Mulling Under Freeways

It was second year Architecture studio at Sci-Arc. 1b, Lindquist/Magar studio was a psychological roller coaster and I was eager to wrap my talents around a tangible design project. When we were settled in, in walks this tall, statuesque man with a coolness I haven't seen since the 70's (when the age of cool was fading from social memory), stalks in our company and introduced himself: Norman Millar. Studio days with him was inspiring, grueling, frustrating riddled with sleepless nights. He gave us an urban project based in a corner shopping plaza on Sunset Blvd. I remember being so happy with what I designed. We had to choose via the Iching from eight different building types to set our designs on, study them for form , logic of space and program, structure and function. Mines was based off an Morphosis project for a Japanese apartment building(if I remember correctly) they had based on a narrow lot size. The project was a Hostel/Community Service building. Teachers would stay in the hostel suites above and classroom/studios and a faculty room with offices on the lower floors with an outdoor public space/auditorium. At the time it was a lot to swallow (but as a working architect this doesn't even scratch the surface of what we have to do to get our buildings built!). Again, I was very happy with my design and a little naive. When my turn came for a desk crit, he stood back and gave a coy grin and asked me, "These spaces, will it be like standing under a freeway?" For some reason my head felt like it just exploded. He explained his reasons but he didn't have to go very far with them. Spaces to him were human, all spaces had a human value and relationship with the body and its imagination. Over exaggerated spaces become cold, impersonal and without the intimacy needed for humans to defines themselves. Scale is a very important character in architecture and we should always design what is needed first then bring in aesthetics.

Now that I'm designing project myself, I, at times, am reminded by those words. I live near the 405 freeway and sometimes I walk to Fox Hills Mall just to feel the day on my skin. At times I stand under the overpass and realized the impact of what he saw in my project and appreciate the time he took to share his criticism.

Murder In Black And White

I had a nightmare a few nights back which kept me up all morning. Two men were fighting, I don't remember if they were naked or not, but I do recall they were sweating and struggling with all their might. The older one had a pencil or a knife, I couldn't tell. The younger just had his bare hands and they were busy fending off the deadly instrument.

A girl with quiet, seductive eyes sat next to me whispering about the many ways she would rape and torture the victor in profane detail, laughing when the younger man finally weakened and the instrument went into his groin. His scream was so unbearably real that I heard it when I woke from the nightmare. I heard that scream two other times in my life. One was when I witnessed someone shooting a man at point blank range.

The scream kept reverberating though the city and it seemed every pedestrian carried the scream till it ripped their faces apart. I've never seen that much red in my life...

Just Thinking...

Why does Life seem like and endless episode of corners, bus stops and visceral intersections of familiar faces always out of time? It feels that way to me almost everyday. I have a crush on this girl, her name is Simran, and I know it doesn't make any sense, but I do. Today I ran into her on a busy crosswalk (during my common days of racing to work), actually she recognised me and called my name. Suddenly all my urgencies were aborted and the single most important thing on my mind was to go and meet her... But we just waved at each other instead till our buses came. Walking the world by yourself isn't fun anymore but if you walk too long alone, there may not be any time to change direction and you'll find yourself always waiting for the bus, or standing on corners waiting to cross the street.

Million Dollar Hotel

Between the two of us (more on her side I suspect than on mine) we decided to go to the Million Dollar Hotel. I believe there was a movie of the same name by Wenders. I think Mel Gibson stared in it. It was a beautiful idea and since we were adventuring in downtown LA, it seemed like a plan. After a day of visiting museums and exploring the city via camera and urban commentary, we arrived at the hotel. We decided to check into a room and my heart lept with excitement: this was new territory for me (and I'm sure Lily would say something similar). Our room was something of a timepiece, very 50's decor and the aura of stories waiting to be heard and visions waiting to be seen. Then Lily and I began our photographic journey: me with my Yashica-Mat and Royal 1940's typewriter, her with a brand new digital camera and her artistic sensibilities.

We traversed the hallways, stairways, people who stayed there indefinitely as well as the visitors touring through its many rooms. I let the experience settle in me, took notes along the way.

Then I discovered a way to the roof. My heart lept again. I almost couldn't contain myself. Lily on the other hand was afraid of heights. "Oh my god, I'm going to die!!" "Look. There's a ladder, see? We won't die... Just don't look down." Which we both did. The metal balcony we were on was small and you couldn't help but to look down. "It'll be alright. Let's just go." "oh my god, Efrem! I don't wanna fall!" "You won't fall. I won't let you!"

Once we made it up there, we ran and played and took pictures and I typed and we took more pictures until nightfall. Standing there on top of Downtown Los Angeles, under the neon lights with my very dear and best friend, was one of the most endearing experiences of my life. It was like discovering a new world neither of us had seen before.

I didn't want to leave.

Afterwards we went to the movies and saw "Million Dollar Hotel", ate at Johnnies Pastrami. A beautiful end to a beautiful day.

Monopoly Of Objects

I tend to fear the monopoly of Production. Maybe its our tendencies for consumption that I fear the most. As we villianize our neighbors, colonize different countries, wage wars against the weak and convert inocent peoples into wage laborers, the value of objects has slowly personified our weaknesses and frailties as human beings. The Object has become an archetype, a symbols and representation of our psyche and belief system, in that it has become a "system" and "network vehicle" for how we express ourselves. But is this right? Have we turned Objects into forms of language? Communication?

Now we have Coroperate Identities branding and labeling our "Will To Identity", telling us what to wear and what to think about and what to buy. The social shifts are staggering when you think of the excererated rate of obselence of things and ideals that once dominated our patronage; a calculated privation almost predatorial.

You see suburbanites staring in bewilderment at their garages or in their closets or at their bank statements, wondering what happened. What have I paid for? Where did all this stuff come from? It actually amazes me when my freinds and aquaintences tell me about their five warehouses of stuff they nearly fogot they had or about their closet full of shoes they only wore once because it was the fashion at that time or about their toy collection which they never opened.

People have forgotton the necessity of linits and why they are there. Yet I'm thankful to see people, at the same token, recycling (still not a major movement but as our recession hit its heights, it will become more a common practice) and giving away their "junk" and clearing the clutter from their lives---a small feat for our 21st century but the glut of our object collection continues.

Prodigy Of The Fallen

Normally my Face would serve as a valid introduction to the machines of discourse thus imbuing complete understanding of the basic nature of "Who I Am", with the agressive warnings that accompanies creatures like myself. Words, I'm afraid, will have to suffice.

It starts with the watching.

Beginning with a small pocket of space extending omnidirectionally, impregnated withe cosmic matter of all things. Sudden destruction of atomic particles releasing the Mobile Fiats traversing forbidden realms at the speed of thought---the collapse of all light then the Darkness. That is how I was born.

My name?

Dare you ask something so naive?

My Name is the face I wear: torn, beaten, stained with centuries of blood, war and disease...

Yet I Live!

My Name is a terrible immensity, a fathomless void haunting the borders of existence. How dare you ask this of me! I will, because you've made it this far on you journey, tell you this: I am the grand incarnation of Humanity's creations and am held responsible for their untimely deaths! This is the nature of the Face which you are unworthy even of its terror and eternal punishment! Your greatest crime is in the asking.

Do not hold me responsible for your future! It is in the hands you've made for yourself!

PROTOCAUST: Theories Of A Stranger World

He doubted architecture on the basis that: Constructs do not dictate future actions but present conditions. Space, place/environment and time are resolutions of current political and sociological human activities. He saw my quizical look. "Think of it this way: a door carries information as well was instruction setting a primary basis of operation. Now, think of the many times you entered said door---the unexpected locked doors, the private doors ,the ominous doors or the door that are wide open yet hinder you from entering. The concept of 'future' always fail when encountering the complexities of the human body and its behavior. This is one of the many reasons architecture fails its ideal stance; Moderism, Post-Modernism, Deconstructivism... all those buildings and places failed at some crucial point..."

I painfully remembered the 'isms' and 'ists' during my college years at Sci-Arc. He removed a sparkplug lost in an enlightened sense of facination. Then he said: "Every created thing serves a purpose." "That's a broad assertion." "As broad as the human mind, son. Everything that exists solves a problem and not all solutions are appropriate for everyone. Your ancestors knew this as well as mine in Germany." "But wouldn't that imply created things are tools?"

"If you look at the world as one big machine, maybe. I just hate refferencing the human condition in those terms, there are always alienating consequences that occur..." "So Man has replaced his Image with an Idol?" "It's an old habit. Our century has made advances that makes it easier to accept. We all have our idols and our objects of devotion."