I was interviewed by the curator of the museum. He tried to sound me out by means of clever, unexpected questions. What did I think about architecture, what was important to me about my work-these were the things he wanted to know. The tape recorder was on. I did my best. At the end of the interview, I realized that I was not really satisfied with my answers.
Later that evening, I talked to a friend about Aki Kaurismaki’s latest film.
I admire the director’s empathy and respect for his characters. He does not keep his actors on a leash; he does not exploit them to express a concept, but rather shows them in a light that lets us sense their dignity, and their secrets. Kaurismaki’s art lends his films a feeling of warmth, I told my colleague-and then I knew what it was I would have liked to have said on the tape this morning. To build houses like Kaurismaki’s make films-that’s what I would like to do.
The hotel in which I was staying was remodeled by a French star designer whose work I do not know because I am not interested in trendy design. But from the moment I entered the hotel, the atmosphere created by his architecture began to take effect. Artificial light illuminated the hall like a stage. Abundant muted light. Bright accents on the reception desks, different kinds of natural stone in niches in the wall. People ascending the graceful stairway to the encircling gallery stood out againt a shining golden wall. Above, one could sit in one of the dress circle boxes overlooking the hall and have a drink or a snack. There are only good seats here. Christopher Alexander, who speaks in pattern language of spatial situations in which people instinctively feel good, would have been pleased. I sat in a box overlooking the hall, a spectator, feeling that I was part of the designer’s stage set. I liked looking down on the activity below where people came and went, entered and exited. I felt I understood why the architect is so successful.
She had seen a small house by Frank Lloyd Wright that made a great impression on her, said H. Its rooms were so small and intimate, the ceiling so low. There was a tiny library with special lighting and a lot of decorative architectural elements, and the whole house made a strong horizontal impression which she had never experienced before. The old lady was still living there. There was no need for me to go and see the house, I thought. I knew just what she meant, and I knew the feeling of “home” that she described.
The members of the jury were shown buildings by architects competing for an architectural award. I studied the documents describing a small red house in a rural setting, a barn converted into a dewelling which had been enlarged by the architect and the habitants. The extension was a success, I thought. Althought you could see what had been done to the house beneath the saddle roof, the change was well modeled and integrated. The window openings were sensitively placed. The old and the new were balanced and harmonious.
I was interviewed by the curator of the museum. He tried to sound me out by means of clever, unexpected questions. What did I think about architecture, what was important to me about my work-these were the things he wanted to know. The tape recorder was on. I did my best. At the end of the interview, I realized that I was not really satisfied with my answers.Later that evening, I talked to a friend about Aki Kaurismaki’s latest film.I admire the director’s empathy and respect for his characters. He does not keep his actors on a leash; he does not exploit them to express a concept, but rather shows them in a light that lets us sense their dignity, and their secrets. Kaurismaki’s art lends his films a feeling of warmth, I told my colleague-and then I knew what it was I would have liked to have said on the tape this morning. To build houses like Kaurismaki’s make films-that’s what I would like to do.The hotel in which I was staying was remodeled by a French star designer whose work I do not know because I am not interested in trendy design. But from the moment I entered the hotel, the atmosphere created by his architecture began to take effect. Artificial light illuminated the hall like a stage. Abundant muted light. Bright accents on the reception desks, different kinds of natural stone in niches in the wall. People ascending the graceful stairway to the encircling gallery stood out againt a shining golden wall. Above, one could sit in one of the dress circle boxes overlooking the hall and have a drink or a snack. There are only good seats here. Christopher Alexander, who speaks in pattern language of spatial situations in which people instinctively feel good, would have been pleased. I sat in a box overlooking the hall, a spectator, feeling that I was part of the designer’s stage set. I liked looking down on the activity below where people came and went, entered and exited. I felt I understood why the architect is so successful. She had seen a small house by Frank Lloyd Wright that made a great impression on her, said H. Its rooms were so small and intimate, the ceiling so low. There was a tiny library with special lighting and a lot of decorative architectural elements, and the whole house made a strong horizontal impression which she had never experienced before. The old lady was still living there. There was no need for me to go and see the house, I thought. I knew just what she meant, and I knew the feeling of “home” that she described.
The members of the jury were shown buildings by architects competing for an architectural award. I studied the documents describing a small red house in a rural setting, a barn converted into a dewelling which had been enlarged by the architect and the habitants. The extension was a success, I thought. Althought you could see what had been done to the house beneath the saddle roof, the change was well modeled and integrated. The window openings were sensitively placed. The old and the new were balanced and harmonious.
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