The Frank House by Andrew Geller (1958, Fire Island). It’s pet name was ‘The Cube’ - a beach house fit for man and beast. From Beach Houses (2003) by Alastair Gordon, paperback edition coming soon from PAPress.
It is itself mysterious, full of images both of beauty and religion like that same church of St. Mark where all the figures of the Old and New Testaments appear against the background of a sort of splendid obscurity and changing brilliance. I remember having read it for the first time in St. Mark’s itself, during an hour of storm and darkness when the mosaics shone only with their own material light and with an inner gold, earthy and ancient, to which the Ventian sun, which sets ablaze even the angels on the campaniles, added nothing of itself; the emotion I felt in reading that page there, among all the angels which drew their light from the surrounding shadows, was very great and perhaps not very pure. As the joy of seeing those beautiful, mysterious figures increased, but was altered by the pleasure, so to speak, of erudition which I felt in understanding the texts inscribed in Byzantine characters beside their haloed foreheads, so the beauty of Ruskin’s images was intensified and corrupted by the pride of referring to the sacred text. A sort of egoistic self-regard is inevitable in these mingled joys of art and erudition in which aesthetic pleasure may become more acute but not remain so pure.