A historic Midcentury Modern home by Raphael Soriano is reborn

Every so often, Linda Brettler walks down the long walkway to her Raphael Soriano-designed home, turns the corner to the front door, and thinks, “I can’t believe I get to live here.”

It could be the 1964 home’s aluminum framework. Or the 28 sliding glass doors that seamlessly blend the boundaries between indoors and outdoors. Or the floating cabinetry units Soriano designed in place of walls, laminated in warm shades of lavender, mustard, orange and blue micarta. Or the yellow Formica kitchen, with its Pyrex hot plate, wall-mounted radio, original Eames barstools and drop-leaf dining table still intact — all charming throwbacks to a simpler time.

Or … well, you get the picture. The 62-year-old architect’s list of things she loves about her home is long, even though the all-aluminum structure, which was designated a Los Angeles Historic-Cultural Monument in 1997, was in desperate need of updating when she purchased it for $3.14 million in 2021. “I like doing projects like this where I get to have my own hand and feel but I’m still honoring what was here,” Brettler says. “I’m trying to create an idealized version of what the house would look like now.”

As an advocate for historical preservation in Los Angeles, Brettler was surprised when people presumed she would remove many of the home’s original details such as the energy-inefficient sliding glass doors.

“They said, ‘You’re going to change that, right?’” Brettler says. “I was like, ‘Are you kidding? They are the soul of the house.’ I can’t change the doors. It would completely ruin the effect of the house.”

A reproduction of a Millard Sheets painting, rendered by Cal Poly Pomona students on Tyvek, is mounted on a cork-lined wall in the dining room.

Others assumed she would remodel the kitchen.

“Why?” she recalls. “This micarta is 60 years old, and it’s perfect.”

Built on an oblong lot overlooking Studio City, the four-bedroom home was conceived by Soriano as an all-aluminium structure for Albert Grossman, an aluminium manufacturer and contractor. Known for his thoughtful, modular designs incorporating glass and steel, such as the 1950 Case Study House in Pacific Palisades and the photographer Julius Shulman’s home and studio in the Hollywood Hills, Soriano developed a prefabricated aluminum system called Soria structures that were shipped and assembled on site.

“It really is ‘a machine for living,’” Brettler says, referencing Le Corbusier’s famous phrase that homes should be efficient.

Adding lighting above and below the cabinets made a huge difference in the kitchen.

Brettler kept the home’s original hot plate, which still works, and added a Miele induction range.

Grossman, who dubbed the house “El Paradiso” because of its minimal upkeep, and his wife, Simonne, went on to raise four children in the home and lived there for more than 50 years, until the family sold it for $2.475 million in 2016.

Five years later, the house hit the market again, with the homeowners confiding to Brettler that it was “a very difficult house.”

“It was almost like they were living in a ruin,” Brettler says. “None of the appliances worked. They didn’t know how to fix anything because there were no walls, no attic or basement.”

As an architect, Brettler delighted in this type of problem-solving. “There was not a standard way of doing things,” she says of the renovation. “It really challenged me. Every time there was a problem, I had to come up with a creative solution. It made it really fun.”

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1. Many of the home’s original furnishings were sold with the house including the Eames barstools from Herman Miller. 2. Richard Schultz patio furniture. 3. Brettler paired the home’ original chairs with a vintage rug from Edward Fields (and pillows from Home Goods). 4. Brettler found a photo album documenting the home’s construction in storage under the house.

The second owners, however, left the house untouched, even leaving many of the Grossmans’ Midcentury Modern furnishings for the next steward, such as a pair of oversize brass-and-cork floor lamps, a round dining-room table, a Thayer Coggin sofa and Richard Schultz chaises and umbrellas by the pool.

The home’s time-capsule state was both a blessing and a curse. “No one wanted the house,” Brettler says, noting the things that needed to be updated including the outdated heating and electrical systems, laminate that needed to be re-glued, antiquated appliances and the sliding glass doors, many of which didn’t open as the house shifted over the years.

Brettler has come to enjoy the openness of the primary bedroom. “Now when I stay in a ‘normal’ bedroom, I feel so boxed in,” she says.

One reason for the disinterest, Brettler thinks, was the home’s historic status. Grossman’s office, for instance, which he added atop the carport in 1971, had all the makings of a primary bedroom suite, if only you could add a bathroom (which you can’t). And when it came to artwork, how do you hang pictures on aluminum walls?

In the living room, for example, Brettler cleverly hung a Midcentury ceramic wall hanging from a curved piece of rebar she mounted on top of a storage unit. And in the dining room, a reproduction of a Millard Sheets painting, rendered by Cal Poly Pomona students on Tyvek, is mounted on a cork-lined wall.

Much to her delight, Brettler discovered Soriano’s original blueprints, along with laminate and cork samples, and a scrapbook detailing the construction process, stored beneath the house.

The house has many secrets, Brettler says, including hidden built-in desks and …

A pass-through window that connects Grossman’s original office and the primary bedroom.

With blueprints and vintage photographs as inspiration, Brettler tried to honor Soriano’s original vision as she worked for more than a year to bring the house back to life.

She started by securing the property’s front entrance with recycled perforated screens and new landscaping. “I wanted it to feel like you’re leaving reality and entering a magical world,” she says of the walkway, which now features lush plants that add privacy and a welcoming water fountain.

Brettler also removed a glass-enclosed dining room with bubble skylights that had been added, turning it into a courtyard as Soriano had initially intended. A new sunken firepit was installed low to complement the house. “I wanted it to feel cantilevered and light because I didn’t want it to block the views,” she says.

Brettler is framed by opposing laminate in blue and yellow in the primary bathroom.

Brettler uncovered a Roman tub when she was updating the primary bathroom. She kept the bath and added a tiled wall and shower for privacy.

Her appreciation for original details, however, did not mean that everything would stay the same. Brettler removed the shag carpeting in the living area and bedroom and poured terrazzo floors to match the original floors throughout the house, many of which had to be repaired. Upstairs in Grossman’s office, which is now her architecture studio, she also removed the shag carpeting and replaced it with colorful cork flooring designed to feel like “fallen, random leaves,” she says.

In the living room, Brettler added electric shades to help cool the interiors, and in the kitchen, LED lighting above and below the cabinets to brighten the home’s inefficient fluorescent lighting.

Outside, Brettler redid the pool, which was falling apart, and added a bathroom, a bar and concrete pavers that will move with earthquakes. Brettler wanted the pool, which she swims in every day, to feel like a lake and used 10 different kinds of tile similar to the water fountain in front.

In the evening, the new sunken firepit is the hub of the home.

Along the way, there were some fun surprises. When she went to update one of the bathrooms, for instance, Brettler uncovered the home’s original Roman tub, which she preserved.

After living in a Spanish villa in Hollywood with her ex-husband, “Mad Men” creator Matthew Weiner, and their four children, Brettler says she wanted something different. “My Spanish house was amazing but very compartmentalized,” she says. “Now that my kids are grown, I wanted everything here to be communal, and this is perfect.”

With two of her sons living with her in the home, Brettler says, “We all have our own little bedrooms here. This house is an entirely different way of living that suits where I am now.”

“The house doesn’t feel industrial,” Brettler says. “It has so much character.”

Renovating a historic home, as Brettler discovered, is a careful dance between how much you change while being respectful of the original details. But she doesn’t believe landmark homes should be fossils either. “No one could live in them, “ she says. “You want to make it your own. It’s your house, after all.”

Brettler may have designed a home for who she is today, but she can’t forget the historic home’s legacy. She plans to share the house with the public, including a Friday tour sponsored by the Los Angeles chapter of the American Institute of Architects.

Asked recently whether she felt like she was talking to the architect during the renovation, Brettler took it a step further. “I feel like I’m dancing with Soriano … and the owners,” she says. “The first time I saw the house, I thought ‘We belong together.’ I feel their presence here with me.”