Next Post

Wow, today’s abuzz with so many ideas, so much going on the architecture world. Where do I begin? I woke up today with the release of the new city reader, an architecture newspaper on public space by way of Columbia University’s Graduate School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation.  The issue is just beautiful. I’m a big fan of continuous linear presentations, of process; and in this particular issue, the reader is taken through a series of  vignettes — potential tech and social nightmares one would find herself enmeshed in when experiencing a blackout — interstitially woven between New York’s, ’65, ’77 and ‘O3 experiences.

Our site visit in Uganda was comparable to that of a blackout. You had to be able to think on your feet without the reliance of electricity for almost 90 percent of the time during the evening, and for about 4O percent of the time in-and-out throughout the day in Ddegeya Village. Before arriving on site we had this pipe dream of using open source software to document our process, but the reality of our Ubuntu Linux laptop, an OS for newbies to the open source platform, had a battery of 10 years old with 32 percent capacity . We had to rely on our year-1, or pre-architecture school, skills to convey design ideas [fun!] and flashlights to host our charrette when the sun went down. The only difference with our [blackout], versus the one in this inaugural issue of the reader, was that when the sun fell chaos did not surge about. Of course at dusk, bats began to roost and as mentioned before, there was an initial response of fear!/horror/shock! in the first weeks; but all in all, night fall brought a sense of togetherness and community among us. Civilization [did not] begin to unravel; rather, it tightened. Our evenings were filled with Matatu, the Ugandan version of Uno, and lots of good food. Thanks, Prosey! And though we used flashlights for most of the time, we got accustomed to using them.  I think a lot of us had to really dig deep within ourselves to cultivate a spirit effective to the progress of our efforts, and it didn’t happen overnight. In fact, much like a blackout, it was chaotic at first.

Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead paints a specific portrait of the architect which pigeon-holes a lot of us. Architects have a stigma of being intensely ego-driven, [procrastinators who complain about "having" to pull all nighters when in most cases, to the other, one is not even necessary]. What some fail to realize is that those who design with intention aren’t pulling tricks out of a hat. There is a sense of purpose, direction, calls from an intangible space within which connect the heart with the pen. There is a need to respect the client, and design a space the user connects with. It doesn’t come from a set of morally-weighted values, it simply comes from within, guided by a spirit we begin to familiarize ourselves with when we’ve let go of [what others try to impose on us as "values"]. At times, it even comes from making tremendous mistakes, mistakes which set you on a path of discovery.

Thoughts of the metaphysical and objectivism spearheaded a spiritual conversation with me and Chelsea Bakke, healer, massage therapist, and Reiki practitioner. If the goal is for higher self, what is the difference between “the pursuit of happiness” versus [spirit guides] existing alongside you while you work on your drawings? You sit there, in the process activating intentioned efforts from within.

When working within the spiritualist framework, we think of both physical and non-physical entities chosen to aide us on the path of enlightenment, spirit guides, leading us to spiritual growth. Some take the presence of an animal, at times even stereotyped with Native American and Eastern traditions. To tap into that energy requires a tremendous amount of “letting go,” an enforcement of a personal blackout, if you will. This is where the saying “a good designer knows when to let go of a good idea” comes into play.

Our experience in Ddegeya forced us to step out of our realm of comfort — to squat using pit latrines,  face the unknown when darkness came upon us. However, as soon as you looked up at the Ugandan sky you realized how close you were to the vastness above — the expanse of the universe, constellations you could easy pick with your once frightened, delicate fingertips. You then felt connected, safe; and it was in those moments I became familiar with a spirit guiding me.

By the very last second of our trip, when my mother came to whisk me away from my brother’s house, to the family compound for the last day, I felt another blackout encroach. I got scared because I didn’t want to face the reality of going back to my parent’s house. My grandparents and every family member are buried on our plot. It’s always a very intense and visceral experience for me because their spirit is strong and I know what they are going to tell me. I have a lot to learn, and going to Ddegeya, working on this project was the very beginning of it. For this perpetual blackout to open doors to an enlightened existence, for me began to cultivate a self-realization far from being predicated on a set of “proper” moral purpose. There was nothing proper about how I felt, and the only proper thing to do is to respect that, and those of others. In cultivating that inner spirit, I feel that the more I draw by hand, the closer I get to that. My hand is that visceral connection to a fully realized, designed space.

Advertisement