springs' status as the epicenter of a globally recognized architectural renaissance? Is this development the future of desert architecture, or does it signal a potential threat to its architectural leadership?
What would leadership look like for a new development in Palm Springs, CA?
I suggest something I would like to coin for this special occasion: Architectural Dreamtime.
In Aboriginal consciousness, the concept of "Dreamtime" transcends linear temporality, existing simultaneously in past, present, and future—a phenomenon strikingly parallel to how Desert Brutalism manipulates our perception of time. Like a physical manifestation of songlines, the Lautner Compound creates what we might term "architectural meridians"—pathways through space where material, light, and human consciousness converge to create experiential cartographies. Just as Aboriginal songlines map consciousness across terrestrial geography through oral tradition and ceremonial practice, Desert Brutalism establishes its network of sensorial pathways. These architectural songlines can manifest as a residential desert development through story but via pathways in union with the desert. There is the Olfactory Mapping: The way desert air carries temporal signatures through space, creating what I might term "scent-time"—a phenomenon where aromatic elements mark both spatial and temporal boundaries. Haptic Knowledge: The tactile dialogue between human and structure echoes indigenous understanding of knowledge through physical connection to place. The coarse concrete surfaces of Desert Brutalism serve as architectural braille, encoding information about time, material, and environmental context. Luminous Temporality: Light becomes a medium for marking time not just diurnally but historically, creating what Aboriginal knowledge systems might recognize as "shadow stories"—narratives written in the interplay of light and structure.
These temporal layers create"architectural dreamtime"—spaces where conventional temporal boundaries dissolve, allowing for a more nuanced and complete experience of place. I believe this is my addition to the vernacular under assault by licensing trademarks for residential developments in this storied city of Palm Springs, CA.
However, if the developer must have this large body—or notion of water—I suggest instead a scuba diving built environment—a structure built inside a rigid or reticulate structure. This architectural notion would best hold a scuba diving tank for homeowners to experience a liquid Architectural Dreamtime.
The following source material can help designers visualize reefs or networks of linear or polygonal reef frameworks with intervening depressions (the larger of which are called blue holes), which may occur on fringing reefs, barrier reefs, and atolls. Please refer to the source at https://link.springer.com/referenceworkentry/10.1007/978-90-481-2639-2_248)
For further study of reef structural design, please review the following: Networks of linear or polygonal reef framework, forming a honeycomb-like mesh of coral-fringed depressions, are known as reticulated or reticulate reefs. For examples, please visit: They occur on fringing reefs (e.g., Red Sea, Shroeder and Nasr, 1983; Madagascar, Guilcher, 1988), barrier reefs (e.g., New Georgia, Stoddart, 1969; Belize, Purdy, 1974; the Great Barrier Reef, Marshall and Davies, 1982; Hopley et al., 2007; Mayotte, Guilcher, 1988; Society Islands, Guilcher, 1988), and on atolls, where they are so distinctive that Guilcher (1988) recognized “reticulated atolls” as a distinct atoll morphology.