Our boy was baptised today! For those who missed it, here's the testimony I gave:
Kristen and I were both raised in Christian homes. Our parents taught us the Bible and lived out their faith, and we were both brought to church consistently for worship and Sunday school. We’re very thankful for that gift from our parents, and we’re also thankful that our family could be here with us today, for August.
I believed in Jesus when I was very young. I remember praying in bed and thanking God for everything I could remember. As I got older, at several points, I remember having to take a stand for Jesus and committing to obey Him. One of those points was my own baptism, when I was about 13.
I learned to trust God more deeply, starting in college, when I was on my own, away from home, learning about school and schedules and bills, and God was faithful then.
Kristen and I met in college. The story is that I noticed that she had a Bible on her desk, and I asked her about it, and that’s how we met.
Since we’ve been married, we’ve learned to trust God together: learning about work and, again, about schedules and bills. We’ve seen him provide for our needs every year.
The most challenging times have been the past several years, hoping and praying for a family and wondering why it was taking so long. We’re now thankful to know that the time spent waiting was so that we would be all lined up to meet and receive August. We’ve seen God now answer, so sweetly, all those many prayers for him.
“August” is a family name – I wanted him to have a reminder that he’s connected to our family and to all the routes that God took to bring these immigrants together. However, at his adoption, we were also amazed to hear the verses that were read over him – many verses taken from the book of Jeremiah, which is his second name.
We heard Jeremiah 1:4:
The word of the LORD came to me, saying,
"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
before you were born I set you apart;
I appointed you as a prophet to the nations."
Again, we’re learning to trust God about bottles and schedules and bills, August reminds us of God’s faithfulness. His first name reminds us of God’s providence, for generations, even to our own family, and his second name reminds us of the promises and hope God has for his future.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Saturday, May 05, 2007
On the porch with a secret - writing exercise #2
Here's our second writing exercise of the day: "Imagine a character sitting on a front porch. Create a first person monologue in which the character reveals a secret about himself/herself that no one has ever known. Give us a sense of setting." We didn't have enough time to have more than one idea. Beware, I told you I was in a funky mood.
A Seat on the Porch
5/5/07
(c) Andy Osterlund, 2007
As a day for a seat on the porch, this isn’t a bad one. The air is clear and comfortable. The season’s too early for bugs. It’s quiet, most of the neighbors away or in their routines. It’s a surprise to be here, but surprises can be okay. It’s very quiet, and warm. It’s okay to rest, to sit and to “be.” We don’t take enough time to reflect, do we? Never enough time to sit on a porch on a quiet day and reflect, until sometimes you just have to sit.
I’ll have to finish up the lawn later, maybe when it’s cooler. Or, maybe we can hire a neighbor this time to finish up. Have to put the mower away then, maybe she’ll get a neighbor to do that too. I hate to put so much on her. She’ll have time. She’ll be okay too.
It’s funny what we fear, thinking about it now. We’re afraid of others so often, but perhaps not when we need to be. Remember last year, the plant closing, the fears we had then? The town is moving on, isn’t it now, new grocery stores and the book store there, and the Cappuccino Café. Some people have moved on, it’s okay to move on. New plant opening on the other side of the hill, that’ll be a good thing for some people. People thought I was the bad guy, but they didn’t really see what I went through, what we all went through in the office - same pressures as everyone else. Same pressures and fears. Everyone’s afraid, but you just have to make it work, make your decisions and move on.
Now, looking back, it’s easy to look at things and realize that it was a good thing. The town is going to be much better after this – much better after this. Look at us now, we’ve already got the Cappuccino Café – I hear other stores are coming into town, and that will bring new people to town. That will really bring this place around. It’ll be a good thing. People will see in time. It takes patience, but people will see this town turn around. And the plant, of course, it was just what we had to do. Times are changing, the products change. We have to adapt. It’s all cycles, and it’s really a good change. Looks like the plant will be opening again in a few months, and we’ll be able to start new. It’s always a good thing to start new – to take what you learned from the past, to remember those hard lessons and the choices you had to make and the sacrifices, but then you get to start new, and this town will be a better place for it.
And so much at home. She and I, we just had to go through this. We didn’t know what was going to happen, but we made it through and things are looking up. So much warmth. She was always supportive. She was always sympathetic. She always understood. Even when the reporters came and accused us of so many things, she understood. And now, things are looking up.
I’ve heard stories of feeling like this, wondered what it would be like, in some lonely, desperate way. I feel the warmth; of course my shirt is soaked, that’s uncomfortable. The pain is there, but it’s so deep, deeper than anything I’ve ever felt, there’s really nothing I can do about it. The ambulance should be on its way. My daughter made me buy this phone, “At least for emergencies,” she said, “And to call me!” She said, I remember that. The ambulance should be on its way. It can take a while to get around in this town. The paper’s had some articles about that recently, with all the violence. It’s just something we’re not used to, not completely prepared for. But, it just takes time. Like that snow we had a few years back, biggest ever – we weren’t prepared for it then, but now we’re more prepared. We just need to learn from these things, and it makes the town a better place. But, the ambulance should be here any minute. Actually, she should be here any minute too. I hope she doesn’t see me like this – it would be better, I think, if she didn’t. Maybe I should call the ambulance again, just to make sure they know I’m here and know how to find me. I don’t know what’s taking them so long. It would be good if she didn’t see me like this.
Remember last time she found me like this? Well, not exactly like this of course, but remember when I was working on the lawnmower, and I hadn’t tightened the, well, there’s no need to remember everything, but that was quite a day too. She must have yelled at me for an hour, remember? I mean, yelled! Other people don’t get to see her that way, that’s reserved just for me. We’ve been through a lot, she and me. I think this is the happiest we’ve ever been. We probably say that every year, and I think it’s true every time. This time it definitely is. So many things that we’ve waited for all these years, so many things coming true. The hardships? Sure, we’ve been through our share or more than our share, but I think we’re the happiest we’ve ever been. It’s just that things change, and sometimes you have to adapt, and you work through it again, and you’re better for it, every time.
Did I know the man in the car? Was he in the plant some time? It’s impossible to know everyone. I just couldn’t recognize him. Maybe if I thought about it harder for a while. I suppose I should try to remember his face. I just don’t know if I could recognize him if I saw his picture, maybe saw it in a company photo. It happened so fast. They always say that in the newspaper. Maybe he was there for barbeque that Saturday, but I just didn’t recognize him. Maybe I would recognize his voice, maybe he called, last week, was that the man who called last week? It could have been. It’s just hard to remember in different circumstances, and it’s hard to really be prepared for the unexpected – especially things like this. Nobody’s prepared for this. There was no way to know. Maybe someone knew, but, well, we got a lot of calls like that last week, and the week before. It’s just so hard to be prepared or to know what to expect, especially when you have so many people. It’s impossible to know everyone.
I hope we can still make the wedding next weekend. Shouldn’t be a problem. He’s a good man – not rich like I hoped, but he’s fine, and he’s smart. I love seeing her around him – she looks different, and I like that. Their new town will be fine too – she’ll have to adapt some, I think, it’ll be different for her, and it’ll be different for us, not having her here. But that’s the way of things, and really, we’ve never been happier. We couldn’t be happier for her. That’ll be a beautiful day, and I can’t wait. She’ll look so beautiful, I’m sure.
He’s fine and he’s smart. He has plans, and that’s good, and he got the job in the new town, so that’s fine. It’s just fear again, you just don’t know. And now, I can’t control everything anymore – they’re out of my hands, and I have to accept that. We hope and we’ve prayed for the best, and you just don’t always know what’s next.
(c) Andy Osterlund, 2007
A Seat on the Porch
5/5/07
(c) Andy Osterlund, 2007
As a day for a seat on the porch, this isn’t a bad one. The air is clear and comfortable. The season’s too early for bugs. It’s quiet, most of the neighbors away or in their routines. It’s a surprise to be here, but surprises can be okay. It’s very quiet, and warm. It’s okay to rest, to sit and to “be.” We don’t take enough time to reflect, do we? Never enough time to sit on a porch on a quiet day and reflect, until sometimes you just have to sit.
I’ll have to finish up the lawn later, maybe when it’s cooler. Or, maybe we can hire a neighbor this time to finish up. Have to put the mower away then, maybe she’ll get a neighbor to do that too. I hate to put so much on her. She’ll have time. She’ll be okay too.
It’s funny what we fear, thinking about it now. We’re afraid of others so often, but perhaps not when we need to be. Remember last year, the plant closing, the fears we had then? The town is moving on, isn’t it now, new grocery stores and the book store there, and the Cappuccino Café. Some people have moved on, it’s okay to move on. New plant opening on the other side of the hill, that’ll be a good thing for some people. People thought I was the bad guy, but they didn’t really see what I went through, what we all went through in the office - same pressures as everyone else. Same pressures and fears. Everyone’s afraid, but you just have to make it work, make your decisions and move on.
Now, looking back, it’s easy to look at things and realize that it was a good thing. The town is going to be much better after this – much better after this. Look at us now, we’ve already got the Cappuccino Café – I hear other stores are coming into town, and that will bring new people to town. That will really bring this place around. It’ll be a good thing. People will see in time. It takes patience, but people will see this town turn around. And the plant, of course, it was just what we had to do. Times are changing, the products change. We have to adapt. It’s all cycles, and it’s really a good change. Looks like the plant will be opening again in a few months, and we’ll be able to start new. It’s always a good thing to start new – to take what you learned from the past, to remember those hard lessons and the choices you had to make and the sacrifices, but then you get to start new, and this town will be a better place for it.
And so much at home. She and I, we just had to go through this. We didn’t know what was going to happen, but we made it through and things are looking up. So much warmth. She was always supportive. She was always sympathetic. She always understood. Even when the reporters came and accused us of so many things, she understood. And now, things are looking up.
I’ve heard stories of feeling like this, wondered what it would be like, in some lonely, desperate way. I feel the warmth; of course my shirt is soaked, that’s uncomfortable. The pain is there, but it’s so deep, deeper than anything I’ve ever felt, there’s really nothing I can do about it. The ambulance should be on its way. My daughter made me buy this phone, “At least for emergencies,” she said, “And to call me!” She said, I remember that. The ambulance should be on its way. It can take a while to get around in this town. The paper’s had some articles about that recently, with all the violence. It’s just something we’re not used to, not completely prepared for. But, it just takes time. Like that snow we had a few years back, biggest ever – we weren’t prepared for it then, but now we’re more prepared. We just need to learn from these things, and it makes the town a better place. But, the ambulance should be here any minute. Actually, she should be here any minute too. I hope she doesn’t see me like this – it would be better, I think, if she didn’t. Maybe I should call the ambulance again, just to make sure they know I’m here and know how to find me. I don’t know what’s taking them so long. It would be good if she didn’t see me like this.
Remember last time she found me like this? Well, not exactly like this of course, but remember when I was working on the lawnmower, and I hadn’t tightened the, well, there’s no need to remember everything, but that was quite a day too. She must have yelled at me for an hour, remember? I mean, yelled! Other people don’t get to see her that way, that’s reserved just for me. We’ve been through a lot, she and me. I think this is the happiest we’ve ever been. We probably say that every year, and I think it’s true every time. This time it definitely is. So many things that we’ve waited for all these years, so many things coming true. The hardships? Sure, we’ve been through our share or more than our share, but I think we’re the happiest we’ve ever been. It’s just that things change, and sometimes you have to adapt, and you work through it again, and you’re better for it, every time.
Did I know the man in the car? Was he in the plant some time? It’s impossible to know everyone. I just couldn’t recognize him. Maybe if I thought about it harder for a while. I suppose I should try to remember his face. I just don’t know if I could recognize him if I saw his picture, maybe saw it in a company photo. It happened so fast. They always say that in the newspaper. Maybe he was there for barbeque that Saturday, but I just didn’t recognize him. Maybe I would recognize his voice, maybe he called, last week, was that the man who called last week? It could have been. It’s just hard to remember in different circumstances, and it’s hard to really be prepared for the unexpected – especially things like this. Nobody’s prepared for this. There was no way to know. Maybe someone knew, but, well, we got a lot of calls like that last week, and the week before. It’s just so hard to be prepared or to know what to expect, especially when you have so many people. It’s impossible to know everyone.
I hope we can still make the wedding next weekend. Shouldn’t be a problem. He’s a good man – not rich like I hoped, but he’s fine, and he’s smart. I love seeing her around him – she looks different, and I like that. Their new town will be fine too – she’ll have to adapt some, I think, it’ll be different for her, and it’ll be different for us, not having her here. But that’s the way of things, and really, we’ve never been happier. We couldn’t be happier for her. That’ll be a beautiful day, and I can’t wait. She’ll look so beautiful, I’m sure.
He’s fine and he’s smart. He has plans, and that’s good, and he got the job in the new town, so that’s fine. It’s just fear again, you just don’t know. And now, I can’t control everything anymore – they’re out of my hands, and I have to accept that. We hope and we’ve prayed for the best, and you just don’t always know what’s next.
(c) Andy Osterlund, 2007
Ginger root - writing exercise #1
Our teacher handed out writing starters. She asked us to use similies and metaphors to describe it. I got a ginger root. I was in a little bit of a funk today, so my writing came out a little weird.
Ginger root
An object I would not have known premaritally.
An object I would not associate with the sweetness
Or the spiciness (a matter of measure), the drama of a sauce
Before my new wife brought it into our little apartment home from the
Grocery store. I wondered if she had gone to some new age shop,
Some retailer that sold crystals and herbs and bits or root and foreign dirt.
It’s skin like nothing. Its edges like brokenness. Textures of dirt, color of air and emptiness. Scent of an absorbent sponge.
This thing that sneaks into our grocery bags. This thing profoundly discovered now in the shelves with beans and leeks and once living vegetation.
- - -
It looks like it has a face. I can see eyes looking over my shoulder, to the corner of the room.
A horn, or a bad wart, or a millionaire’s parted hair.
Knowing the smells when caught with a knife. Afraid to bring a knife into the memory of this thing and the first days with my wife the gourmet chef.
Dirt like a bruise, like a tear, like an eye open too long without enough sleep.
An object I would not have known premaritally.
An object I would not associate with the sweetness
Or the spiciness (a matter of measure), the drama of a sauce
Before my new wife brought it into our little apartment home from the
Grocery store. I wondered if she had gone to some new age shop,
Some retailer that sold crystals and herbs and bits or root and foreign dirt.
It’s skin like nothing. Its edges like brokenness. Textures of dirt, color of air and emptiness. Scent of an absorbent sponge.
This thing that sneaks into our grocery bags. This thing profoundly discovered now in the shelves with beans and leeks and once living vegetation.
- - -
It looks like it has a face. I can see eyes looking over my shoulder, to the corner of the room.
A horn, or a bad wart, or a millionaire’s parted hair.
Knowing the smells when caught with a knife. Afraid to bring a knife into the memory of this thing and the first days with my wife the gourmet chef.
Dirt like a bruise, like a tear, like an eye open too long without enough sleep.
Writers' Workshop Day
Spent much of the day in a writers' workshop today at church . It was interesting and helpful. The best part was the writing exercises, and hearing other people's writing. The writing today had an openness and authenticity that's been rare in our church's arts conversations so far.
However, again, I was left with the question of "what do I do with this thing, now that I've made it?" What good is a collection of short stories or poems sitting on my own hard drive or in my own notebooks? As always, we were encouraged to refine our work, to expand upon today's exercises. But, again, I'm left in this lonely question of "why?"
The habitual writer will say, "I can't NOT write." And that's true for me. Writing is like exhaling, like blinking, like leaving the artifact of a footprint in a forest. It can't be helped, so we should do it well. But my habits aren't that disciplined.
The casual writer will say, "I enjoy writing." And, I do. But I enjoy a lot of things. I enjoy TV. I'm easily entertained. That's not a good enough reason for much.
The prophetic writer will say, "I must write for others." And I want others to know and feel what I do. But, I'm shy.
Yes, writing should be shared. And writing shouldn't exist to be sold. And that's why I blog - blog into the depths of anonymity, into the sea of other bloggers sharing their wares, hoping for the random possibility of forming community.
But that's also why I go to writing conferences - a community for a weekend. That, and I'm always hoping to be discovered.
However, again, I was left with the question of "what do I do with this thing, now that I've made it?" What good is a collection of short stories or poems sitting on my own hard drive or in my own notebooks? As always, we were encouraged to refine our work, to expand upon today's exercises. But, again, I'm left in this lonely question of "why?"
The habitual writer will say, "I can't NOT write." And that's true for me. Writing is like exhaling, like blinking, like leaving the artifact of a footprint in a forest. It can't be helped, so we should do it well. But my habits aren't that disciplined.
The casual writer will say, "I enjoy writing." And, I do. But I enjoy a lot of things. I enjoy TV. I'm easily entertained. That's not a good enough reason for much.
The prophetic writer will say, "I must write for others." And I want others to know and feel what I do. But, I'm shy.
Yes, writing should be shared. And writing shouldn't exist to be sold. And that's why I blog - blog into the depths of anonymity, into the sea of other bloggers sharing their wares, hoping for the random possibility of forming community.
But that's also why I go to writing conferences - a community for a weekend. That, and I'm always hoping to be discovered.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Poems and Places
Have a speach again this week - I have to read a poem to the group. It's been a lot of fun browsing through anthologies, trying to find a theme or something to connect with. I was surprised (it's been a while since I've really dug into poetry) to remember how heavy most of it is! (Maybe it's just the anthologies on my shelves.) But, with this Valentine's week et al, I was expecting to find a few happy, beautiful bits that would be easy to read and make us all feel warm.
Going through the Romantics, found all this extremely heavy work like "Ozymandius" and "Ode on a Grecian Urn" - references to Greek gods and this insanely complex sentence structure. I thought Shakespeare's sonnets would be sweet, but, (and maybe I'm not as smart as I used to be, or maybe I'm just more honest), I just wasn't sure what he was saying! If the woman was wooed by the first lines, I think she would be confused by the end, which probably was Shakespeare's intention.
And then, the modern poetry, so much is either 1) morbid eg about death and suicide and black things, or 2) ironic and cynical and hopeless, or 3) nonsense and meaningless, or 4) just kind of dry, or 4) bizarrely exagerated. What happened to all the pretty poetry?
I think I really was looking for something as beautiful as Song of Songs. I've been reading Psalms for a while, but that's heavy too. Song of Songs is just glorious and lovely. It was edifying to have that experience too, to know that besides being Truth, the Bible includes the most beautiful text I could find on my shelf.
But, without further ado - here's my first draft of the 8 minute speech for Wednesday:
What a privilege to get to read poetry to this group! I’ll be reading four short poems about places. I enjoy thinking about spaces and really experiencing where I am. These are poems about experiencing where you are.
The first is the most abstract. This is by EE Cummings, written from the perspective of a man sitting in a booth in a busy bar in New York. You can hear the sounds of the bar around him, the bits of conversations, and you get to feel some of his experience as he sits in that room.
The second is by Carl Sandberg about being on Clark Street Bridge in Chicago at night.
The third is by my friend Steve West, written during a business trip to Milwaukee. It’s directed to Solomon Juneau, the founder of the city. You can see him walk down the street, encountering people as he passes the street signs.
Finally, a short piece by me. For a while on Sundays, my wife had to get to church earlier than I did, so I would sit in front of this baseball field in Cary in my car and think and write. This is one episode from that series.
Here goes . . .
[i was sitting in mcsorley’s]
E. E. Cummings
1925
i was sitting in mcsorley's. outside it was New York and beautifully snowing.
Inside snug and evil. the slobbering walls filthily push witless creases of screaming warmth chuck pillows are noise funnily swallows swallowing revolvingly pompous a the swallowed mottle with smooth or a but of rapidly goes gobs the and of flecks of and a chatter sobbings intersect with which distinct disks of graceful oath, upsoarings the break on ceiling-flatness
the Bar.tinking luscious jigs dint of ripe silver with warm-lyish wetflat splurging smells waltz the glush of squirting taps plus slush of foam knocked off and a faint piddle-of-drops she says I ploc spittle what the lands thaz me kid in no sir hopping sawdust you kiddo
he's a palping wreaths of badly Yep cigars who jim him why gluey grins topple together eyes pout gestures stickily point made glints squinting who's a wink bum-nothing and money fuzzily mouths take big wobbly foot
steps every goggle cent of it get out ears dribbles soft right old feller belch the chap hic summore eh chuckles skulch. . . .
and I was sitting in the din thinking drinking the ale, which never lets you grow old blinking at the low ceiling my being pleasantly was punctuated by the always retchings of a worthless lamp.
when With a minute terrif iceffort one dirty squeal of soiling light yanKing from bushy obscurity a bald greenish foetal head established It suddenly upon the huge neck around whose unwashed sonorous muscle the filth of a collar hung gently.
(spattered)by this instant of semiluminous nausea A vast wordless nondescript genie of trunk trickled firmly in to one exactly-mutilated ghost of a chair,
a;domeshaped interval of complete plasticity,shoulders, sprouted the extraordinary arms through an angle of ridiculous velocity commenting upon an unclean table.and, whose distended immense Both paws slowly loved a dinted mug
gone Darkness it was so near to me,i ask of shadow won't you have a drink?
(the eternal perpetual question)
Inside snugandevil. i was sitting in mcsorley's It,did not answer.
outside.(it was New York and beautifully, snowing. . . .
CLARK STREET BRIDGE
Carl Sandberg
1916
DUST of the feet
And dust of the wheels,
Wagons and people going,
All day feet and wheels.
Now. . .
. . Only stars and mist
A lonely policeman,
Two cabaret dancers,
Stars and mist again,
No more feet or wheels,
No more dust and wagons.
Voices of dollars
And drops of blood
. . . . .
Voices of broken hearts,
. . Voices singing, singing,
. . Silver voices, singing,
Softer than the stars,
Softer than the mist.
Poem-Walk
Steve West
c. 2000
Listen to me, Solomon Juneau.
I am on a mission from God.
I am an extra-terrestial,
a wide-eyed wanderer
on this
terrestrial ball.
See me there? Here comes
santa claus looking worn &
frail, an overdressed rabble of a
man, bearded, half-blind, under-
nourished, with a sack of treasure
on his back.
Yes, I just touched down, Soloman Juneau,
on this blue end of Milwaukee, only
visiting this planet. Call it
Terra firma. Earth.
I’m walking on the solid
flesh and dirt of life.
Lapham. Becher. Waukesha.
I dodge the word puddles, the
splash of image, tripping over
profundities and wonders.
Can you hear it Soloman Juneau?
Can you hear the hip hop bop, the
music of the poet thinking?
Van Buren. Marquette. Grand Avenue.
A black man peers from
behind a dirty screen.
(Hear the silence speaking?)
A woman sunbaths, workers
lounge, winos loll.
(Can you feel the wonder?)
In the Cafe Leon a
woman sips, motions, shrugs,
dismisses, her upturned laugh
rippling through the air.
The air is pompous-smelling,
magenta in all its hipness, the
people poised and sheek.
I am the meek and minding.
I eat.
I listen.
I spy.
In the cafe, on the street,
I gather the pearls of conversation,
laughing at my wealth.
I am king for the moment,
resplendent in my humaness,
carrying my sackful of words,
my rattles and my rhymnes.
I am accused of metaphoric dementia ---
diagnosis: too human, naked, unashamed
prognosis: animal skins and fig leaves
Are you watching, Soloman Juneau?
See me spill my words?
Watch me unwrap these packages.
I’ll fashion up some truth.
I am an extra-terrestrial ---
word-full
wacked-out &
wondered. A
meteoric, metaphoric, poet.
Don’t you know it?
Really, only human, Soloman Juneau.
An Empty Ballfied on a Sunday Morning
Andy Osterlund
2005
An empty ballfield on a Sunday morning
A rabbit and a squirrel and a scoreboard unlit
A fly comes through my open windows screaming a buzz
Boundaries and fences; markers and out of bounds
Jet overhead; brush underneath; and me in between
Electrical boxes waiting for a night game.
Coming to the limits of inspiration and provocation
Coming to the limits of what can be derived from a scene
But the creatures keep stirring and the sun is interrupted by the trees.
Going through the Romantics, found all this extremely heavy work like "Ozymandius" and "Ode on a Grecian Urn" - references to Greek gods and this insanely complex sentence structure. I thought Shakespeare's sonnets would be sweet, but, (and maybe I'm not as smart as I used to be, or maybe I'm just more honest), I just wasn't sure what he was saying! If the woman was wooed by the first lines, I think she would be confused by the end, which probably was Shakespeare's intention.
And then, the modern poetry, so much is either 1) morbid eg about death and suicide and black things, or 2) ironic and cynical and hopeless, or 3) nonsense and meaningless, or 4) just kind of dry, or 4) bizarrely exagerated. What happened to all the pretty poetry?
I think I really was looking for something as beautiful as Song of Songs. I've been reading Psalms for a while, but that's heavy too. Song of Songs is just glorious and lovely. It was edifying to have that experience too, to know that besides being Truth, the Bible includes the most beautiful text I could find on my shelf.
But, without further ado - here's my first draft of the 8 minute speech for Wednesday:
What a privilege to get to read poetry to this group! I’ll be reading four short poems about places. I enjoy thinking about spaces and really experiencing where I am. These are poems about experiencing where you are.
The first is the most abstract. This is by EE Cummings, written from the perspective of a man sitting in a booth in a busy bar in New York. You can hear the sounds of the bar around him, the bits of conversations, and you get to feel some of his experience as he sits in that room.
The second is by Carl Sandberg about being on Clark Street Bridge in Chicago at night.
The third is by my friend Steve West, written during a business trip to Milwaukee. It’s directed to Solomon Juneau, the founder of the city. You can see him walk down the street, encountering people as he passes the street signs.
Finally, a short piece by me. For a while on Sundays, my wife had to get to church earlier than I did, so I would sit in front of this baseball field in Cary in my car and think and write. This is one episode from that series.
Here goes . . .
[i was sitting in mcsorley’s]
E. E. Cummings
1925
i was sitting in mcsorley's. outside it was New York and beautifully snowing.
Inside snug and evil. the slobbering walls filthily push witless creases of screaming warmth chuck pillows are noise funnily swallows swallowing revolvingly pompous a the swallowed mottle with smooth or a but of rapidly goes gobs the and of flecks of and a chatter sobbings intersect with which distinct disks of graceful oath, upsoarings the break on ceiling-flatness
the Bar.tinking luscious jigs dint of ripe silver with warm-lyish wetflat splurging smells waltz the glush of squirting taps plus slush of foam knocked off and a faint piddle-of-drops she says I ploc spittle what the lands thaz me kid in no sir hopping sawdust you kiddo
he's a palping wreaths of badly Yep cigars who jim him why gluey grins topple together eyes pout gestures stickily point made glints squinting who's a wink bum-nothing and money fuzzily mouths take big wobbly foot
steps every goggle cent of it get out ears dribbles soft right old feller belch the chap hic summore eh chuckles skulch. . . .
and I was sitting in the din thinking drinking the ale, which never lets you grow old blinking at the low ceiling my being pleasantly was punctuated by the always retchings of a worthless lamp.
when With a minute terrif iceffort one dirty squeal of soiling light yanKing from bushy obscurity a bald greenish foetal head established It suddenly upon the huge neck around whose unwashed sonorous muscle the filth of a collar hung gently.
(spattered)by this instant of semiluminous nausea A vast wordless nondescript genie of trunk trickled firmly in to one exactly-mutilated ghost of a chair,
a;domeshaped interval of complete plasticity,shoulders, sprouted the extraordinary arms through an angle of ridiculous velocity commenting upon an unclean table.and, whose distended immense Both paws slowly loved a dinted mug
gone Darkness it was so near to me,i ask of shadow won't you have a drink?
(the eternal perpetual question)
Inside snugandevil. i was sitting in mcsorley's It,did not answer.
outside.(it was New York and beautifully, snowing. . . .
CLARK STREET BRIDGE
Carl Sandberg
1916
DUST of the feet
And dust of the wheels,
Wagons and people going,
All day feet and wheels.
Now. . .
. . Only stars and mist
A lonely policeman,
Two cabaret dancers,
Stars and mist again,
No more feet or wheels,
No more dust and wagons.
Voices of dollars
And drops of blood
. . . . .
Voices of broken hearts,
. . Voices singing, singing,
. . Silver voices, singing,
Softer than the stars,
Softer than the mist.
Poem-Walk
Steve West
c. 2000
Listen to me, Solomon Juneau.
I am on a mission from God.
I am an extra-terrestial,
a wide-eyed wanderer
on this
terrestrial ball.
See me there? Here comes
santa claus looking worn &
frail, an overdressed rabble of a
man, bearded, half-blind, under-
nourished, with a sack of treasure
on his back.
Yes, I just touched down, Soloman Juneau,
on this blue end of Milwaukee, only
visiting this planet. Call it
Terra firma. Earth.
I’m walking on the solid
flesh and dirt of life.
Lapham. Becher. Waukesha.
I dodge the word puddles, the
splash of image, tripping over
profundities and wonders.
Can you hear it Soloman Juneau?
Can you hear the hip hop bop, the
music of the poet thinking?
Van Buren. Marquette. Grand Avenue.
A black man peers from
behind a dirty screen.
(Hear the silence speaking?)
A woman sunbaths, workers
lounge, winos loll.
(Can you feel the wonder?)
In the Cafe Leon a
woman sips, motions, shrugs,
dismisses, her upturned laugh
rippling through the air.
The air is pompous-smelling,
magenta in all its hipness, the
people poised and sheek.
I am the meek and minding.
I eat.
I listen.
I spy.
In the cafe, on the street,
I gather the pearls of conversation,
laughing at my wealth.
I am king for the moment,
resplendent in my humaness,
carrying my sackful of words,
my rattles and my rhymnes.
I am accused of metaphoric dementia ---
diagnosis: too human, naked, unashamed
prognosis: animal skins and fig leaves
Are you watching, Soloman Juneau?
See me spill my words?
Watch me unwrap these packages.
I’ll fashion up some truth.
I am an extra-terrestrial ---
word-full
wacked-out &
wondered. A
meteoric, metaphoric, poet.
Don’t you know it?
Really, only human, Soloman Juneau.
An Empty Ballfied on a Sunday Morning
Andy Osterlund
2005
An empty ballfield on a Sunday morning
A rabbit and a squirrel and a scoreboard unlit
A fly comes through my open windows screaming a buzz
Boundaries and fences; markers and out of bounds
Jet overhead; brush underneath; and me in between
Electrical boxes waiting for a night game.
Coming to the limits of inspiration and provocation
Coming to the limits of what can be derived from a scene
But the creatures keep stirring and the sun is interrupted by the trees.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Reading Man
It's been a record month or so for me, book-wise:
- Finished Calvino's "If on a winter's night a traveler".
- Started and finished Foer's "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close".
- Saturdays at the gym on the recumbant stationary bike.
- Joining a newly formed book club with a deadline (Foer's book, March 30.)
- Reading a best-selling novel by a still-living author in its original language (again, Foer's book.)
But now what?
- Shall I return to Doestoyevsky? Has my new success renewed enough reading confidence, or should I pin a couple more titles to my chest first? But, is it really fair to start another book with this one still half-read? Cons: possibly too heavy for the recumbant stationary bike, 19th century russian author.
- Shall I return to my college pattern of faith, architecture, fiction, culture, repeat? Is "culture" next or should I start back over with "faith" because I've been out of the cycle so long? Cons: what if my reading streak doesn't last?
- And what about the novel I just bought because the movie it spawned looks so interesting? Is that too much fiction for two months time? What about my existentialist ideals? What if I just went to the movie instead?
- Or the coffee table book I got for Christmas? Cons: definitely too heavy for the gym.
- Or the "faith" book that everyone I know has read and likes. Cons: when was the last time I liked something that everyone else liked?
It's either the "movie" book or the popular "faith" book, or the coffee table "architecture" book with another book on the side.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Dillon Triptych
I’m going through my photos this afternoon, and I found this one that I like. It’s of Dillon Supply, downtown Raleigh. It’s shot on 120 fujichrome film with a Holga. The Holga is a Chinese plastic camera with a plastic lens – you never quite know where the film is, so sometimes the shots bleed into each other, and you never quite know what the lens is going to do when the sun comes through it. I like the way the east and west views bleed into each other, I like the urbanity of course, I like the textures and materials. I like the new-city icons in the background of the old. I’ve shot these buildings each many times, but they seem to make more sense as a contextual triptych here than they do individually. That’s significant, I think.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
One Step from "Competent" - Speech #10
Here's my working draft for speech #10, the final speech in this first book for toastmasters. It's supposed to be "inspiring." What can be more inspiring than concrete? As usual, it's running a couple minutes long. Here goes:
Project #10 Inspire Your Audience
Foundations
November 22, 2006
Introduction:
Good afternoon. Today, I want to talk to you about foundations. Most foundations in our area are made out of concrete. This is a chunk of concrete. [Show concrete chunk.] You know me well enough by now to know that I do have an interest in foundations, and I like talking about concrete, I enjoy it. And, I hope you’ll enjoy my speech! But, I also hope you’ll learn pretty quickly that my speech is meant to be metaphorical. I’m talking about our personal foundations. And, we have a lot to learn from concrete.
1. Foundations come first.
First thing built
What we learned
Decisions now
Dreams for future
2. Foundations are a mixed bag.
Aggregates = resists pressure = family, education, home
Steel = resists tension = health, friends
Cement and water = glue = faith and love
3. Foundations suit the project.
Building limits
Soil bearing
Reach to bedrock
Ex: Brooklyn Bridge, John Roebling, son Washington, wife Emily; Brooklyn foundation at 44’, Manhattan foundation at 74’ on sand.
4. Foundations handle stress.
Daily routine
Big decisions / ethics
Major opportunities / risks
Calamity
Disaster
5. Foundations might need to be fixed.
i. It’s not too late for foundation repair
ii. Don’t try to do it on your own – you need a specialist
iii. It will be expensive
a. Home foundation repair = some cracks that come with experience = extra concrete or new piers = rethinking priorities and assumptions
b. Foundation not strong enough for dreams = Leaning tower of Pisa, 1000 year lean = pump out the bad soil = get rid of what’s bringing you down = enormously expensive = bad habits, fears, bad relationships
c. Foundation in the wrong location = Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, sea = moved to safer ground = extremely expensive and dangerous = new education, new city, new beliefs
6. Foundations are just a beginning.
Built our house – quick foundation, long time to get started
No good by itself – meant to be built upon
Limits, depth, strength – start building!
Conclusion
Take a look at this concrete, all the chunks and bits that make it strong. Remember the foundations you were given when you first started out. Remember everything that went into making you who you are. Remember that your foundation was laid for a reason – you were made to be somebody. When stress comes along, hang on to your foundation as tight as you can. Make sure to get your foundation fixed if you need to, but be prepared to pay for it. And finally, if all you’ve got is a foundation, you’ve got a lot of building to do.
Project #10 Inspire Your Audience
Foundations
November 22, 2006
Introduction:
Good afternoon. Today, I want to talk to you about foundations. Most foundations in our area are made out of concrete. This is a chunk of concrete. [Show concrete chunk.] You know me well enough by now to know that I do have an interest in foundations, and I like talking about concrete, I enjoy it. And, I hope you’ll enjoy my speech! But, I also hope you’ll learn pretty quickly that my speech is meant to be metaphorical. I’m talking about our personal foundations. And, we have a lot to learn from concrete.
1. Foundations come first.
First thing built
What we learned
Decisions now
Dreams for future
2. Foundations are a mixed bag.
Aggregates = resists pressure = family, education, home
Steel = resists tension = health, friends
Cement and water = glue = faith and love
3. Foundations suit the project.
Building limits
Soil bearing
Reach to bedrock
Ex: Brooklyn Bridge, John Roebling, son Washington, wife Emily; Brooklyn foundation at 44’, Manhattan foundation at 74’ on sand.
4. Foundations handle stress.
Daily routine
Big decisions / ethics
Major opportunities / risks
Calamity
Disaster
5. Foundations might need to be fixed.
i. It’s not too late for foundation repair
ii. Don’t try to do it on your own – you need a specialist
iii. It will be expensive
a. Home foundation repair = some cracks that come with experience = extra concrete or new piers = rethinking priorities and assumptions
b. Foundation not strong enough for dreams = Leaning tower of Pisa, 1000 year lean = pump out the bad soil = get rid of what’s bringing you down = enormously expensive = bad habits, fears, bad relationships
c. Foundation in the wrong location = Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, sea = moved to safer ground = extremely expensive and dangerous = new education, new city, new beliefs
6. Foundations are just a beginning.
Built our house – quick foundation, long time to get started
No good by itself – meant to be built upon
Limits, depth, strength – start building!
Conclusion
Take a look at this concrete, all the chunks and bits that make it strong. Remember the foundations you were given when you first started out. Remember everything that went into making you who you are. Remember that your foundation was laid for a reason – you were made to be somebody. When stress comes along, hang on to your foundation as tight as you can. Make sure to get your foundation fixed if you need to, but be prepared to pay for it. And finally, if all you’ve got is a foundation, you’ve got a lot of building to do.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Persuasive Brick Speech # 9 - final draft, blue ribbon winner
Time for Bricks to Change Project # 9
As you look at Raleigh architecture, you see a lot of brick. Think of the Dillon Supply warehouses, huge brick warehouses. The turn-of-the-last-century storefronts on Wilmington, Fayetteville, and Martin Streets – all brick. You may have noticed the parking deck across the street from this building – it’s concrete, but covered in brick. Maybe your house is brick. Think of prestigious neighborhoods in town – the houses? All brick. As an architect, I draw bricks almost every day. But brick is not always what it appears to be. I’m going to convince you to think differently about brick, and I’m going to show you another option.
I. History of bricks
a. According to Britannica, brick has been in use since 4000 BC.
b. It’s a durable, convenient, attractive material. It’s fire-resistant and can support weight.
c. The bricks that are made today are very similar to the bricks made six thousand years ago. A brick is, simply, baked clay.
II. The perception. Brick has:
a. Integrity, stability, timeless style.
b. Weather resistance – durability in storms
c. Adds Value - higher sales value.
III. The deception.
a. The brick in the Dillon Supply warehouses and the storefronts I mentioned had integrity. The integrity of brick ended in the mid 20th century with the mass production of steel.
i. Brick doesn’t support weight anymore – it adds weight. Today, we call brick a “veneer.” It’s one wythe thick, suspended from the building by steel.
ii. The stability of a building has nothing to do with the brick on the outside.
iii. As to timeless style, frankly, brick buildings look old.
b. Weather – one wythe of brick will stop little more weather than vinyl siding, and it is much less water resistant.
i. Remember that brick is dried clay? Brick soaks up water, and mortar joints leak.
ii. Once the water gets in your wall, we have to keep it out of your house and find a way to get it out of your wall.
iii. Modern air conditioning makes the cavity of a brick wall an ideal habitat for mold – moist, warm, and dark.
c. No value – just more money.
i. According to the Brick Association, the labor to build a 10’ x 10’ brick wall costs 1½ times as much as the materials. $500 materials, $750 labor.
ii. In an age of automation and innovation, brick walls are an anachronism: they have to be built by a specialist, one small, mind-numbing piece at a time.
IV. Why you should care – the consumer
a. In a southern town, clay and bricks are as much a part of the culture as barbeque and tobacco. The clay comes easily out of the ground and nuclear power plants provide cheap heat to bake it.
b. Almost every client I’ve had has asked for brick on his building because that’s what he’s used to and that’s what he knows will sell.
c. Until you, the consumer, begin to demand something better, developers will keep building buildings with one layer of leaky, drafty, outdated, expensive brick, and I’ll have to keep drawing it.
V. The alternative
a. Rain screens - the exterior skin is just to look pretty and slow the rain down, not to keep it out. Let it be designed that way.
i. Terra Cotta – beautiful, very modern, low-labor cost, natural and durable material. Conceivably, our local plants could be retooled to make these panels from our same southern clay and nuclear energy.
ii. Keep the weather out with materials that do it best. Rainscreen materials will stop the wind and rain and will keep water from staying inside your walls. Rubber flashing and quality windows will keep the water from coming into your home.
b. Use brick like it wants to be used in our modern age; don’t waste it where something else would do a better job.
i. Arches and curves – Louis Kahn – elegant, expressive, honest.
ii. Detailing – take advantage of the small size and hand-crafted installation with various patterns, colors, and techniques.
VI. You may be surprised to hear that brick is anything worth thinking about, but it certainly is.
a. As Raleigh continues to plan for its future and think about what it wants to be, we need to think about what materials we want to use.
b. Brick shouldn’t be the same old option that it used to be. It’s not used the same way that it was a hundred years ago.
c. If we want to keep putting baked clay on our buildings, the brick needs to change to become something that works and looks better.
As you look at Raleigh architecture, you see a lot of brick. Think of the Dillon Supply warehouses, huge brick warehouses. The turn-of-the-last-century storefronts on Wilmington, Fayetteville, and Martin Streets – all brick. You may have noticed the parking deck across the street from this building – it’s concrete, but covered in brick. Maybe your house is brick. Think of prestigious neighborhoods in town – the houses? All brick. As an architect, I draw bricks almost every day. But brick is not always what it appears to be. I’m going to convince you to think differently about brick, and I’m going to show you another option.
I. History of bricks
a. According to Britannica, brick has been in use since 4000 BC.
b. It’s a durable, convenient, attractive material. It’s fire-resistant and can support weight.
c. The bricks that are made today are very similar to the bricks made six thousand years ago. A brick is, simply, baked clay.
II. The perception. Brick has:
a. Integrity, stability, timeless style.
b. Weather resistance – durability in storms
c. Adds Value - higher sales value.
III. The deception.
a. The brick in the Dillon Supply warehouses and the storefronts I mentioned had integrity. The integrity of brick ended in the mid 20th century with the mass production of steel.
i. Brick doesn’t support weight anymore – it adds weight. Today, we call brick a “veneer.” It’s one wythe thick, suspended from the building by steel.
ii. The stability of a building has nothing to do with the brick on the outside.
iii. As to timeless style, frankly, brick buildings look old.
b. Weather – one wythe of brick will stop little more weather than vinyl siding, and it is much less water resistant.
i. Remember that brick is dried clay? Brick soaks up water, and mortar joints leak.
ii. Once the water gets in your wall, we have to keep it out of your house and find a way to get it out of your wall.
iii. Modern air conditioning makes the cavity of a brick wall an ideal habitat for mold – moist, warm, and dark.
c. No value – just more money.
i. According to the Brick Association, the labor to build a 10’ x 10’ brick wall costs 1½ times as much as the materials. $500 materials, $750 labor.
ii. In an age of automation and innovation, brick walls are an anachronism: they have to be built by a specialist, one small, mind-numbing piece at a time.
IV. Why you should care – the consumer
a. In a southern town, clay and bricks are as much a part of the culture as barbeque and tobacco. The clay comes easily out of the ground and nuclear power plants provide cheap heat to bake it.
b. Almost every client I’ve had has asked for brick on his building because that’s what he’s used to and that’s what he knows will sell.
c. Until you, the consumer, begin to demand something better, developers will keep building buildings with one layer of leaky, drafty, outdated, expensive brick, and I’ll have to keep drawing it.
V. The alternative
a. Rain screens - the exterior skin is just to look pretty and slow the rain down, not to keep it out. Let it be designed that way.
i. Terra Cotta – beautiful, very modern, low-labor cost, natural and durable material. Conceivably, our local plants could be retooled to make these panels from our same southern clay and nuclear energy.
ii. Keep the weather out with materials that do it best. Rainscreen materials will stop the wind and rain and will keep water from staying inside your walls. Rubber flashing and quality windows will keep the water from coming into your home.
b. Use brick like it wants to be used in our modern age; don’t waste it where something else would do a better job.
i. Arches and curves – Louis Kahn – elegant, expressive, honest.
ii. Detailing – take advantage of the small size and hand-crafted installation with various patterns, colors, and techniques.
VI. You may be surprised to hear that brick is anything worth thinking about, but it certainly is.
a. As Raleigh continues to plan for its future and think about what it wants to be, we need to think about what materials we want to use.
b. Brick shouldn’t be the same old option that it used to be. It’s not used the same way that it was a hundred years ago.
c. If we want to keep putting baked clay on our buildings, the brick needs to change to become something that works and looks better.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
IM-ing about Architecture
My lawyer friend and I decided to document one of our conversations on faith and the built environment. You can read it on our church Arts web site: Click Here. As a document, it's pretty free-form and untested, but it's nice to get to review a real conversation and try to assess what we each were trying to say.
Monday, October 02, 2006
What to Look for in a City - Speech #8
Now that vacation is past, it's time to get back into the speeches. This one includes visual aids. This speech is my favorite yet - unfortunately, for a 5-7 minute speech, this one is running about 12-14 minutes. So here's the full preview. (Again, sorry about the lack of formatting.) The scissors come out tomorrow night:
Speech #8
What to Look for in a City
10/4/06
The city of Raleigh is involved in a captivating pursuit to become a recognizable city. Town officials, developers, business owners, and citizens are looking for ways to become a place that thrives and continues to draw people and new businesses.
But, what is a city? How will we know when we've accomplished our goals? What will it take to create the thriving place that we think we want?
Through this speech, I’ll give you a VERY brief outline of what a city needs. A city needs TIME, PEOPLE, and DIVERSITY.
I. Time
a. There’s no magic pill to make a good city. A city takes a lot of time. This is the ingredient that is most necessary to develop all the other ingredients.
i. SLIDE: Chartres
1. begun in 1145, surrounded by modern road construction
2. It’s a small village now, but what will it be in the future?
b. You can see time in the materials and methods of construction that we use. This develops the character of a city.
i. SLIDE: Fayetteville Street Mall
1. Obvious styles chosen in each era – not a good idea to put them all together at the same time.
2. Also note that this was taken before the mall was reopened – another sign of the time.
ii. SLIDE: ROSS store
1. The challenge today is that developers seem to want to design with materials that look old, but which fit their tight budgets.
2. A hundred years ago, this cornice might have been made of stone. Today it’s made of Styrofoam. What will this look like a hundred years from now?
iii. trees
c. Layers - Time creates layers and complexity in a city. One layer becomes obsolete and is overlapped by the new tenant. Property lines change.
i. SLIDE: Jewish Quarter in Cordoba, Spain
1. A 1000 year old fortress wall becomes the backdrop for 400 year old housing which becomes a backdrop for modern shopping and a two year old Vespa
ii. SLIDE: Mill Museum, Minneapolis
1. Even this flour mill that exploded in the 90’s has been renovated into super-modern offices, condominiums, and a museum.
II. People
a. A city needs people. A city needs to be a place where people want to be.
i. SLIDE: Las Ramblas, Barcelona
1. This is a beautiful street, packed with people, vendors, and performers. Tiny roads for auto traffic are on either side. The street is lined with shops.
b. People have to live there
i. SLIDE: Condos in Atlanta
1. You may be surprised by seeing so much housing construction in Raleigh. Housing is essential for a vibrant city. Our city is encouraging developers, and developers see a lot of opportunity.
c. Services have to be provided for the people that live there
i. SLIDE: Blank
1. This is a major problem for downtown Raleigh. With all our restaurants and coffee shops, we have almost no basic services like grocery stores, dry cleaners, bookstores, drugstores
d. Transportation
i. SLIDE: Irun Train
1. We don't have this yet either.
2. Trains connect cities.
3. We can’t rely on cars - cars prevent people from coming to the city: traffic, parking, pollution
e. Culture is local and perpetuating
i. SLIDE: Notre Dame
1. A city needs attractions. What will draw people downtown? What will draw people together?
III. Diversity
a. Economic / Professional / Racial
i. SLIDE: East Cabarrus Street in view of downtown
ii. Diversity is one of Raleigh’s major strengths. Communities of all classes are very close and accessible to each other.
b. Mix of Uses – this is how we keep our cities lively, drawing interest from many areas of people.
i. SLIDE: Madrid at night
1. Mixed-use developments are active during various hours of the day:
a. business = 9-5
b. retail/cafes = 10-6
c. bars/restaurants = 5-9
d. residential = 6pm-9am
c. Better use of resources – streets and parking
i. SLIDE: Paris street
IV. CONCLUSION: Raleigh is on the way to becoming a great city. It will take:
a. TIME - It’s the right time to do it, but it will continue to take time to get where we want to be.
b. PEOPLE - We’re creating destinations for people, but we need places for people to live, more services like grocery stores and transportation, and we need to support culture through city churches and public art.
c. DIVERSITY - And we need to maintain our diversity, welcoming all classes and races, providing resources for a variety of needs.
Cities – Founded:
New York 1609
San Francisco 1776
Atlanta 1837
Raleigh 1788
Moscow 1147
Paris 200BC
Rome 500BC
Tokyo 1457
Shanghai AD400
Berlin 1244
Rio de Janeiro 1568
Sydney 1788
Barcelona AD700
Chicago 1837
Washington DC 1738
London AD43
Cairo / Alexandria AD641
NewDelhi 1400BC
Jerusalem 1800BC
Baghdad AD762
Speech #8
What to Look for in a City
10/4/06
The city of Raleigh is involved in a captivating pursuit to become a recognizable city. Town officials, developers, business owners, and citizens are looking for ways to become a place that thrives and continues to draw people and new businesses.
But, what is a city? How will we know when we've accomplished our goals? What will it take to create the thriving place that we think we want?
Through this speech, I’ll give you a VERY brief outline of what a city needs. A city needs TIME, PEOPLE, and DIVERSITY.
I. Time
a. There’s no magic pill to make a good city. A city takes a lot of time. This is the ingredient that is most necessary to develop all the other ingredients.
i. SLIDE: Chartres
1. begun in 1145, surrounded by modern road construction
2. It’s a small village now, but what will it be in the future?
b. You can see time in the materials and methods of construction that we use. This develops the character of a city.
i. SLIDE: Fayetteville Street Mall
1. Obvious styles chosen in each era – not a good idea to put them all together at the same time.
2. Also note that this was taken before the mall was reopened – another sign of the time.
ii. SLIDE: ROSS store
1. The challenge today is that developers seem to want to design with materials that look old, but which fit their tight budgets.
2. A hundred years ago, this cornice might have been made of stone. Today it’s made of Styrofoam. What will this look like a hundred years from now?
iii. trees
c. Layers - Time creates layers and complexity in a city. One layer becomes obsolete and is overlapped by the new tenant. Property lines change.
i. SLIDE: Jewish Quarter in Cordoba, Spain
1. A 1000 year old fortress wall becomes the backdrop for 400 year old housing which becomes a backdrop for modern shopping and a two year old Vespa
ii. SLIDE: Mill Museum, Minneapolis
1. Even this flour mill that exploded in the 90’s has been renovated into super-modern offices, condominiums, and a museum.
II. People
a. A city needs people. A city needs to be a place where people want to be.
i. SLIDE: Las Ramblas, Barcelona
1. This is a beautiful street, packed with people, vendors, and performers. Tiny roads for auto traffic are on either side. The street is lined with shops.
b. People have to live there
i. SLIDE: Condos in Atlanta
1. You may be surprised by seeing so much housing construction in Raleigh. Housing is essential for a vibrant city. Our city is encouraging developers, and developers see a lot of opportunity.
c. Services have to be provided for the people that live there
i. SLIDE: Blank
1. This is a major problem for downtown Raleigh. With all our restaurants and coffee shops, we have almost no basic services like grocery stores, dry cleaners, bookstores, drugstores
d. Transportation
i. SLIDE: Irun Train
1. We don't have this yet either.
2. Trains connect cities.
3. We can’t rely on cars - cars prevent people from coming to the city: traffic, parking, pollution
e. Culture is local and perpetuating
i. SLIDE: Notre Dame
1. A city needs attractions. What will draw people downtown? What will draw people together?
III. Diversity
a. Economic / Professional / Racial
i. SLIDE: East Cabarrus Street in view of downtown
ii. Diversity is one of Raleigh’s major strengths. Communities of all classes are very close and accessible to each other.
b. Mix of Uses – this is how we keep our cities lively, drawing interest from many areas of people.
i. SLIDE: Madrid at night
1. Mixed-use developments are active during various hours of the day:
a. business = 9-5
b. retail/cafes = 10-6
c. bars/restaurants = 5-9
d. residential = 6pm-9am
c. Better use of resources – streets and parking
i. SLIDE: Paris street
IV. CONCLUSION: Raleigh is on the way to becoming a great city. It will take:
a. TIME - It’s the right time to do it, but it will continue to take time to get where we want to be.
b. PEOPLE - We’re creating destinations for people, but we need places for people to live, more services like grocery stores and transportation, and we need to support culture through city churches and public art.
c. DIVERSITY - And we need to maintain our diversity, welcoming all classes and races, providing resources for a variety of needs.
Cities – Founded:
New York 1609
San Francisco 1776
Atlanta 1837
Raleigh 1788
Moscow 1147
Paris 200BC
Rome 500BC
Tokyo 1457
Shanghai AD400
Berlin 1244
Rio de Janeiro 1568
Sydney 1788
Barcelona AD700
Chicago 1837
Washington DC 1738
London AD43
Cairo / Alexandria AD641
NewDelhi 1400BC
Jerusalem 1800BC
Baghdad AD762
Monday, September 11, 2006
Transportation in New York
9/3/06
So far, New York has been about the train, about transportation. Seems that tomorrow will be as well. The train can be a wonderful experience; it can be a pass through scenery and through forgotten towns. It can be a time and place to collect your thoughts. But so far, in New York, it has been neither. Tonight, I write on the train between Poughkeepsie and the city, but it is night, so there is no scenery. On the reverse trip earlier in the day, the scenery along the Hudson may have been magnificent and interesting, but the windows were so coated in film that the scenes were only marginally decipherable. The trains in the city of course are underground and hardly stimulate meditation.
Again today, we experienced contrasts. We walked from our hotel on 80th street west, down Broadway to 42nd street and to Grand Central station where we caught the train. The further south we went on Broadway, the more "New York" the street felt. We passed crowds waiting in line for tickets to Oprah's "Color Purple." We passed tour busses and streets filled only with limousines and taxi cabs. But from there, we spent the day with a friend in the rural town of New Paltz. Outside the modern city, we saw the first settlement houses of the Huguenots. Outside the noise and neon of the downtown, we had cheese sandwiches around an intimate dining room table. Outside our ultra-compact hotel room, we visited in a ranch home with basement and a generous yard.
So, again, we're moving. Perhaps that is the authentic experience of New York, of moving through places, of transportation among other people despite the moving scenery. Of not having opportunity to sit down. But, I'm still hoping for the experience of a tourist, of taking it all in while the locals bustle.
So far, New York has been about the train, about transportation. Seems that tomorrow will be as well. The train can be a wonderful experience; it can be a pass through scenery and through forgotten towns. It can be a time and place to collect your thoughts. But so far, in New York, it has been neither. Tonight, I write on the train between Poughkeepsie and the city, but it is night, so there is no scenery. On the reverse trip earlier in the day, the scenery along the Hudson may have been magnificent and interesting, but the windows were so coated in film that the scenes were only marginally decipherable. The trains in the city of course are underground and hardly stimulate meditation.
Again today, we experienced contrasts. We walked from our hotel on 80th street west, down Broadway to 42nd street and to Grand Central station where we caught the train. The further south we went on Broadway, the more "New York" the street felt. We passed crowds waiting in line for tickets to Oprah's "Color Purple." We passed tour busses and streets filled only with limousines and taxi cabs. But from there, we spent the day with a friend in the rural town of New Paltz. Outside the modern city, we saw the first settlement houses of the Huguenots. Outside the noise and neon of the downtown, we had cheese sandwiches around an intimate dining room table. Outside our ultra-compact hotel room, we visited in a ranch home with basement and a generous yard.
So, again, we're moving. Perhaps that is the authentic experience of New York, of moving through places, of transportation among other people despite the moving scenery. Of not having opportunity to sit down. But, I'm still hoping for the experience of a tourist, of taking it all in while the locals bustle.
Architecture as Context - a start
Architecture is context. It is relocated only in extreme exception and with great effort, and with great effect. Architecture in a museum becomes sculpture. In a city like New York, the context of architecture is an expression of layers of perpetual change. A building generation appears to be about 15 years. Since architecture is not moved with a change of owner or change of use, it is adapted. It is modified and recalculated. Aesthetics becomes not a moment of perfection, but a modifiable canvas of conformity or conversation. It is always interpreted in reaction: reaction to the architectural canvas that surrounds it; reaction to its success of usefulness or service to its owner and audience; reaction to its presence in its place and relevance to its time.
So, architecture is context. It cannot be interpreted individually. It cannot be interpreted in its success as a work of art. If it is interpreted functionally, the functions must be understood to perpetually adjust themselves. Its success then may be its relation to the context and significance of its work. If it is evaluated in its success as an aesthetic moment, that moment must be evaluated as one that lasts only over the time that the photographer snaps his frame: its aesthetics is perpetually modified by vegetation, traffic, signage, weather, decay, technological accessories, construction across the property lines.
Where touch in a museum is discouraged, touch in architecture becomes a validation. Patrons enter and manipulate the space.
So, architecture is context. It cannot be interpreted individually. It cannot be interpreted in its success as a work of art. If it is interpreted functionally, the functions must be understood to perpetually adjust themselves. Its success then may be its relation to the context and significance of its work. If it is evaluated in its success as an aesthetic moment, that moment must be evaluated as one that lasts only over the time that the photographer snaps his frame: its aesthetics is perpetually modified by vegetation, traffic, signage, weather, decay, technological accessories, construction across the property lines.
Where touch in a museum is discouraged, touch in architecture becomes a validation. Patrons enter and manipulate the space.
Going to the Met on a Rainy Saturday afternoon
The Metropolitan art museum in New York City, for a tourist on a rainy day, is an unsettling contradiction of context and content. The first impression is the enormous numbers of people. The streets had been generally quiet; the drizzly walk through Central Park had been almost solitaire. But as we entered that grand foyer and shook off our rain jackets, we saw what we imagined must be all of New York City. This is where they were hiding out. This is where they came to regroup on a drizzly weekend afternoon when there were no deals to pursue. Or, perhaps, these were all the tourists, like us, who had gotten there only hours before.
We took our first steps through the Egyptian artifact exhibit. And the numbers of others were there around us as well. We walked past spacious glass cases of 4000 year old statues and hieroglyphics, massive stone sarcophagi and tiny earthen burial urns, enormous ancient columns now become obelisks. The number of profound artifacts was alone staggering. But, the others brazed past us as if they already understood far more than the tiny wall descriptions could explain. They walked past as if they were in any other corridor on the planet, as if in part Egypt was another local borough on the way to a better knish. They didn't walk past as if they didn't care, nor as if they had studied these ancient works sufficiently in the past for their own tastes, but they walked past as if they had somewhere else to be, as if the industrious Egyptians would absolutely understand that this wasn't a time for remembering specifically but was rather a time to be living and moving freely in concert with the past, in concert with a place and time that was completely other. It was as if the exhibit was not only real and significant, but significantly real and mundane.
And then the corridor turned into a massive open atrium. Here the crowds stopped. I saw people sit, even recline. I saw couples ask strangers to take their picture. In the middle of this enormous greenhouse was, not another artifact, but a fully realized ancient stone temple. Within a city founded less than 400 years ago, stood a piece of architecture showing 2021 years of culture, culture change, weathering, use, and decay. The informational descriptions were extremely sparse, but they described how this temple had been chosen by New York as a gift from a country that couldn't afford its preservation.
It's a museum in a town so powerful and wealthy that it can recreate the accomplishments of whole civilizations and make them its own through acquisition and default. But it's a museum in a town so generous that it gives this history to its citizens with an astonishing level of access - these ancient stones could be touched and encountered and experienced in every way.
We moved on through this staggeringly enormous museum, through the "arms and armor" exhibit, showcasing more suits of horse and rider armor than almost all medieval kingdoms owned. Pistols and rifles were displayed in their extreme elegance and ornament as if to reclaim their notoriety from their intended use to some level of much more influence.
We passed by familiar exterior windows and awnings and entered a fully rebuilt living room rescued from a demolished home by Frank Lloyd Wright. The presentation was not dissimilar to the Egyptian temple in its anachronism. A McKim Mead & White stair and foyer was similarly displayed, as if the very experience of these rooms was the same as a painting that could be matted, framed, and hung on a wall in another, bigger, succeeding, more contemporary room.
The cafeteria had a displaced Episcopal pulpit, even a whole transplanted classical façade at the far end. A Greek garden was recreated with reclining statues and water features. Stained glass lit in windowless walls. Rooms were divided by enormous ancient iron gates.
So, it became a theme. A history of human civilization captured and encountered within the rooms and corridors of a state institution. Bizarre and profound. But even with this expectation, the American furniture exhibit was a surprise. Through rows and rows of glassed cases, the Met created an Ikea of antique furniture history. I expected to see price-check scanners at the centers of the aisles. There seemed to be some Darwinian progression of the species on display through the glass cases, one set next to the next. It was such a massive room, with the aesthetics of a Target store, and so uninteresting and so un-interactive that fortunately we were able to move on to the American painters gallery.
American painting galleries are always a surprise to me, and always entertaining. While some names are recognizable, I'm consistently encouraged by the number of unknown artists who produced so many pieces of work of comparable artistry and ingenuity, of such variety of subject, over such a narrow period of time. It gives me perspective that the handful of artists who are singled out as exceptional or popular today will be mingled in a retrospective in the future with dozens of their contemporaries for an exhibit that demonstrates their unknowing cooperation within the whole of an era.
So, an unsettling experience all around. An astounding way to spend a rainy vacation afternoon after the pop museums have closed and an astounding look at the lengths New York docents will go to capture their patrons' imaginations. What we did see is many people in conversations among the art. Perhaps they were conversations like this one, conversations beyond the art as artifact; I think many were. But maybe New Yorkers are used to that.
We took our first steps through the Egyptian artifact exhibit. And the numbers of others were there around us as well. We walked past spacious glass cases of 4000 year old statues and hieroglyphics, massive stone sarcophagi and tiny earthen burial urns, enormous ancient columns now become obelisks. The number of profound artifacts was alone staggering. But, the others brazed past us as if they already understood far more than the tiny wall descriptions could explain. They walked past as if they were in any other corridor on the planet, as if in part Egypt was another local borough on the way to a better knish. They didn't walk past as if they didn't care, nor as if they had studied these ancient works sufficiently in the past for their own tastes, but they walked past as if they had somewhere else to be, as if the industrious Egyptians would absolutely understand that this wasn't a time for remembering specifically but was rather a time to be living and moving freely in concert with the past, in concert with a place and time that was completely other. It was as if the exhibit was not only real and significant, but significantly real and mundane.
And then the corridor turned into a massive open atrium. Here the crowds stopped. I saw people sit, even recline. I saw couples ask strangers to take their picture. In the middle of this enormous greenhouse was, not another artifact, but a fully realized ancient stone temple. Within a city founded less than 400 years ago, stood a piece of architecture showing 2021 years of culture, culture change, weathering, use, and decay. The informational descriptions were extremely sparse, but they described how this temple had been chosen by New York as a gift from a country that couldn't afford its preservation.
It's a museum in a town so powerful and wealthy that it can recreate the accomplishments of whole civilizations and make them its own through acquisition and default. But it's a museum in a town so generous that it gives this history to its citizens with an astonishing level of access - these ancient stones could be touched and encountered and experienced in every way.
We moved on through this staggeringly enormous museum, through the "arms and armor" exhibit, showcasing more suits of horse and rider armor than almost all medieval kingdoms owned. Pistols and rifles were displayed in their extreme elegance and ornament as if to reclaim their notoriety from their intended use to some level of much more influence.
We passed by familiar exterior windows and awnings and entered a fully rebuilt living room rescued from a demolished home by Frank Lloyd Wright. The presentation was not dissimilar to the Egyptian temple in its anachronism. A McKim Mead & White stair and foyer was similarly displayed, as if the very experience of these rooms was the same as a painting that could be matted, framed, and hung on a wall in another, bigger, succeeding, more contemporary room.
The cafeteria had a displaced Episcopal pulpit, even a whole transplanted classical façade at the far end. A Greek garden was recreated with reclining statues and water features. Stained glass lit in windowless walls. Rooms were divided by enormous ancient iron gates.
So, it became a theme. A history of human civilization captured and encountered within the rooms and corridors of a state institution. Bizarre and profound. But even with this expectation, the American furniture exhibit was a surprise. Through rows and rows of glassed cases, the Met created an Ikea of antique furniture history. I expected to see price-check scanners at the centers of the aisles. There seemed to be some Darwinian progression of the species on display through the glass cases, one set next to the next. It was such a massive room, with the aesthetics of a Target store, and so uninteresting and so un-interactive that fortunately we were able to move on to the American painters gallery.
American painting galleries are always a surprise to me, and always entertaining. While some names are recognizable, I'm consistently encouraged by the number of unknown artists who produced so many pieces of work of comparable artistry and ingenuity, of such variety of subject, over such a narrow period of time. It gives me perspective that the handful of artists who are singled out as exceptional or popular today will be mingled in a retrospective in the future with dozens of their contemporaries for an exhibit that demonstrates their unknowing cooperation within the whole of an era.
So, an unsettling experience all around. An astounding way to spend a rainy vacation afternoon after the pop museums have closed and an astounding look at the lengths New York docents will go to capture their patrons' imaginations. What we did see is many people in conversations among the art. Perhaps they were conversations like this one, conversations beyond the art as artifact; I think many were. But maybe New Yorkers are used to that.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
More Speeches
Speech #7 tomorrow! Here's a rough draft. (I've still got a few hours!)
Project #7
Research Your Topic
“Who were the Huguenots?”
Do you know where you came from? Who were your grandparents? Where did they live? What did they believe? Can you go back further? Who were their grandparents? Where did they live? What did they believe? How far back can you go? And then, come back around to you: would you do what they did if you were in their shoes?
I. Introduction
a. Started researching my family history on January 1.
b. Two questions?
i. What are all my cousins’ names? (I have 36.)
ii. Why did we come to America?
c. Here’s what I’ve got so far –
i. [show Pedigree]
ii. Dad’s side – Dad, grandpa, August born in Sweden.
1. My dad’s family came from Sweden in 1900. I’ve found some descriptions of them and their homes: it appears that introversion goes way back. Even though I know all the names, I haven’t yet found out why they came to this country.
iii. Mom’s side
1. Grandpa (president of his Toastmasters organization, by the way.)
2. His grandfather born in New York – all were back to Abraham born 1670 in France, but married 1694 in New York. Sometime between 1670 and 1694, Abraham’s father Hugo moved their family to New York. (Remember those dates!)
d. I’d always heard that my French ancestors were Huguenots. This is what I’ve researched for this speech, and I’d like to tell you who they were and why my 9th great Grandfather likely came to New York.
II. Huguenots
a. In 1517, Martin Luther nailed his 95 discussion points to a church door and the German Reformation began – Paris reformation followed, with its first protestant martyr in 1523, and soon involved leaders like John Calvin.
b. The Huguenots were simply French Protestants or Reformers.
c. 1534, they protested with posters – created many refugees to Germany
d. Number of protestant churches quickly increased, Protestants became involved in politics.
e. Weren’t pacifists. They were known for their fiery criticisms of Catholic worship. They attacked Catholic icons and churches. They even had a plan to kidnap the king. This plot failed and led to a massacre of Protestants by soldiers of a powerful Roman Catholic family. The Protestant Reformers fought back. This War of Religion became a civil war in France and went on for forty years.
f. The Huguenots hoped for a Protestant king, but they fought for full religious freedoms. Finally, a Protestant heir became king in 1593, but he converted to Catholicism under pressure. But, he did issue the Edict of Nantes that gave religious freedom to the Protestants and ended the civil war.
g. 1640’s: there was more fighting, and the Huguenots were defeated. They kept their religious freedom, but lost their military.
h. The Roman Catholics continued to harass the Protestants with forcible conversions, dragonnades – particularly obnoxious soldiers were set up in Huguenot houses, just to wreak havoc.
i. Finally in 1685, Louis XIV revoked the Edict of Nantes, making Protestantism illegal.
j. 400,000 Protestants moved out of France – to England, Prussia, Netherlands, and America.
III. So, 1685. That’s about the same time my 9th great-grandfather came to New York.
a. Many of the Huguenots were city dwellers, industrious people. I like to think that he helped to found New York, and this country.
b. He was forced out of his home country because of his beliefs.
c. Lived in New York for at least 40 years – lost some of his children, but also saw grandchildren born.
d. In America, the Huguenots primarily merged with other reformed denominations like the Baptists and the Presbyterians.
IV. Do I feel related to them?
a. Related to my Dad’s side by personality, quiet religion
b. I have not been taught the Huguenot’s violent form of evangelism, though I’m honored to be part of a family that would rather fight or leave than give up their beliefs.
c. Ironic that I’ve returned to Calvinism, though my grandparents wouldn’t have approved.
d. Is there a religious conflict in America now?
i. We have a freedom of religion, though it’s still debated though issues of prayer in school and nativity displays at Christmas and whether a judge’s church religious views should affect his rulings.
ii. Bigger conflict against Postmodernism – a general discontent against anyone who believes anything.
V. Would I do what my 9th Great Grandfather did if I was in France?
a. I hope I would have kept my beliefs.
b. I may not have had his sense of adventure! (I might have gone to England instead.)
VI. So, do you know where you came from?
a. Some of you came to the United States yourself. Some of you have family members who immigrated to the United States who are still alive. Why did you come here? Make sure to write down your reasons and your hopes, and save them in a safe place.
Project #7
Research Your Topic
“Who were the Huguenots?”
Do you know where you came from? Who were your grandparents? Where did they live? What did they believe? Can you go back further? Who were their grandparents? Where did they live? What did they believe? How far back can you go? And then, come back around to you: would you do what they did if you were in their shoes?
I. Introduction
a. Started researching my family history on January 1.
b. Two questions?
i. What are all my cousins’ names? (I have 36.)
ii. Why did we come to America?
c. Here’s what I’ve got so far –
i. [show Pedigree]
ii. Dad’s side – Dad, grandpa, August born in Sweden.
1. My dad’s family came from Sweden in 1900. I’ve found some descriptions of them and their homes: it appears that introversion goes way back. Even though I know all the names, I haven’t yet found out why they came to this country.
iii. Mom’s side
1. Grandpa (president of his Toastmasters organization, by the way.)
2. His grandfather born in New York – all were back to Abraham born 1670 in France, but married 1694 in New York. Sometime between 1670 and 1694, Abraham’s father Hugo moved their family to New York. (Remember those dates!)
d. I’d always heard that my French ancestors were Huguenots. This is what I’ve researched for this speech, and I’d like to tell you who they were and why my 9th great Grandfather likely came to New York.
II. Huguenots
a. In 1517, Martin Luther nailed his 95 discussion points to a church door and the German Reformation began – Paris reformation followed, with its first protestant martyr in 1523, and soon involved leaders like John Calvin.
b. The Huguenots were simply French Protestants or Reformers.
c. 1534, they protested with posters – created many refugees to Germany
d. Number of protestant churches quickly increased, Protestants became involved in politics.
e. Weren’t pacifists. They were known for their fiery criticisms of Catholic worship. They attacked Catholic icons and churches. They even had a plan to kidnap the king. This plot failed and led to a massacre of Protestants by soldiers of a powerful Roman Catholic family. The Protestant Reformers fought back. This War of Religion became a civil war in France and went on for forty years.
f. The Huguenots hoped for a Protestant king, but they fought for full religious freedoms. Finally, a Protestant heir became king in 1593, but he converted to Catholicism under pressure. But, he did issue the Edict of Nantes that gave religious freedom to the Protestants and ended the civil war.
g. 1640’s: there was more fighting, and the Huguenots were defeated. They kept their religious freedom, but lost their military.
h. The Roman Catholics continued to harass the Protestants with forcible conversions, dragonnades – particularly obnoxious soldiers were set up in Huguenot houses, just to wreak havoc.
i. Finally in 1685, Louis XIV revoked the Edict of Nantes, making Protestantism illegal.
j. 400,000 Protestants moved out of France – to England, Prussia, Netherlands, and America.
III. So, 1685. That’s about the same time my 9th great-grandfather came to New York.
a. Many of the Huguenots were city dwellers, industrious people. I like to think that he helped to found New York, and this country.
b. He was forced out of his home country because of his beliefs.
c. Lived in New York for at least 40 years – lost some of his children, but also saw grandchildren born.
d. In America, the Huguenots primarily merged with other reformed denominations like the Baptists and the Presbyterians.
IV. Do I feel related to them?
a. Related to my Dad’s side by personality, quiet religion
b. I have not been taught the Huguenot’s violent form of evangelism, though I’m honored to be part of a family that would rather fight or leave than give up their beliefs.
c. Ironic that I’ve returned to Calvinism, though my grandparents wouldn’t have approved.
d. Is there a religious conflict in America now?
i. We have a freedom of religion, though it’s still debated though issues of prayer in school and nativity displays at Christmas and whether a judge’s church religious views should affect his rulings.
ii. Bigger conflict against Postmodernism – a general discontent against anyone who believes anything.
V. Would I do what my 9th Great Grandfather did if I was in France?
a. I hope I would have kept my beliefs.
b. I may not have had his sense of adventure! (I might have gone to England instead.)
VI. So, do you know where you came from?
a. Some of you came to the United States yourself. Some of you have family members who immigrated to the United States who are still alive. Why did you come here? Make sure to write down your reasons and your hopes, and save them in a safe place.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Change of plans - speech #6 redux
And, here's the speech I actually gave. I made the mistake of listening to the top seven speeches on American Rhetoric here, and I had to re-write it the night before to add a little more meat. I won another ribbon! (To be fair, I had no competitors.)
Project 6
Vocal Variety
“Stairs”
July 26, 2006
Intro:
Stairs have been on my mind lately. I’m drawing a seven story condominium with two levels of parking beneath. There are a lot of stairs.
I. But this is a luxury condominium with 4 elevators. The stairs are strictly utilitarian. They’re a product of the building codes. A building this tall needs at least two fire rated exits, and these are them. The dimensions in every direction are exact to the thousandth of an inch. They’re made to be functional. They’re so complicated to draw, with the handrails and guardrails at certain heights, criss-crossing the balusters as they go up and down, that there’s not enough time to make them beautiful or dramatic. And that’s not the point. They’re not meant to be seen. They’re not meant to be used. They’re only an escape.
II. Eight miles away, in a small church near the ground in downtown Raleigh, I meet with a pastor and a table full of leaders in his community. We’re also trying to design an escape. We look for an escape from poverty, from generations of need, from a lack of ambition, and a lack of ideas good enough to change people’s hearts.
III. Some might say that they need a stair. They need a fire escape up from the pit they’re in. And that’s not a bad metaphor.
IV. We can give them steps to take. We can show them the direction out. One step might be financial assistance for their needs at hand. One step might be jobs training and a connection to an employer. Another step might be after school programs to pick up where their integrated schools have still failed to inspire.
V. But how far will that get them? Three steps in the air? Four?
a. And why would they take that first step? Is there any incentive at the first landing?
b. And if they got to the second floor, where would they be? Who would they know? What reason would they have to stay?
VI. Stairs might be a strange metaphor, but it’s not a new one. You’ve heard Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” in all its contorted forms. But, do you remember the source? In Genesis, Jacob went to sleep in the Promised Land and he had a dream. He saw angels ascending and descending the stairs between earth and heaven. God has come down to man. Man doesn’t have to climb the stairs on his own.
VII. So, in some ways, poverty is a pit. It’s an impossible hole to scale. To get out takes a miracle. It takes an elevator! Or better, it takes a rocket ship to jump higher than anyone can climb.
VIII. However, we must not confuse the community of this tiny church on the ground with the poverty that surrounds it. Just as we must not confuse my luxury condo in the sky with any height of perfection or attainment. We must not confuse the altitude with the metaphor. Both spiritual poverty and wealth may be present at the same time, just as both poverty and spiritual wealth may be present at the same time.
IX. If we build new stairs for the poor, they should be stairs of family, rebuilding so many broken homes. Stairs of a just education, above the betrayal of the system. They should be stairs of new local business and enterprise to bring funds into the community instead of frittering funds constantly outside the community.
X. When I visit my friends in the small church on the ground, the only stairs I use are the few steps going up to their church door. We sit around the same table in the same room. We're on the same level. We build the stairs together, but more importantly, we all watch for the stairs that have come down to us.
Project 6
Vocal Variety
“Stairs”
July 26, 2006
Intro:
Stairs have been on my mind lately. I’m drawing a seven story condominium with two levels of parking beneath. There are a lot of stairs.
I. But this is a luxury condominium with 4 elevators. The stairs are strictly utilitarian. They’re a product of the building codes. A building this tall needs at least two fire rated exits, and these are them. The dimensions in every direction are exact to the thousandth of an inch. They’re made to be functional. They’re so complicated to draw, with the handrails and guardrails at certain heights, criss-crossing the balusters as they go up and down, that there’s not enough time to make them beautiful or dramatic. And that’s not the point. They’re not meant to be seen. They’re not meant to be used. They’re only an escape.
II. Eight miles away, in a small church near the ground in downtown Raleigh, I meet with a pastor and a table full of leaders in his community. We’re also trying to design an escape. We look for an escape from poverty, from generations of need, from a lack of ambition, and a lack of ideas good enough to change people’s hearts.
III. Some might say that they need a stair. They need a fire escape up from the pit they’re in. And that’s not a bad metaphor.
IV. We can give them steps to take. We can show them the direction out. One step might be financial assistance for their needs at hand. One step might be jobs training and a connection to an employer. Another step might be after school programs to pick up where their integrated schools have still failed to inspire.
V. But how far will that get them? Three steps in the air? Four?
a. And why would they take that first step? Is there any incentive at the first landing?
b. And if they got to the second floor, where would they be? Who would they know? What reason would they have to stay?
VI. Stairs might be a strange metaphor, but it’s not a new one. You’ve heard Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” in all its contorted forms. But, do you remember the source? In Genesis, Jacob went to sleep in the Promised Land and he had a dream. He saw angels ascending and descending the stairs between earth and heaven. God has come down to man. Man doesn’t have to climb the stairs on his own.
VII. So, in some ways, poverty is a pit. It’s an impossible hole to scale. To get out takes a miracle. It takes an elevator! Or better, it takes a rocket ship to jump higher than anyone can climb.
VIII. However, we must not confuse the community of this tiny church on the ground with the poverty that surrounds it. Just as we must not confuse my luxury condo in the sky with any height of perfection or attainment. We must not confuse the altitude with the metaphor. Both spiritual poverty and wealth may be present at the same time, just as both poverty and spiritual wealth may be present at the same time.
IX. If we build new stairs for the poor, they should be stairs of family, rebuilding so many broken homes. Stairs of a just education, above the betrayal of the system. They should be stairs of new local business and enterprise to bring funds into the community instead of frittering funds constantly outside the community.
X. When I visit my friends in the small church on the ground, the only stairs I use are the few steps going up to their church door. We sit around the same table in the same room. We're on the same level. We build the stairs together, but more importantly, we all watch for the stairs that have come down to us.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Stairs - Speach #6
I'm returning to my roots for speach number 6. Again, thankfully, I've got a couple days to clean this up:
Project 6
Vocal Variety
“Stairs”
July 26, 2006
Stairs have been on my mind a lot lately. Designing a seven-story condominium with two levels of parking beneath, there are lots of stairs. In architecture, stairs are arguably one of the most significant elements. They’re dramatic and elegant, they’re metaphorical, they’re necessary and very code sensitive.
I. My stairs right now:
a. The stairs I’m drawing now are only utilitarian – this building has four elevators, we don’t expect the tenants to take the stairs except in an emergency.
b. Stairs are the most code sensitive parts of a building
i. They’re required exits – you can’t rely on the elevators in an emergency.
ii. Walls around stairs have to hold up to fire for two hours.
iii. They have to be a minimum width – at least 44 inches.
iv. Treads have to be at least 11 inches, the risers can’t be more than 7”, and they have to be consistent. The nose of a tread has to be 1”.
v. The handrails have to be at 36” above the nose of the tread and have to extend 12” beyond the top step and one tread plus 12” beyond the bottom step. An open stair has to have guardrails at 42”
vi. Balusters can’t be more than 4” apart.
vii. Landings have to be at every 12’ of rise, and have to match the width of the stair.
c. Stairs are a pain to draw!
i. Have to draw at exactly the right dimensions so you know how many steps you need and make sure you meet code.
ii. Have to think in three dimensions –
1. Draw in plan and in section.
2. Is there enough room in the plan?
3. Is there enough headroom underneath?
4. Do all the stairs line up vertically?
iii. Despite our best Computer Aided Drafting software, we still have to draw stairs line by line – the handrails and the guardrails crossing each other, turning, going up the next flight beyond.
iv. If anything changes (and things always change), you have to start all over with new calculations!
II. But while I’m drawing these, I’m thinking about everything a stair could be:
a. Memories –
i. Sesame Street: Cookie Monster as Alistair Cookie for Monsterpiece Theater presents “Upstairs, Downstairs,” starring Grover.
ii. House growing up – Mom did laundry downstairs.
1. Scar on my forehead from falling down the stairs as a baby, wanting to show her something.
iii. Sitting on the South Carolina statehouse stairs after prom with my friends and a couple bottles of Sparkling Cider.
iv. Climbing the stairs up the Eiffel Tower in Paris, all the way up, not wanting to look down.
b. Stairs can be extremely grand and dramatic
i. Think of beautiful Victorian houses with a grand staircase in the foyer, with a woman in a beautiful dress descending.
ii. Remember the Fiddler on the Roof? “If I Were a Rich Man”:
1. There would be one long staircase just going up,
And one even longer coming down,
And one more leading nowhere, just for show.
iii. Think of all the steps on the national capital building.
iv. Or a stadium surrounded by stairs and seats
v. Or, in the “Lord of the Rings,” stairs cut into the rock on a treacherous mountain pass
c. Stairs can be inventive and creative.
i. Look at stairs in modern home magazines – metals, glass, cable rails
ii. Thomas Jefferson brought from European monasteries: alternating tread / monk’s stairs, to save floor space
d. Stairs can be a metaphor for something much bigger
i. Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven”
1. Reference to Jacob’s dream in Genesis of a ladder or stair (depending on the translation) with angels ascending and descending between Heaven and Earth
ii. Madeline L’Engle (children’s author of “A Wrinkle in Time” and lecturer on art and faith) talks her memories of going down stairs without touching them, and wanting to reclaim that freedom of childhood.
1. I used to have dreams about flying down those stairs to our basement and flying around the family room. (What did that mean?)
iii. For someone disabled or in a wheelchair, stairs can be a barrier and a reminder of an insensitive world.
1. Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, requiring access ramps at any change of level.
iv. Or for someone in a fire in a tall building, this is the only safe place and the only way out.
1. Brings us back to the code and my utilitarian stair sections.
So, remember me next time you climb the stairs to your office building or home. Remember what a stair can be. By now, my stairs had better be done. I have a presentation on Friday, even if the condominium tenants will probably almost always take the elevator.
Monday, July 10, 2006
World's Best Way to End a Chapter
These are the last few short paragraphs of chapter 3 of "If on a winter's night a traveler" by Italo Calvino:
In that moment of harmony and fullness, a creak made me look down. Huddled between the steps of the platform and the supporting poles of the shed was a bearded man, dressed in a rough, striped tunic, soaked with rain. He was looking at me with pale, steady eyes.
"I have escaped," he said. "Do not betray me. You must go and inform someone. Will you? This person is at the Hotel of the Sea Lily."
I sensed at once that in the perfect order of the universe a breach had opened, an irreparable rent.
In that moment of harmony and fullness, a creak made me look down. Huddled between the steps of the platform and the supporting poles of the shed was a bearded man, dressed in a rough, striped tunic, soaked with rain. He was looking at me with pale, steady eyes.
"I have escaped," he said. "Do not betray me. You must go and inform someone. Will you? This person is at the Hotel of the Sea Lily."
I sensed at once that in the perfect order of the universe a breach had opened, an irreparable rent.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Borrowing from a blog
A friend's blog posted what turned out to be a quite existential article on interstates. I was proud of him, so I posted this response: (reprinted here because I liked my response too and I'm not entirely sure that my post went through . . .)
In response to The Last Homely House: Interstate Memories
Thanks Pastor. Excellent essay. Thanks for sharing.
Where to start a reaction to this? (But, of course, to leave it alone would be inappropriate.)
Reading through the second time, seeing the photos now, the first thing I notice is Philip Johnson's PPG (Pittsburgh Plate Glass) building - a psuedo-gothic cathedral tower of glass, play-acting the part of something ancient with its spires in a modern setting for a modern corporation, with all glass, overlooking the river(s), overlooking the interstate.
Maybe what struck me first was how many memories you have of interstates and how you were able to form such significant opinions about them. It's this rush of emotions and opinions, spurred by a hundred voices of critics and cynics, all contradicting each other into the fact of your memories. For example - "So much spent on fossil fuels!" or "If only he had lived and worked in the city." Or the preservationist - "If it wasn't for interstates, we wouldn't have the problems with sprawl that we have today." Or the historical allegorist - "The interstates of today are what the railroads were to the settlers of yesteryear." Or the phlebotimist - "They're the veins and arteries of our standard of living." Or the college grad "I want to see the country before I have to get a real job." Or the salesman - "My territory stretches from Virginia to Georgia and most of Tennessee." Or the realist - "How much time WASTED inside an automobile." Or the automotive manufacturer - "God bless America!" Or Kevin Costner - "This here is a time machine: in the rear is the past, in the front window, why, that's the future."
You mention the mostly ugly landscape, in contrast to the "commercially devloped." But isn't this what the interstates really show us? Isn't this what the first locomotive passengers saw or the first astronauts who orbitted the earth? In all our moments of land planning and consumption and enterprise, we're just developing dots of land on an unimaginably long line. This is as much as we can do, and we all know that the developers are trying as hard as they can. (I pull the conversation this direction in lieu of the obvious reaction that many may consider flat pastoral land more lovely than the Wilco's and cigarette emporiums that also flower interstate exits.)
But you tried. You gave a flat run of land 3 years of your life and made no connection. Thoreau ached to have come to that kind of a disagreement with the landscape.
I confess I am a little sad that you had to drive so much to get where you are today. I also confess that I can't entirely relate. I've also been across the country, more than once, in an automobile, but I wasn't driving most of the way. And, I wasn't doing it for work. And I think commuting is a violent thing, in LA. But I also know that not much time in life feels more "real" than the time in a car, on an interstate. It's freedom at its most contemporarily literal. It's you and your thoughts and your prayers and your reaction time, committed to a machine for your destination and your best guess at a plan for the moment. Sometimes it's shared with company, and what an intimate relationship that is - one that's not easily forgotten. Oh, I'm slipping into my own memories, and this is your blog, so I'd better quit before I get to the story of the Indians I met on the ride-share board, "Turn on the indicator . . ."
In response to The Last Homely House: Interstate Memories
Thanks Pastor. Excellent essay. Thanks for sharing.
Where to start a reaction to this? (But, of course, to leave it alone would be inappropriate.)
Reading through the second time, seeing the photos now, the first thing I notice is Philip Johnson's PPG (Pittsburgh Plate Glass) building - a psuedo-gothic cathedral tower of glass, play-acting the part of something ancient with its spires in a modern setting for a modern corporation, with all glass, overlooking the river(s), overlooking the interstate.
Maybe what struck me first was how many memories you have of interstates and how you were able to form such significant opinions about them. It's this rush of emotions and opinions, spurred by a hundred voices of critics and cynics, all contradicting each other into the fact of your memories. For example - "So much spent on fossil fuels!" or "If only he had lived and worked in the city." Or the preservationist - "If it wasn't for interstates, we wouldn't have the problems with sprawl that we have today." Or the historical allegorist - "The interstates of today are what the railroads were to the settlers of yesteryear." Or the phlebotimist - "They're the veins and arteries of our standard of living." Or the college grad "I want to see the country before I have to get a real job." Or the salesman - "My territory stretches from Virginia to Georgia and most of Tennessee." Or the realist - "How much time WASTED inside an automobile." Or the automotive manufacturer - "God bless America!" Or Kevin Costner - "This here is a time machine: in the rear is the past, in the front window, why, that's the future."
You mention the mostly ugly landscape, in contrast to the "commercially devloped." But isn't this what the interstates really show us? Isn't this what the first locomotive passengers saw or the first astronauts who orbitted the earth? In all our moments of land planning and consumption and enterprise, we're just developing dots of land on an unimaginably long line. This is as much as we can do, and we all know that the developers are trying as hard as they can. (I pull the conversation this direction in lieu of the obvious reaction that many may consider flat pastoral land more lovely than the Wilco's and cigarette emporiums that also flower interstate exits.)
But you tried. You gave a flat run of land 3 years of your life and made no connection. Thoreau ached to have come to that kind of a disagreement with the landscape.
I confess I am a little sad that you had to drive so much to get where you are today. I also confess that I can't entirely relate. I've also been across the country, more than once, in an automobile, but I wasn't driving most of the way. And, I wasn't doing it for work. And I think commuting is a violent thing, in LA. But I also know that not much time in life feels more "real" than the time in a car, on an interstate. It's freedom at its most contemporarily literal. It's you and your thoughts and your prayers and your reaction time, committed to a machine for your destination and your best guess at a plan for the moment. Sometimes it's shared with company, and what an intimate relationship that is - one that's not easily forgotten. Oh, I'm slipping into my own memories, and this is your blog, so I'd better quit before I get to the story of the Indians I met on the ride-share board, "Turn on the indicator . . ."
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Diversity, Freedom, and Evergreen Avenue
Another fortnight is upon us. Here's speech #5. Why do I pick such complicated subjects?! If you're in the neighborhood, feel free to stop by around lunch time. My wife says this is running long - still have a half hour before bedtime to trim it down.
Project #5 Your Body Speaks
Diversity, Freedom, and Evergreen Avenue
July 5, 2006
I. Intro
a. I’ve been thinking about freedom lately. We all have; it’s July 5th. Holidays remind us of the important things we might otherwise forget. I like Christmas because it makes me remember my family that lives far away when I have to go buy their presents. The 4th reminds us of our freedom.
b. But I’ve also been thinking about freedom because I’m president of our neighborhood association. When I try to remember why we decided to live on our street and why we like it, it’s not always an easy question. Our street reminds me of freedom, and I want to help keep it that way.
II. The declaration of independence
a. All men are created equal – what’s implied here is that not all men are the same – definitely true on our street
i. Look at the people
1. White, black, Latino, Russian with her head covered
2. Ages – kids, young families, grown families, elderly
3. Listen to the languages and music – late night battle of the subwoofers
ii. Look at the houses – I read a lot into what houses say about people
1. Top of the street - Browns – perfect lawn
2. Mexican house with mysterious shrine in their garage.
3. Fence house with bushes – extreme privacy
4. Safewrights – cinderblock house, hasn’t even changed paint color in 50 years
5. Pittmans – cinderblock house – all kinds of additions
6. New, eccentric houses – ours and the doctor’s
7. Small houses far away from the street, natural wild lawns
8. Developer houses – small, maintenance free, affordable
b. Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable
i. Theme of live and let live
c. Form a new government – not for light and transient causes – we had some causes
i. Started this neighborhood association
ii. Causes
1. Crime
2. Danger
a. Worry about violence, a safe place for kids
b. Break-ins
c. Traffic – a perfect quarter mile drag strip
3. Property values
a. Bad development – old houses brought in, broken back rooflines, landlords who don’t care, tenants who don’t care.
d. Provide new Guards for their future security
i. The neighborhood association
1. Reminds all of us that all of us do care about our neighborhood
2. Neighborhood watch, communicating with police to combat crime
3. Communicating with developers, meeting them in city counsel when they try to bend the rules
ii. Considering covenants for better property value
1. Some way of tying our property to a commitment to see our community improve
2. A challenge in such a diverse neighborhood
III. So, the colonists declared independence against their tyrants.
a. They knew the risks
b. The imagined the benefits – could they have guessed their declaration would go so far?
c. Living on our street, I have a good idea of why they did it. It might have been easier to move to Cary, drive a minivan, and own a home only distinguishable by its number. But I’m thankful to be able to celebrate our inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Project #5 Your Body Speaks
Diversity, Freedom, and Evergreen Avenue
July 5, 2006
I. Intro
a. I’ve been thinking about freedom lately. We all have; it’s July 5th. Holidays remind us of the important things we might otherwise forget. I like Christmas because it makes me remember my family that lives far away when I have to go buy their presents. The 4th reminds us of our freedom.
b. But I’ve also been thinking about freedom because I’m president of our neighborhood association. When I try to remember why we decided to live on our street and why we like it, it’s not always an easy question. Our street reminds me of freedom, and I want to help keep it that way.
II. The declaration of independence
a. All men are created equal – what’s implied here is that not all men are the same – definitely true on our street
i. Look at the people
1. White, black, Latino, Russian with her head covered
2. Ages – kids, young families, grown families, elderly
3. Listen to the languages and music – late night battle of the subwoofers
ii. Look at the houses – I read a lot into what houses say about people
1. Top of the street - Browns – perfect lawn
2. Mexican house with mysterious shrine in their garage.
3. Fence house with bushes – extreme privacy
4. Safewrights – cinderblock house, hasn’t even changed paint color in 50 years
5. Pittmans – cinderblock house – all kinds of additions
6. New, eccentric houses – ours and the doctor’s
7. Small houses far away from the street, natural wild lawns
8. Developer houses – small, maintenance free, affordable
b. Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable
i. Theme of live and let live
c. Form a new government – not for light and transient causes – we had some causes
i. Started this neighborhood association
ii. Causes
1. Crime
2. Danger
a. Worry about violence, a safe place for kids
b. Break-ins
c. Traffic – a perfect quarter mile drag strip
3. Property values
a. Bad development – old houses brought in, broken back rooflines, landlords who don’t care, tenants who don’t care.
d. Provide new Guards for their future security
i. The neighborhood association
1. Reminds all of us that all of us do care about our neighborhood
2. Neighborhood watch, communicating with police to combat crime
3. Communicating with developers, meeting them in city counsel when they try to bend the rules
ii. Considering covenants for better property value
1. Some way of tying our property to a commitment to see our community improve
2. A challenge in such a diverse neighborhood
III. So, the colonists declared independence against their tyrants.
a. They knew the risks
b. The imagined the benefits – could they have guessed their declaration would go so far?
c. Living on our street, I have a good idea of why they did it. It might have been easier to move to Cary, drive a minivan, and own a home only distinguishable by its number. But I’m thankful to be able to celebrate our inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)