In September, I had the privilege of being invited by the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation to screen a film of my 2004 play,Private Jokes, Public Places,at the newly renovated Hillside Theater at Taliesin, Wisconsin. Before the presentation, I was shown to my quarters for the night, which, to my surprise, were in Frank Lloyd Wrights actual house where he had lived with his third wife, Olgavanna Lloyd Wright, and their daughter, Iovanna. Youll be staying in his daughters room, I was told as I was led up a set of narrow stairs, through a secret door (embedded in a row of six false doors), before finding myself in what might be described as a separate one-bedroom loft apartment, complete with small kitchen, bathroom, reading area, living room, and bedroom. There were also two terraces, facing east and west, which, given the houses siting on the propertys highest point, offered spectacular views over the rolling green Wisconsin hills. It took some time to fully digest my surroundings. Like a great work of drama, the subtleties of the space reveal themselves slowly, unfolding as day turns into night. Every windows location, each slant of the roof, or choice of material born out of a real purpose. For example, the surface around the two fireplaces is laid in stone, which preserves heat longer than wood and avoids sparks setting the wood floor on fire. Floor levels are at different heights, sometimes by just an inch, which emphasizes the separation of spaces. The living area faces west and is enclosed with an entire wall of mullioned glass, enabling an unobstructed sunset view. In the morning, I thought the light in the bathroom was on, only to discover that Wright placed a tiny window high above the toilet where a sloping shaft draws in the sun and showers the bathroom in a glow of light. (The walls are painted yellow to enhance the effect.) To my eyes, every gesture and each detailincluding the furniture was designed with an acute sense of functionality. The overall effect was stimulating: I felt I was transposed into a different world.Wright deliberately used the spatial tactic of compression and release. (Courtesy Oren Safdie)I was the only occupant of the house, so I decided to go exploring. Right outside my door, I discovered a strategically placed cubby door set in the wall. Upon opening it, I found myself looking down over Frank Lloyd Wrights bed. This likely was for when Iovanna needed to communicate with her father, saving her a trip down the stairs or yelling at the top of her lungs.Downstairs, Wrights commitment to function was evident at every turn. A guided tour was unnecessary, because the house answered every question with a responding gesture. Wandering through a hallway that is the length of a small bowling alley, I began to wonder whether people of that era were indeed much shorter because the ceiling was so low, but then I was spit out into a larger space and realized that Wright was deliberately using the spatial tactic of compression and release to augment the dramatic effect of being thrust into these more public double-height spaces. The sense is enhanced when compared with an exterior horizontal best captured by the Prairie-style roof that makes inhabitants feel like they are actually out in the landscape.For most architects, what Im describing is nothing new. Despite being born in 1867, Frank Lloyd Wright is still a household name and prominent figure in architectural discussions. (His large model for Broadacre City is even currently on view at MoMA in New York.) In practice, however, the lessons of his work seem absent from the contemporary American architecture scene.Wrights daughters room is located up a set of narrow stairs, through a secret door embedded in a row of six false doors. (Courtesy Oren Safdie)Maybe by now its clear to say that rather than taking up the American stylings offered by Wright and his mentor, Louis Sullivan, much of what we see as the architecture of our time takes its roots from various flavors of European modernism and Bauhaus adherents, with a spattering of Russian constructivist precedent and a nod to various theoretical and technological anxieties. The organic Americana homegrown by Wright and Sullivan seems to have been tossed in the trash can of the 20th century, along with so much else. In the first quarter of this 21st century, architects have made progress in creating architecture that is more environmentally conscious and people friendly rather than being focused on the fantastical, like some of the high-wire starchitect acts of the early 2000s. But at its core, American architecture continues to remain fixated on form rather than function: A buildings shape primarily originates from outside constraints rather than internal occupation. This follows in how our cities have taken shape, with little concern for occupants and activities who are overlooked to focus on appearance and market performance. Looking at some of whats being proposed, it feels like there has been little advancement from the problematic International Style of the 1950s and 60s. Just take a look at Hudson Yards or a dozen other similar projects that have recently been built across our countrys cities. This is progress?!A Prairie-style roof makes inhabitants feel like they are actually out in the landscape. (Courtesy Oren Safdie)Sure, we now have more skylights and glass roofs that bring in natural light, and some architects have attempted to integrate nature by covering facades in succulents or planting a garden on the roof, but it all feels symbolic and lacks any deeper meaning. Likewise, new technologies have gone into producing some incredibly impressive structures but whether it is a symptom of scale, speed, capitalism, cheap developers, strict buildings codes, or just the fast-paced world we live in, it often lands as soulless. Were too busy to pay attention to the art of craft, which used to be an important element of architecture.It feels like architects are under so much pressure that they often cant sweat the small stuff. If you scan through what is being published lately, its almost like details dont matter. After spending a weekend in Frank Lloyd Wrights house, I beg to differ.Oren Safdie is a playwright, screenwriter, and teaches at Interlochen Center for the Arts.