At Home with Yin and Yang

Written by

Bess Hochstein

Photography by

Fred Collins

Asian designs shape a sanctuary in the Becket, Mass., woods

To the untrained eye, Carl Rosenstein’s Becket, Massachusetts, property bordering October Mountain State Forest looks like many in the Berkshires—a modestly scaled, woodsy house set in a secluded spot on a private dirt road. But anyone who has spent time in Asia or studied Eastern traditions may detect distinct, if subtle, meaning in the landscaping; the circular clearing adheres to the form of the Chinese yin-yang symbol. The eastern side of the property is yang—typically characterized as masculine, active, hard, and associated with light—while the west-facing yard is yin—the more passive, soft, feminine side, related to the dark.

In accordance with these associations, Rosenstein has laid out his realm so that the sunlight first greets stone paths winding through the eastern side of his property, passing herb beds and rock gardens with dwarf trees, ferns, and high grasses; a fire pit; torches; a bench at the edge of the woods; and multi-hued Tibetan prayer flags fluttering in the breeze. The paths lead to an inner court, then continue on to the western yard, which is mostly grass, with a few fruiting plants—raspberries, blueberries, and apple, peach, and Chinese pear trees. Rosenstein explains that the curves of the paths “facilitate the movement of chi,” a central principal of feng shui; in accordance with this ancient Chinese system, the five elements—wood, water, fire, metal, and earth—are represented in the garden. Also present is a Thai spirit house, mounted on a wooden post, which Rosenstein says is “… in memory of my great cat Socks—my faithful companion, a Buddha warrior.” A can of tuna fish and a toy mouse are offerings inside the striking cenotaph.

In the center of this yin-yang setting is the home Rosenstein designed for himself, inspired by Japanese temple architecture and by the Usonian-style Rosenbaum house, built in 1939 in Alabama and designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, who was, in turn, influenced by Japanese art and design. A gently sloped hipped roof tops the low-slung, L-shaped cedar-clad house. Broad eaves serve both form and function, taking rain away from the foundation while lending the house an Asian feel. A salvaged Arts and Crafts stained-glass window ornaments the front door, which is flanked by two sets of translucent glass blocks and two Prairie-style sconces.

Entering the foyer, where Japanese slippers await those who would remove their shoes, even a visitor unversed in things Asian would pick up on Rosenstein’s Zen aesthetic. Wide, under-lit steps rise from the Kashmiri slate floor on a surprising diagonal in contrast to the otherwise squared-off foyer. To the right, past the wall bordering the modest kitchen, lies a minimally furnished living room/dining area. Nearly-floor-to-ceiling windows bring light and views of the yang garden into the house, obviating the need for further ornamentation. In a subtle reference to Himalayan design, the top molding of every window in the house extends just a bit to each side.

The home’s off-white walls bear little else by way of embellishment, beyond a few dramatic images shot by Rosenstein, a professional photographer, during his travels in Asia. Among the few splashes of bright color are his photographs of two performers from Dance, the Spirit of Cambodia at Jacob’s Pillow in 2001, and a shot of a leg-rower, one of the iconic fishermen of Inle Lake, in Myanmar, which was used for the cover of Finding George Orwell in Burma. Artifacts from Rosenstein’s travels appear throughout his home, particularly puppets of Hindu deities, which ornament the entryway, living room, hallway, and guest room.

The most striking element of the open living room is its sunken fireplace, set off with dark slate on the hearth. “The hearth is always a central part of Frank Lloyd Wright’s design,” says Rosenstein. He pulls a book from his streamlined, suspended bookshelves to show how he drew inspiration from Wright’s Usonian homes, with their open floor plans and rectilinear forms. Contrasting with the earthy slate of the sunken hearth area, bright maple flooring predominates, reflecting the light from the windows. A low, legless Italian couch, with a pair of Indian stools serving as coffee tables, faces the fireplace, which is flanked by two tatami mats set into the maple floor. A Chinese bodhisattva statue and an African djembe provide vertical counterpoints on opposite sides of the room. When natural light fades as the sun shifts to the yin side of the house, a tall, sculptural Isamu Noguchi floor lamp illuminates the space, aided by a few Prairie-style wall sconces. A paper lantern Rosenstein bought on the cheap in New York City’s Chinatown is suspended over the Moroccan-tile dining table with modern wrought-iron-and-rattan chairs from Pier One. Near the dining area, a glass door leads to a small, screened porch overlooking the courtyard.

The sleek, compact kitchen sports flat-fronted maple cabinets of Rosenstein’s design, black granite countertops, and black and stainless steel appliances. The partial L-shaped wall into which the kitchen is tucked echoes the overall floor plan and allows light from the yin and yang sides of the house to meet in the middle of the space. Across from the kitchen, matching maple cabinetry is mounted low on the wall, under two slate-lined niches framed by the Himalayan-style extended molding. To fill them, Rosenstein commissioned two eleventh-century-style Khmer torsos, one male, one female, from an artisan in Cambodia.

A round, translucent window, called a “moon window” in Japan, its glass treated to look like rice paper, marks the top of a stairway with a cable railing that leads to a hallway delineating the home’s private wing. The hallway is fitted with a skylight and several large windows that frame views of the yin orchard, plus minimalist/modernist wall sconces that are both stylish and economical; Rosenstein found them in an Ikea bargain bin. “Of course I had budget restraints,” he notes. “That’s why there are only two bedrooms.”

In keeping with both Zen and Wrightian aesthetics, both bedrooms are small, serene, and minimally furnished. Western light filters from the hallway into each chamber through a circular, interior window with wooden muntins. Large French doors provide morning light and yang garden views, lending both small rooms an air of spaciousness. They open onto the courtyard and its broad, Japanese-style porch, which wraps around the side and rear of the house, and is adorned with Vietnamese plantation deck chairs, simple bamboo stools, and an ornate Nepalese gong.

At the end of the hall is the bathroom where Rosenstein lavished his budget. Though the space is small—an impression emphasized by the black slate floor—it’s fully loaded with a sauna, a tiled steam shower, and a jetted tub, and surrounded by windows. Rosenstein views these as necessary luxuries. “Before I had a house I had the whirlpool and the sauna,” he says.

Rosenstein originally planned his house as a single-level ranch, but engineering requirements demanded that it have a full-height basement, so he raised the living room, enhancing interior flow with a multi-level design. The basement provided space for him to hang the heavy bag he uses for practicing martial arts, for a ping-pong table, and for his imposing Japanese taiko drum.

In essence, Rosenstein’s entire house could be viewed as a product of parental intervention. He was perfectly content to weekend at his parents’ house nearby, but, as the self-described late-baby boomer explains, “Sometime in the mid-nineties my father said, ‘Son, I love you, but you’re old enough to get your own place.’” After a period of renting, in 1998 he purchased the one-acre building site for about $40,000 and hired builder Anthony Murad, of New Lebanon, New York, who had built his parents’ house. They broke ground in 1999, and the home took a year to build at a modest cost of about $125 per square foot. Rosenstein loaded his furniture into the back of a Subaru, and drove it up from SoHo, where he runs the Puffin Room, an alternative nonprofit art and performance space. He is locally active in environmental protection of Becket’s Buckley Dunton Lake.

The house is a synthesis of Rosenstein’s life, reflecting his travels, his photography, his passion for architecture and design, and his embrace of Asian philosophies and practices. Asked if he considers himself a Buddhist, he demurs: “I’m really more of a Taoist. The Buddhists want to be reincarnated to a higher form, but the Taoists want to live forever. The Taoist aesthetic is to have a space to clear your mind and meditate. This is where I can find balance and be centered.” [NOV/DEC 2009]