I first met Schindler when I was a college sophomore, majoring in physics. He was the first architect I had ever known, and his house was the first stimulus toward my interest in architecture. That house revisited recently arouses the same wonder and delight that it did almost thirty years ago. Powerful, yet delicate, vibrant yet serene, it is distinguished in detail by innumerable innovations which have since become the common language of modern domestic architecture, but which have rarely since, I believe, been used with such sensitive meaning or to so rich a cumulative effect. The house and the garden are literally one, and the garden is as private as the house. How different from the current cliche of "indoor-outdoor integration" in which the house is as public as the garden! Schindler's garden was planted with near weeds-castor bean, tobacco plant, and bamboo; but it had the rare charm and depth and excitement that marked all of his work, and which revealed a genius of composition which is still too little recognized because the artist was so unconcerned with publicity.