faucet

Friday, I was talking to Alissa and Drew, about how sometimes when I’m out walking, I think about what’s inside the houses.  For example, in each house I pass, there is so much.  There is a bookshelf with books on it and each book has pages full of words.  Where did the ink come from?  Where was the book printed?  Who wrote it, and why and when?  Where did the tree grow that became the paper?  The tree that made the bookcase?  The tree that made the stud in the wall behind the bookcase?  

And in the kitchen, there is a drawer full of silverware.  Where did it come from?  Perhaps the owner inherited it, maybe there is a mix from different sets.  What is the story of each of those sets?  Who has ever held this particular spoon?  What food has this spoon been in?  Are the tiles on the floor perfectly aligned?  Let’s make a detailed drawing of the floor, to the nearest millimeter.   Can you imagine how much information you would need, to create a perfect digital re-creation of that house?  And then in 5 steps I’m in front of a whole new house.  New books, new letters, new spoons, all with their own histories and characteristics.

“So, you are interested in the narrative of possessions?” asked Alissa.

“No, everything.  I’m interested in everything.  I want Complete World Knowledge.  Don’t you?”

They did not.  This surprised me.  Alissa said not everything is “relevant.”  I said it might be.

We went into the presentation next door, and I continued to think about how much stuff there is and has been ever.  How can I possibly document it all?  What possible model/diagram/database could include all this?

Then I realized that the world is the model.  All of the information is there; the actual universe is the record of itself.  It is the perfect re-creation, if only I could perceive it all.  Like a god.  Everything vibrated with new energy, new potential, as I thought, “if there is a God, He made me in His image.”

The American city, while young compared to European counterparts, still possesses a rich history in its architecture, an embodied depth of time. 

Architectural practice has handled this in several ways.  Historic preservation attempts to freeze buildings at particular, “ideal” time periods; new urbanism attempts to mimic past forms, usually resulting in mere pastiche; adaptive reuse too often considers the exterior sacrosanct while gutting the interior, erasing past programs and romanticizing the streetscape. 

Yet a building is not one thing, and then another.  It does not exist “then,” and exist distinctly separate “now.”  It is, from the moment of conception to the last memory fading away.

With this in mind, architects could respect what remains of old buildings, while not recreating what once was; clearly differentiating the new from the old.  By doing so, a complete and honest depiction of the building appears, which articulates its own history, is a record of its own existence, coalesces time into physicality.

[I welcome advice/critique, up to 11:30am EST]