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Handcrafted Living

At Home with Craft

With his late wife Sandy, Lou Grotta built a craft collection and a home in which to truly appreciate it—and he set up a foundation so the home and collection will be available to the public in the future.

By Deborah Bishop
May 10, 2025

Photos by Tom Grotta

The living room in the Grotta house features furniture by Edgar and Joyce Anderson, Hiroki Takada, Mies van der Rohe, and Hans Wegner; textiles by Helena Hernmarck, and Sheila Hicks; ceramics by Kenneth Ferguson, Maija Grotell, Wayne Higby, and Toshiko Takaezu; and a John McQueen eagle sculpture. David Ling made the fireplace.

Although Lou Grotta and his wife, Sandy, amassed close to a thousand pieces of postwar studio craft made by more than 200 artists in the course of their marriage, they never really cottoned to the word collector. “People collect sneakers—they collect stamps and comic books and, ya know, baseball cards,” says Grotta, 91, who speaks with the gravelly voice and polished timing of a Borscht Belt comedian with one eye on the punchline. “We considered ourselves to be orchestrators.” It wasn’t enough that an object be pleasing on its own, explains Grotta. He and Sandy—who passed away in 2021 at the age of 87—reveled in creating a visually harmonious composition throughout their home, so that no single element stuck out “like a sour note in music.”

The Grottas got hitched in 1955, two years after meeting at the University of Michigan. While Lou went on to head up a global electronics company, Sandy became an interior designer. In 1957, they wandered into a show called Furniture by Craftsmen at the Museum of Contemporary Crafts in New York (now the Museum of Arts and Design) and were bowled over by the woodwork of Joyce and Edgar Anderson—they even scored a few pieces in the gift shop to take home that day. “Of course, back then, you could buy a set of Peter Voulkos plates right off the wall,” Grotta reminisces.

At the time, the couple were cohabitating with the dark antique furniture selected by Lou’s mother’s decorator for their first New Jersey home. “Part of our instant attraction to the Andersons’ work was seeing the beautiful, natural grain of the wood—the material was the star of the show,” explains Grotta. Lou and Sandy would go on to acquire dozens of Anderson pieces, many imbued with humor: a towering grandfather clock carved in the shape of a giant wristwatch-wearing arm, a jewelry chest of drawers modeled on a woman’s busty torso, a high chair with surreal human arms.

Sandy and Lou Grotta standing in front of their house.

Sandy and Lou Grotta in 2019.

In addition to becoming good friends, the Andersons, who lived nearby, also functioned as networkers. “They introduced us to the ceramist Toshiko Takaezu, who led us to Lenore Tawney, and so on—we got passed around to all the best people,” recalls Grotta, recounting trips to East Hampton with Takaezu to visit Jack Lenor Larsen, whose work Sandy placed in her interior design projects.

Other artists took the initiative to introduce themselves. Soon after the couple moved into the bespoke house in Morris County, New Jersey, designed by Lou’s childhood friend Richard Meier in 1989, Lou was cold-called by textile artist Sheila Hicks. “I’d never heard of her,” says Grotta. “She said, ‘I saw your house in a magazine and it’s terrific. But it’s all glass and steel. I want to be your soft consultant.’” Her work found its way into the home, “and we still talk probably once a month,” says Grotta.

Sometimes it was the Grottas who did the cold-calling. After spotting the work of Hopi jeweler Charles Loloma at an exhibit at the Smithsonian, Sandy reached out to ask if he had anything available. A box showed up in the mail with a bracelet and a note reading, “If you don’t like it, send it back.” (She liked it.)

Some of the names associated with the Grottas’ collection are well known (Viola Frey, Lucie Rie, Robert Arneson, Hans Wegner); others fall into the category of what Lou considers “overlooked and underappreciated” (woodworker and basket-maker Markku Kosonen, ceramist William Wyman, sculptor John McQueen, tapestry artist Mariette Rousseau-Vermette). Their door was open to anything, so long as it qualified as good design. “Sandy’s motto was ‘shop, shop, never stop,’ and she got just as excited about finding a great paper plate in the shape of a fish—or a beaded wire folk-art turkey—as anything else,” says Grotta.

And they never acquired anything as an investment. “We knew people who would buy something hideous and toss it in the back of the closet, waiting for it to appreciate. That was not our style,” says Grotta. “We asked, would we enjoy living with this piece, and does it have a personality that speaks to us?” Although each had veto power, Grotta insists they rarely disagreed: “We just had this amazing simpatico.”

A figurative cabinet by Edgar and Joyce Anderson.

A figurative cabinet by Edgar and Joyce Anderson.

  • Various baskets and bowls arranged along a cabinet.

    Lou Grotta frequently moves objects, like those pictured here in the main bedroom, to different areas of the house. This vignette of baskets and bowls includes works by Dorothy Gill Barnes and Tapio Wirkkala, among others.

  • Ceramics arranged on top of cabinets and a sculpture on the floor.

    In the bedroom are ceramics by Beatrice Wood, Jack Earle, Edwin and Mary Scheier, and Kenneth Ferguson; the sculpture on the floor is by John McQueen.

Sandy died just shy of the couple’s
66th wedding anniversary. In tribute, 
Lou commissioned several pieces, including a basket form by John McQueen that riffs on the number of days (24,097) and two Linda Mendelson pillows embroidered with the hours (578,328) they spent together. Woodworker Tom Hucker made a container for her ashes that slips into the Norma Minkowitz crocheted sculpture of Sandy, which stands on the coffee table beside the one with Lou’s likeness. “When the time comes, I plan on having my ashes mixed with Sandy’s,” says Grotta. “That way, we’ll be together forever.”

Deborah Bishop had the pleasure of speaking to Lou Grotta about his home, his life with Sandy, and his plans for the future. Following are excerpts from that conversation.

Figurative sculpture of Sandy Grotta

Norma Minkowitz’s sculpture of Sandy Grotta, with a necklace by Laurie Hall, now houses Sandy’s ashes.

“Another motto of Sandy’s was Wherever you look, whenever you look. We like that feeling of being immersed.”

— Lou Grotta

At first glance your house, a Palladian-style rotunda made of white, porcelain-enameled steel and swaths of glass, might seem antithetical to the kinds of tactile, handwrought objects—with their frayed edges, rough surfaces, drips of glaze, and makers’ marks—that hold court inside. How did the house come about? Sandy and I were on the hunt for a new home back in the 1980s, and we were picturing a kind of wood and stone cottage. I grew up with Richard Meier—to me he was just little Dickie Meier from the neighborhood—and I knew he was more of a glass and steel guy, so we asked him to recommend some architects. And he said, “Me! Your stuff is going to show up much better against my white background than in some dark wood and stone cottage.” And he was right.

The site isn’t too shabby either. Your house sits atop a hill overlooking forests, grazing sheep, and acres of borrowed landscape. Light pours in through picture windows—one of which rises 21 feet. Did you place any artwork outside? No, and that’s by design. I’m looking out right now, watching birds gathered at the bird feeder. We get all kinds of animals wandering by, day and night. But the only sculpture that goes outside is by Ma Nature—that’s her territory.

The Grotta home at twilight.

The Grotta home at twilight.

I read that you asked Richard Meier to position your pieces, whenever possible, so that they could be seen from 360 degrees. Do you have a philosophy of display? Another motto of Sandy’s was “Wherever you look, whenever you look.” We like that feeling of being immersed. Sandy and I had gone to some exhibit or other where the objects were shown on steps, so you could walk around and see a thing from different vantage points. The steps that lead from our dining room to the living room are very intentional—at this point there’s something like 16 pieces displayed on them. And all through the house there are platforms for things to rest on: Sandy’s desk, side tables, kitchen counters, dressers, floating shelves, the floor. Absolutely nothing is propped up on a pedestal. I always said, the only thing that goes on a pedestal in our house is Sandy.

Some people find a place for their artwork and leave it in situ; they’re afraid to mess with the composition. But your objects are nomadic—you don’t hesitate to move things all around. That’s right—I did it just the other day. It keeps things fresh. In all fairness to the work, when you relocate something to a new place, suddenly you see it in a different light. The beauty of our collection is that most of the objects can go anywhere and rest next to anything and look great. We have one Picasso plate, and it’s in the bathroom.

A collection of baskets and bowls.

This vignette of baskets and bowls includes works by Dorothy Gill Barnes and Tapio Wirkkala, among others.

“I always say the worst thing to be is a piece of jewelry, because you spend most of your life in the drawer. ”

— Lou Grotta

The bathroom?! Yes. Some things you have to be really up close to appreciate. We have a wonderful ceramic Ken Ferguson rabbit plate, for instance, and the best vantage point is sitting on the throne. And a couple dozen of Toshiko’s pots are around the bathtub. I always say the worst thing to be is a piece of jewelry, because you spend most of your life in the drawer.

You and Sandy solved that by liberating her jewelry and displaying it all around the house. That’s right! It’s every bit as worthy of showing off as the baskets and bowls and teapots and tapestries. In fact, the English jeweler Wendy Ramshaw used to ship her pieces with these beautiful stands that are like little sculptures. And Tom Hucker, the furniture maker, carved Sandy jewelry trees to show off her rings and bracelets.

Sandy Grotta’s necklace collection displayed on the walls.

Sandy Grotta’s necklace collection displayed on the walls.

  • A view of the kitchen with many handmade teapots and bowls.

    The kitchen contains a collection of teapots from craftspeople including Mark Pharis, Mary Roehm, and Peter Voulkos; a wood bowl by Bob Stocksdale; and stools by the Andersons.

  • A ceramic plate by Pablo Picasso

    Big-Eyed Face, a plate by Pablo Picasso.

  • Pots by Toshiko Takaezu.

    Pots by Toshiko Takaezu.

What were a few of the ways you and Sandy discovered new work? We went to the fairs, like SOFA [formerly the Sculpture Objects Functional Art and Design Fair, now called Intersect Chicago] and Rhinebeck. And galleries that specialized in craft, like Dorothy Weiss in San Francisco and Helen Drutt on the East Coast—we bought a lot of jewelry from her. Our son Tom and his wife have an important fiber art gallery in Connecticut [browngrotta arts is featured in the Spring 2025 issue of American Craft]. And the museums had national groups of collectors that took a few trips a year.
We also had close relationships with a lot of artists, although some things took some coaxing. We have 70-something pieces by our good friend Toshiko [Takaezu], and it took us 20 years to get her to part with one particular pot she’d made at Cranbrook and said she couldn’t repeat. It was worth the wait!

You and Sandy acquired multitudes of ceramic, jewelry, fiber, and wood pieces, but very little glass. Is there a reason? It’s all about tactility—that’s what drew us to craft in the first place. And it’s funny—the one glass piece we have that isn’t utilitarian has been sandblasted so it looks like clay.

You recently established a foundation, and your town granted a variance that will allow you to keep your collection together in the house in perpetuity. How will this work? So, when I go to hell, all the work will be kept together and intact. The house will be open to small tour groups—a six-pack or eight-pack at a time, because it isn’t all that big—and somebody will live on the premises. Without this provision, a lot of the work would inevitably end up shoved into storage—because museums only have so much floor space—or mashed up next to something that would have made Sandy cringe. This way, people can see the work and the house—because there are damn few good architectural houses around. And if they can’t make it here, the website is the next best thing to being here.

 

Deborah Bishop is a frequent contributor to American
Craft.

Lou Grotta poses with a variety of pots, baskets, and sculptures.

Lou Grotta with works by Dorothy Gill Barnes, Richard DeVore, Kenneth Ferguson, Thomas Hucker, Karen Karnes, Bo Kristiansen, Kyoko Kumai, Norma Minkowitz, Leon and Sharon Niehues, Ed Rossbach, Kay Sekimachi, and Katherine Westphal.

Visit the Grotta House online.

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