Waking up every morning in a house designed by the architect who has most influenced him has been a boon for Bertram, whose portfolio includes million-dollar restorations and renovations of four historic Neutra homes, including the Brown house in Bel-Air owned by former Gucci designer Tom Ford. Bertram's clients often have the financial means not only to afford these pedigreed properties but also to transform them into dream homes with cutting-edge technology and luxury materials. Bertram, however, comes home every day to something more modest and arguably more authentic: 900 square feet of architectural beauty and restraint, with just two bedrooms, one tiny bathroom and a kitchen that's not much more than a hallway.
"I used to come home thinking I wanted to do the same here," Bertram says of his glamorous Neutra makeovers. "Having lived in it, I don't see that as a necessity."
Neutra scholar Barbara Lamprecht deftly describes Bertram's home in her definitive book, "Neutra, Complete Works":
"This spare, lean house steps back from its quiet Silver Lake street in a series of low, compact volumes wrapped in horizontal redwood siding. The disparity between private and public agendas is extreme: The house is irrevocably closed to the public and exuberantly open on the view side."
The clean lines, smooth surfaces, outside living spaces and open interiors filled with natural light were hallmarks of Neutra (1892-1970) and "a great celebration of the California climate [that] made him one of the leading architects of the modern era," says Linda Dishman, executive director of the Los Angeles Conservancy, an organization devoted to preserving the city's historic structures. "Neutra was very much an influence on the next generations of architects up to the present day."
Bertram agrees, yet living in a Neutra has made him view the architect's work more realistically.
"If you are too enchanted by the architecture, the tendency is to view a house uncritically and judge it largely on aesthetics and much less about how well it functions," he says.
At 70 years old, the house Bertram shares with his wife, actress-writer Ann Magnuson, is not a "precious showplace," he says. The late 1930s construction methods and old-growth redwood require relatively little maintenance.
"We appreciate the parts that are really great and accept the things that aren't," he says.
One of those things is its size, including a master bedroom that is a mere 11 feet square and a galley that is even smaller.
"I don't know how much Neutra cared about kitchens," Bertram says.
By contrast, the living and dining room are combined into an airy space that floats above the landscape. It is defined by a continuous band of view windows and doors that lead to the outdoors.
Looking at it from the bottom of the sloped garden, the modest house seems monumental, Bertram says. "Neutra was a complete master at finding the right site for building on a lot."
The architect, noted for his thoughtful, modern, space-saving appointments, equipped the living room with a built-in mahogany writing desk, bookcase and L-shaped seating banquette. Even the dining table, whose pedestal doubles as a bookcase, was designed to be installed in its current position.
"Because of the open layout and the built-ins, you really don't need a lot of furniture," Bertram says.
Magnuson purchased the house shortly after the 1992 riots.
"The area was still dicey, but the price was right," she says.
The couple met at a party at her home. Bertram says he went principally because it was a Neutra house. "The next morning my friend and I came back to help clean up, and Ann mentioned she wanted to get new cushions for the built-in sofa," he says, adding that after this visit, "I was definitely more interested in her than reupholstering."