Correspondence: Farewell

Gentle Library,
It has been almost a month now since I bid you adieu.  I sort of left you hanging with the last letter; I was so caught up in addressing all of the questions it inspired that I didn't have time to talk with you about it!  At this point, I'd just like to conclude our relationship by musing on our correspondence, and then this chapter can be closed in both our lives.

I'd like to begin by acknowledging how very helpful that correspondence was.  It helped me to distill all of the things I was thinking about into concrete ideas.  The mere act of coalescing the mental miasma into something coherent began to suggest direction by the time the words flowed onto the screen.  This was helpful in managing how overwhelming the process seemed and kept the work moving forward.

One aspect that I think has yet to be resolved is how to balance the proportion between analysis and action.  This writing, Gentle Library, it does take time!  It's difficult to still oneself and one's mind - all right, dear Library, it is difficult for me to still myself and my mind - I feel like it is not productive action if it does not involve frenetic activity.  But that isn't right, and I know it.  Henry Ford (have I already told you this?) has said that for every moment of action there must be an hour of thought.  I think the spirit of that is right but that it could be tweaked: that for every hour of action, there must be a moment of thought.  That is why the proportion is perplexing to me; once I begin to think about something, I get carried away, and I lose sense of how much time it will take to explore any particular idea, let alone design and develop them with any degree of success.  Oh, well; one more aspect of the process to understand so that I may exploit it to greatest effectiveness.

Interesting thought: what if our correspondence had not been me to you, but you to me?  Intriguing.  Perhaps next project...

Regardless, thank you for your participation; for listening, for offering suggestions, for taking part in this first experiment.  Let's make each other a promise: next time, let's get down and a little dirtier in our letters, okay?  I'll get naughty if you will.

Affectionately,

your architect

Correspondence: Cosmo edition

Dear Library, 
Can we talk?  Let's talk.  About your clothes, and your complexion; your general appearance, gentle Library, must be addressed.  We are not being superficial; we are simply considering the entirety of your impact.


Let's talk about your skin first; your complexion is thus far unclear.  


What sort of palette do we have?  Let's think.  There's the naturals - stone, wood, limestone (which would be locally quarried, what could be earth-friendlier?).  There's the industrials - metal, glass, concrete.  And there's the synthetics - laminates, plastics, alloys.  All right.  I think we can go ahead and discard this last, at least for your skin; we'll return to it later if we decide to accessorize.  That leaves naturals and industrials.  Considering that the place is urban and modern, considering that this is an up-and-coming funky neighborhood, I think we should also discard strictly naturals.  We can incorporate them; maybe even prominently.  But not exclusively.  Okay, we're making good progress!  Keep thinking.  That leaves a combination of naturals and industrials, or strictly industrials.  I think we should go with the combination.  Although too much natural material leaves a place feeling rustic - absolutely not our intent, gentle Library, I know! - there is also the homey and comforting feelings it evokes when used in appropriate scales and proportions.  So let's keep these in mind.


There is more to discuss on that front, gentle Library, but let us leave this aside for a bit and let it simmer on the back burner, so to speak, as we discuss something else: just how dressed do we want you to be?  This is an issue of how much light to let in; how much visibility to allow, in and out; where to reveal and where to protect.  Oh, dear, gentle Library... I feel a diagram coming on.  All right.  Next step: to make a diagram of the parts of the program that need light and those that must eschew it, and possibly some sense of the gradation between.  It's possible that the sorts of programs in each particular area may then begin to suggest their own coverings.


You've done well, dear Library.  I'll complete this task - it's like a Cosmo quiz, for buildings - and come back to you with more questions soon.  


Cheers,
your architect

The beginning of the correspondence

Dear Library,

I have been thinking about you a lot lately. The sort of thoughts that seem to swirl without coalescing in a particular direction if I don't talk about them, and that would take a LOT of talking, and it's hard to find ears with that much time. So I have decided to write to you, gentle Library, as a means of working some of these ideas out in a productive manner. ...hopefully the men in white jackets don't find these letters.

I am currently away from my sketchbook (and waiting for the first baseball game of the season to start) so my head is not as in the game at the moment as it could be. I will start by asking you two questions:

How do we make you civic but not institutional? As a corollary to that, I guess I need to decide just how welcoming I want to make you. Hmm. Welcoming, yes, but not a home away from home. How much of that is space and how much of that is materiality? Oops, that's an extra question.

Also: how do we make you public without being monumental? You're rather big right now - through no fault of your own, and you might even stay that way - but that's not the kind of experience we're trying to create for your visitors. Or is it, you tricky thing? Sometimes I think your intentions regarding your future differ from mine. I hope that we can compromise without a battle of the wills, gentle Library.

Okay. You ruminate. I'm going to cheer for the Diamond Wolverines - that doesn't ring nearly as well as the Diamond Dawgs; sometimes I miss Georgia in funny ways - and I'll get back to you in a little while on your thoughts.

Cheers,

your architect

I give

Okay, Anya, I give.  You were right.

Problem:  Astronomical anxiety about not being prepared enough to present research and project development thus far to cohort and colleagues.

My proposed solution: presenting to a small group.

Anya's solution: bump up the presentation date by three days with 90 minutes' notice.

Results:

     1.  No time to question decisions; all presentation decisions were made and executed with little development between the two.  

     2.  No time to create new material.

     3.  Completely unrealistic expectations led to overload of anxiety fuse: tripped the breaker.

     4.  Frustration with lack of ability to prepare adequately* (*in my opinion) => it felt pointless to be invested in a 'final' product in which I had little confidence; divorced opinion about work from opinion about self.

Effects:

     1.  There was only minor appreciable compromise of production quality.

     2.  No half-assed elements were present in presentation.

     3.  Short-circuit of anxiety fuse led to an unexpected serenity when presenting.  I felt like I was clear, concise, and comprehensive; the high value and relevance of the critics' feedback seems to reflect my perception.

     4.  I hate Anya for being so very right about changing the date on me.  Also I love her.

Moving forward:

     How can I short-circuit the anxiety fuse to begin with?  It never drives productivity, efficiency, or creativity in ways that are actually helpful.

     How can I better balance my time between big moves - design, presentation, layout - and fine-tuning?  I suspect I need an objective standard up against which I can hold up my work.  Does such a thing exist?  Can I create it?

     Never forget: I could always bag architecture school in favor of being a waitress instead.  Although after this project, I don't think I want waitress to be my backup career choice any more: I want to be a librarian.  Or a rocket scientist.  You know, something less stressful.