andy's face

I've been a Facebook junkie for the last several nights. It's terse, and compelling. I have learned much about myself - significant things. According to my facebook profile, the following scores are true:

• I have (18) friends - varies.
• I have read 5 books.
• I was at home at 8:29pm.
• I am Truly Reformed.

Back from Calvin

With the generous persuasion of my good friend Steve, and sponsorship from our church, and from said friend Steve, I spent the last three days at a writing conference at Calvin College.

We're back in town. Just up from a nap. What a trip - I'm stuffed. I just read through Steve's blog posts, his sentence summaries of the sessions. It's going to take me months to digest and unpack what was so gracefully fed to us last week with a bulldozer.

I got a taste, as it were, of that digestion process Friday night when Steve and I stayed up late at our respective mobile keyboards. I tried to chew apart the very first talk we heard as we arrived Thursday. This was a speech neither of us really liked, so a little reflux came in the analysis. My summary is longer than the speech, and much more confusing. Rewrite #1.

A few quick points I remember, without going to my notes:

1. Art isn't moral. Several authors, including the first one, made this primary point. As we talk about Christian writing, this cuts especially to the heart. I'll be processing this for a long time. It's something about how art is only confessional, or that the morality comes in the interpretation of art. Like I said, it'll take some time.
2. Writing is work. Except for one beautiful example of an [autobiographical] novelist who published his first draft, what I heard was rewrite rewrite rewrite rewrite rewrite. In an editing lesson, we heard, "Editing is more like reconstructive surgery than painting your toenails."
3. Write specifically. The specific will get you to the universals. Be direct, be conversational, tell a story.
4. Pray for Yann Martel. He's made the unreasonable leap of faith; he just doesn't believe yet.
5. Set aside an invulnerable time to write. Then, write like you have all the time in the world. Learn to write on command, vocationally - unless you're that guy who published his first draft: if so, then prepare for some long nights.
6. Trust your idiosyncrasies. Write what you and only you love.
7. There are no rules to poetry.

Okay, I'm peaking at my notes now, so I'll stop. Would you mind if I keep gnawing on all this with my mouth open? I know it's terribly impolite, but we're all friends. My goal is to kind of nibble through each of these sessions, reviewing my notes. I hope this will get my fingers going, help me get into a habit. This blog will be a good place to chew. It'll take a long time.

Thanks for reading.

Yard Art Books

"It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed." Ray Bradbury - Fahrenheit 451

For the last, oh, three months, probably more, I've driven my car with a trunk full of books. Plastic grocery bags briefly held the books, until they shifted and the books flooded out of the bags and settled themselves.

On one winter night, my wife and I reorganized our bookshelves, and purged a set we were sure we didn't need, and placed them in said grocery bags. I brought them optimistically to the local book re-seller, who lightened the bag by two or three which he considered re-sellable, leaving me to return the grocery bags, mostly unchanged, to my trunk, where they sat until today.

- - -

". . . that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, 'What do those stones mean to you?' then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the LORD. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever." Joshua 4:6-7

We've had a lot of blessings, especially over the past few years - obvious things we don't want to forget. I've thought often of making a pile of [something], just so we could remember how God has provided. The Israelites' stones were placed by the tribes, taken from the scene of their trials and God's providence. The stones weren't significant in themselves, but were significant because of who placed them and where they originated, and because of the stories that would be told.

- - -

I had to get these books out of my trunk. It's been embarrassing. I carry boxes in my back seat because I don't want to open the trunk. One morning, my wife went to open the hatch, and I shouted, "No! Don't look in there!" I've never said that to her before. I've never kept a secret like this. It's embarrassing.

For a while, I tried to think of a redeeming metaphor for carrying books in one's trunk that no one wants. I tried. I thought of it almost every day when I went to work. I'm carrying these books around, like Coleridge's albatross, like DeNiro's suit of armor in The Mission - no, it's not like either of those. These are terrible books, they mean nothing to me, no regret, no guilt, no potential, no metaphor. These books were wasting my gas.

I've thought of tossing them in the recycling bin. That's not bad. Almost did it this week. But I didn't. After all, these are books. You can't throw them away.

I starting trying to think of other uses for them. Storing secret things by hollowing the cores, shellac effects, etc. This week, I got an idea. Ran the idea by my wife, she confirmed it was plausible, and had a chance to mean something. That was enough, and today I did it.

A 4' #4 rebar at Lowe's costs $2. Large galvanized washers are 45 cents. I drove the rebar vertically into a rotting stump in our backyard, secured a stop at about 8" above the stump, dropped on the washers.

I brought the plastic grocery book bags to the shop in our basement. I sorted them, to be sure, and marked an "X" in pencil on the exact center of the back cover, and drilled straight through.

Drilling through a book is more challenging than I expected. I started with a 7/8" hole saw. This worked well - the pilot bit pulled the sheets up a fair amount, but the saw pushed the books back together easily. The trouble came after drilling each book, when I had to drive out the cores of sheets packed up inside the bit. I tried a spade bit for a few books, but that really chewed up the pages and the soft covers. For the larger books, I had to drill half way through, from each side, cleaning out the bit in between sides.

And, there was a risk of fire. I often saw smoke and had to slow the process. The flits of print would make easy kindling, and there was a kind of fear of some retribution for the act, by forces unknown.

Some of the books were gifts of one kind or another. These were gifts from very special people, on special occasions. Some titles: Love for a Lifetime, Heart Centered Marriage, Stories for a Kindred Heart. Some were devotionals: Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy. One book, The Art of Natural Family Planning, with its unmentionable charts, seamed like a good idea at the time, but now seems so profoundly irrelevant. One was a gift from a missions organization, which I'll never read. Anything with discussion questions was apropos. There was a book titled How to Talk to Your Cat.

We did rescue a few books from the plastic grocery bags: Ice Bound, about the lady who had cancer at the South Pole, because it was interesting and true; a copy of the New Testament, which we were giving away because we had so many already; and, we found a book with an inscription, which meant we had to keep it.

Even as I set the last of these books on the stake, the sky started to rain. These stones, these inanimate objects are piled up now. Maybe it's a memorial, maybe it's a marker, maybe it's a way to get something out of my trunk. The colors in the yard are vivid now, but the books will weather and fade away, like prophecies, tongues, and knowledge. But, we remember the loved ones who gave us these books, and the occasions they represent, and the study groups who prayed with us: that memory and those gifts remain. We'll watch and see what happens to the rest!

A Weekend in VA

We spent the past weekend with family in south-west Virginia, in a house that was bought to be a project-house. The house has good "bones", open and connected spaces, plenty of rooms and a luxurious garage. It's convenient to the interstate and convenient to the gorgeous surrounding hills. The neighborhood is quiet and improving.

But the house is a project. The last time we were there, I drew this sketch (above): two floors. I crossed out all the rooms we couldn't use. An office was finished and functional. However, two small chairs set at a cafe-style table in a non-functional kitchen. A single sofa in a living room faced a television. Upstairs, bedrooms and baths were in any one of the following states: newly finished and shining, storage, or demolition.

At that time, we visited within a paradox, within the contrasts of that project house. We were welcomed and happy to visit, yet no room had chairs enough for four. We ate wonderful food, yet we didn't have a table to share. We rested peacefully, yet we awoke onto bare plywood floors. The kitchen was the center of the home, but an oven was removed, flickering tube bulbs were bare, "white" cabinets were in shadow and dirtied with age and style. The unfinished spaces crowded into the useful spaces. Piles of debris filled the rooms where we wanted to live. We had a happy time with our family, but a difficult time with the architecture.

This time was different. The score of finished rooms increased. We celebrated together at a dining table in a dining room with walls painted a modern color. We again ate wonderful food, but mostly ate out, comfortably. The cramped, dark, shadowy kitchen was fully gutted: cabinets and awkward island chateau happily removed. In its place, a fresh setting of new floor tile was progressing hopefully. The unfinished spaces seemed to be in check - a tide had turned. What was unfinished now highlighted the wonderfully fresh, newly opened rooms. We sat in the comfortable dining room and looked at the contrast outside. It was as if snow was falling cold and heavy outside, but we were inside and we were warm. It was order within disorder; it was a better percentage of done to undone.

And there was more. We could think about other things than the house. We thought about family. We enjoyed the holiday. We rested. We enjoyed the outdoors and we explored the town.

I thought about art. In this newly opened dining room, in this comfortable space, a single work of original art set against the head wall. It was not hung, it was not pulled apart from the room, it was not an applique on a wall; it was set, on a buffet, leaning into the room. Art was in the room with us.

It was a painting of a seated nude, seen from behind, hair tied behind the head. Colors were pale and thin. It was an academic piece, the folds of fabric artfully done, the hair carefully articulated, the body represented with some blushing modesty. The painting surprised me, for example, as our family ate breakfast together. In the lulls of conversation, or in moments when I preferred not to be engaged, the painting was asking to be observed, starting a conversation. And the painting had a story - we learned about the day it was painted, and we discussed other family's reactions and suspicions, and we reacted together ourselves. Of course I could not be caught staring at the work, lest my intentions be misinterpretted, but I was thankful that the painting was there. The painting let me feel less unconfortable in some ways with my in-laws. It reminded me of school, of studying, of trying new things, of real personal expression on a canvas, of conveying what cannot be carried in words. Perhaps simply an image of someone unclothed reminded me that I was clothed, as a speaker might envision when in front of an auditorium of colleagues. To be certain, it did remind me of beauty, and beauty always lets me relax.

And, there was more art. Our hosts had set provocative and interesting books on our nightstand, to be enjoyed, and we did enjoy them. Kindness also leads to rest, and we were thankful for that.

green letters

Good afternoon - in your future correspondence with me, please add a small handfull of additional letters to my official address: I am now Andy O, AIA, LEED AP .

I've spent the past several weeks experiencing the US Green Building Council's "Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) Green Building Rating System". Spent a couple hours in a testing center, and am now, Dei Gratia, an accredited professional.

Go ahead, ask me a green question. Anything. Bring it on.

1717 Lessons Learned

I've wanted to write this article for a long time, and have now had the opportunity. It's a lessons-learned article about building one's own house.


Ten Lessons from an Architect’s Home Building Experience

Over the course of four years, my wife and I bought land, designed our new home, hired a general contractor, and saw the home built and finished. We went through many interviews with contractors, learned how much we could afford, and scaled back the project scope to its current size and configuration.
The general contractor we hired was knowledgeable, but he showed little interest in managing our home. His subcontractors took weeks to arrive on site and attempted to overcharge us, consistently. As designers, my wife and I attempted every method we could to cut costs, including using common material dimensions and doing the finish work ourselves. The contractors took no note of our cost saving designs, and the work we did ourselves produced less than professional results.
We took some chances and used several progressive design materials and methods. We used Structural Insulated Panels (SIPs) for the walls and roof. We used pre-cast concrete stud panels for the basement. And we used several alternative finish materials, including stained concrete in the kitchen and living rooms, plywood flooring in the corridors and studio, and break-metal flashing for wall base.
We’re glad to be in our home, glad that it’s “ours,” and we learned a few lessons on the way:

LESSON #1 Go with your good ideas.
LESSON #2: Build where you want to live.
LESSON #3: Use real contracts.
LESSON #4: Remember how much this is costing you.
LESSON #5: Trust your engineers.
LESSON #6: Hang on to your friends.
LESSON #7: Watch your mouth.
LESSON #8 Don't feel sorry for the contractor.
LESSON #9: Keep track of the costs yourself.
LESSON #10: Don't do it yourself.




Part 1: DESIGN
The first day of design was the best. My wife and I sat across the kitchen table in our little apartment, with the dim overhead light. We set out a roll of architects' trace paper, "trash", and she drew on her side and I drew on mine. The concepts came quickly, we had the ideas already, we were ready to move ahead.

LESSON #1 Go with your good ideas.
My wife and I had a few design ideas that were important to us. One was having steps in significant places, another was having a two-story lit hallway, and a third was energy efficiency and innovative building systems. These were all quirky, personal ideas that, at one time or another, someone would try to talk us out of. We're thankful we followed them through.
First, steps. We have a step down from the entrance into the living area. We have a step up from the public area of the house to the bedrooms. The steps were an area of good compromise between my wife and myself. I've seen a few people trip on them, an elderly neighbor and friends' children, and that makes me re-evaluate their value-to-risk, but they gave us a good place to transition materials, and they're symbolic in some ways, and they're okay.
The two-story lit hallway was an idea that I could see in my mind, but that almost no one else could understand. As we cut rooms off the back of the house, the hallway turned into a dead end with a little library / reading nook at the end. Even those who sympathized with the idea thought it wouldn't be what we expected. That dead end hallway, with the windows and warm southern light, has become one of my favorite rooms in the house. My wife bought me a perfect Eames chair to put by the book shelves, and with a little rug, it's perfect. When I sit it that chair, I almost always think of quitting my job and becoming a poet. So, it's risky, but it's a good risky.
Energy efficiency is always a good idea, and one we enjoy every time the cooling bills come in. The SIPS were a good idea - they went up simply, gave us vaulted ceilings, and a very quiet, tight home.


Part 2: LAND
Finding the land came quickly too. We had simple goals: close to work, close to church, on a street with sidewalks and curbs. And we had a budget. Our first realtor thought our budget was useless, impossible, a waste of her time. She gave us some sites far outside the city limits, sites without water or sewer. She proceeded then to inform us that her son was an up and coming home builder, that he was very successful, that he had connections who may be helpful to our otherwise impossible goals, and that this could all turn out to be a profitable experience for all of us.
We left her office and found another realtor. I understand it would be helpful to readers to share how we found a better realtor, but honestly, I can't remember. However, I may never forget his face, because for the next two years, following our land purchase, we remained on his mailing list, and each envelope included another business card with his smiling portrait. We found the land we wanted. It was on an old, under-developed, dead-end street. It was quiet, but with plenty of activity. The architecture on the street was already widely varied: very small homes and large ones, some new, and most with the character of age. We met friendly people, it was near to the office, near to church, and the street had sidewalks and curbs.
Our realtor with the friendly photograph spent several months referring us to contractors and pressing us to finish our drawings. Despite his pressure, we knew we needed to press on. Our drawings had to be precise, so that our pricing would be fair. We standardized our dimensions - 4 foot and 8 foot increments, for efficiency of materials. We selected modern construction systems for simplicity of construction, for off-the-shelf accessibility, and for timely coordination. We were sure that these deliberate methods, along with detailed construction drawings, would allow any contractor to produce the home we wanted exactly, to give us a price we could both have confidence in without fear of change orders, and that that price would be lower than the market rate.

LESSON #2: Build where you want to live.
Of all the decisions we made in this process, I think we did this one right. This one goes to the nature of "home." A lot of people give a lot of reasons for buying a particular house. The most popular reasons are resale value, school systems, and safety. I won't deny the validity of these concerns, but I will say that they must take second place to concerns about living.
I didn't want to buy a house while thinking about selling it. I'm not an entrepreneur, not a developer or a realtor. Resale wasn't my goal. I wanted a place to grow my family, a sanctuary from the world, a home.
In our town, the school districts change every year. Demographics shift, politicians play their games, and bussing is unpredictable. There's no way to predict the status of the system when my children will be of age, it's my civil duty support whatever local system our family is in, and if we don't like it, private school is an option.
And safety - it's a myth. The way to improve crime statistics in any region is to support the law enforcement in those areas, to get to know your neighbors, and to live a better example. I'm over-simplifying several enormous social issues, but again, I didn't want to live paranoid, and I didn't want to live removed from true society.
Our neighborhood has the sidewalks and curbs we wanted. We enjoy walking the street. We're thankful to see so many kids playing so often. We have a park, a playground, and a grocery store a comfortable walking distance away. And, our son will grow up hearing no fewer than four different languages, meeting children of different races, with parents of different backgrounds and professions. It's the right way to live in the world, and I feel good about it.


Part 3: CONTRACTORS
We started meeting with contractors. The first meetings were in comfortable offices and restaurants. We met with our realtor's associates, we met with reputable professionals in our area, we met with friends of colleagues. They reviewed our floor plans, they didn't sit down. "$100 per square foot." It was like a contractor mantra. It was like they were unionized. It was like their finger was on the pulse of the market, and that market could be phenomenally quantified and averaged, in respect of materials and labor and all conceivable contingencies, and the universal answer was "$100 per square foot." Design didn't matter. Innovative materials and methods didn't matter. Standardized dimensions? That's just naïve. One contractor did have another way of pricing: it was a factor of the price of the land, the square footage of the footprint, and some engineered constant driven by market forces and mood. The more we tried to reason with this man, asking him to bill us for the materials and labor for the work, plus a reasonable overhead, the more we just got mad.
Finally, we called the phone number on a yard sign that we saw on a front lawn of a renovated home in a prominent neighborhood.

LESSON #3: Use real contracts.
We used A105-1993, “Standard Form of Agreement Between Owner and Contractor for a Small Project” from the American Institute of Architects. A standard contract can be customized to meet your project, and your specific needs. Much of the day-to-day agreements between you and your contractor will be simple, verbal, or scratched on notebook paper. However, having a real contract in place as a foundation will dramatically limit your liabilities and can help profoundly when the issues get tricky. Contact your local AIA chapter, or go to www.aia.org.


Part 4: THE BANK

Several of my angriest phone calls during this process were with the bank. They were doing their due diligence. With the sub-prime mortgage crisis now, it’s a good thing they did, but man did they give us a hard time.

10/30 Got a call from the bank's plans appraiser. "Your typical buyer is looking for:.." Apparently our house is not a typical house that a typical buyer would want to buy with the amount of money we're putting in. We don't have a coat closet and we don't have a palatial bathroom and so on. It's hard to build your own house. We'll see what happens next.

LESSON #4: Remember how much this is costing you.
Most of these lessons are related, but this is a big one. With all hope that your home is the investment you intend it to be, it will still cost you a lot of money. Your mortgage will very likely be the largest bill you pay every month, every month until you are a much older person.
I remind you of this because every time I make that mortgage payment, I am reminded of all the things around the house that the contractor didn't finish. I'm reminded of the places around the house, where the contractor used inferior products or methods that I will have to pay, again, to replace or have redone. My dad liked to say that you get what you pay for. Remember that you are paying a lot, and make sure you get what you need, in good materials and proven construction methods.


Part 5: PERMITS
Permits for most houses are . . . easy. If you read any municipality’s website, they require about 4 drawings, a site plot, and a couple hundred dollars. If you try to do something new, or anything prefabricated, it gets more complicated. In that case, you need engineers, with seals in your state. You’ll have to answer a lot of questions. We had a lot of engineers.

February and March Our builder called one day saying that our plot plan wasn't drawn just right. We made some changes and turned that in to the city. No progress, no progress - our plans got put back on the bottom of the pile. In early March, I went to the city myself and talked to a few friendly people. The plans were ready to pick up - with no permit,. They were marked up with several comments. Some were things on the plans that they missed, but most were comments that they needed seals for all the pre-fab parts . It took about three weeks to pull those together and three more engineers. This may be the most designers of record per square foot on the East coast.


LESSON #5: Trust your engineers.
As an architect, I have mixed feelings about the profession of engineering. I know that to my engineer friends, the feelings are mutual! Because of the multiple building systems we used on this house, we had a potpourri of engineers, just so we could get our plans through the city. Every time the house creaks and pops with a change in weather, I hope those engineers did their jobs.
The one engineer who really came through for us was our geotech. We had the soils tested many months before construction began. We had a sealed report about the bearing pressure of the soils, and that report became the basis for the foundation design.
On the first day of construction, the contractor called to say that the soils were no good, would have to be over-excavated, and wouldn’t we like to have a much larger basement anyway. When we notified our geotech, he immediately came out to the site, re-tested the soil, and restated his opinion that the soil was fine. He attended an ad hoc meeting with the contractor and our foundation engineer, and stated his opinion that the contractor should put the dirt back in the hole, and certainly should not charge for the work. He got us out of a lot of money, and gave us credibility that kept the contractor at bay when things got tough the next time.


Part 6: WAITING
Finding land can take an instant or years. Getting a loan can take weeks. Permits can take months. And contractors . . . contractors can take as long as they feel like taking, depending on the market. Be prepared to wait a lot.

4/10 No new news. Went out with some hugely supportive friends after work and had a good time. We drove by the lot on the way home and it was dark, but it looks like a good place for a house. We're wondering about when the crew will arrive and how many trucks will drive down our quiet little street over the next months.

LESSON #6: Hang on to your friends.
Every step of the way, you’ll be doubting yourself. And, you’ll have time to do it. You need your friends. You need them for reassurance, for listening ears to your ridiculous stories, for the voice of experience if you’re lucky, and you need them to remind you that you’re not in this adventure alone.


Part 7: CONSTRUCTION BEGINS

We ran to the site the first day we saw the crews arrive. The hole was dug in a day. The pre-fab concrete-stud foundation and basement panels came on a truck and were dropped in a place in a morning. The floor joists went on top of the basement panels, and then we waited.

7/1 Slab poured, sawcut. Wall panel sub says he'll be here before the end of July. Contractor says we'll have some slow weeks.

7/31 Wall panel sub says he'll be here next week.

8/15 Wall panel sub says he'll be here next week.

8/22 Wall panel sub says he'll be here next week without fail.

8/30 10:45pm Trucks fill street in front of our lot with panel blanks. Neighbors call the police because of the late-night disturbance.


LESSON #7: Watch your mouth.
After all the months of waiting for our turn in line, on the first day of construction, the day the digging began, I received a call at work from our contractor. He said, "The soil's no good. We have to dig out twice as much as we expected. It's going to cost $10,000 more. Is that okay?” Without thinking enough, and eager to get started, I said, "Yes." Those three letters haunted the rest of the job and the end result.
Also, it goes without saying that "a gentle answer turns away wrath." Your life savings are on the line, your contractor's work is called into question - your opinions will differ, but you'll be working together for several months at least. Keeping a careful reign on your tongue is critical for so many reasons.

LESSON #8 Don't feel sorry for the contractor. This is my worst regret.
Say "NO.": When he asks you for extra money for things that are already in the contract.
Say "NO.": When he tells you there's a problem that's going to change the whole job and he wants to do it without giving you time to think it through.
Say "NO.": When he tells you that that's the best he can do.
Say "NO.": When he wants to leave part unfinished because he has another job to get to.
Say "NO.": When he tells you his sub is going to be a few months later than expected.
Say "NO.": When he puts a window in a different place than the plans show and he wants to know if he can leave it because, "It doesn't really make a difference, does it?"
To be fair, when you make a change to the job, or when legitimate unforeseeable circumstances arise, make an agreement for a fair change in fee. And, be willing to accept reasonable delays, especially during busy or weather-prone building seasons. Your contract will help you understand what’s fair and what’s to be expected.


Part 8: MORE MONEY
The good news about construction money is that it’s cheap and easy to come by. You’ve already signed all the paperwork, and the bank is more than willing to do their part. A construction loan comes with very low interest, and for the first few draws, you don’t owe very much. The bad news is that you’re paying it out fast.

LESSON #9: Keep track of the costs yourself.
Tracking the allowances, draws, and change orders is critical. If your contractor is like ours, he may have little interest in actually tracking the financials himself, despite your expectations. Our contractor seemed to have some vague idea of a barter system. He continued to remind us that he took the cost of the "hole" on the chin, despite our explanation that it was his sub that was taking him for a ride, and he expected us to take the cost of the other issues as they came up. We maintained a spreadsheet of the agreed price, the allowances, the draws, and the change orders. This became our best resource in the ever-present money conversations. By the middle of the job, our contractor was asking us for copies of our spreadsheets.


Part 9: DOING IT YOURSELF

LESSON #10: Don't do it yourself.
Money is a constant point of decision - what do I want, what am I paying for, and what can I do myself for free? In order to save money, we thought, we opted to do most of the finishes by ourselves. Thus this lesson: Don’t Do It – keep your day job.
1) Paint - we had one bold work day with our best friends. We put on the primer coat. The whole house was whitewashed. We reached as far as we could into the highest points of the ceilings. We wore ourselves out, and realized we had yet to put on the color coats. For what seemed like a very reasonable sum, we hired the painter to finish the job. Since then, I've done some painting around the house and have learned that I'm not the artist I thought I could be - spots on the carpet, spots on the ceiling, wavy cut lines, and no one to blame.
2) Tile: When we worked on the house, it was winter, and we had no heat. Instead, we had a propane heater that looked, sounded, and smelled like an indoor jet engine. My wife did much of the hands-on tile work, I did the cutting. We chose some wonderful tile, which meant that it was extraordinarily hard to cut. My wife's hands were frozen and dried and cracked by mortar for weeks. And despite our noblest efforts, we could not deny the truth that we had never done this before, and we learned this was an art requiring some skill. The freezing conditions begat haste. I hate that we put ourselves through that ordeal, and the finished product leaves some to be desired.
3) Cabinets: This was something I just wanted to do. Perhaps the tile was like that for my wife. I wanted to try to build a part of my own house with my own hands, and I'm glad I did it. I built the cabinet boxes for our kitchen and around the house. They're quirky to say the least, but they're ours. We hired a cabinet shop to make the cherry doors - that was a good decision, to give us a good finish. And after months of “somedays,” we hired a woodworker to fix our drawers so that they actually worked. This has been a wonderful breakthrough, and another good decision. So, when I say I built our cabinets, I must clarify that I didn't build the parts that showed, and the functional parts I built didn't function the first time around. When you decide to do your own work, for whatever reason, it's important to at least know what you're getting into.


Part 10: HOME AT LAST

We’ll never forget our first night in our new house. It was surprisingly quiet after so many months of noisy construction. It was our home. We opened the window and heard the night sounds that are familiar now, but which we were discovering for the first time. Our home is the sanctuary we hoped for. It’s a perfect place to raise our son and future children. It came with memories the day we moved in, and plenty of reminders that nobody’s perfect. And, we learned a lot to pass on to the next generation of home builders.


© 2007 Andy Osterlund, AIA

August's Baptism

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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".

I attribute this new reading success to three things:

1. Saturdays at the gym on the recumbant stationary bike.
2. Joining a newly formed book club with a deadline (Foer's book, March 30.)
3. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.