Christmas Greetings

If there is anyone out there who still reads this blog, I extend you joyful Christmas greetings and my best wishes for the new year! It's true, I've been rather neglectful of these pages the past weeks, or, as I now look at things, months. I must say, it's been weighing on me a bit lately. Whenever I get a moment or two of down time, I hear a little voice in the back of my mind pestering ever so quietly "write on your blog". I do love writing and sharing bits of my life through this medium, but it's the life, not the medium, that's been the tiring thing of late.

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I returned to God's own land of Michigan late on the evening of December 12th, before much of the wicked winter weather had descended upon the Upper Midwest with much ferocity. I must say, though, that I had begun to miss winter in Washington - a feeling which was exacerbated by the pitiable way in which the region dealt with a mere two inches of snowfall the week before I left. In any event, I am home safe with one semester at the Catholic University of America behind me.

I don't wish to really delve into academics too much (at the risk of boring you, kind reader), but, suffice to say it was a successful semester on both important fronts: the lesser being the grades and the greater being the personal intellectual growth sustained. I must say that I am pleased with my choice to move to Washington and to attend CUA. It has afforded me much in the way of new perspectives and experiences, and I feel as though I am making good connections personally and professionally. But, that's all rather detached-sounding, as if I am writing for a CUA prospectus or something. I'll have thaw my writing fingers a bit more before talking more in depth about people and ideas that have made impressions on me this semester.

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The weekend before Thanksgiving I made my first visit to New York City. I went with a friend who I know from Ball State who currently lives in Washington. We took the Megabus and stayed with a mutual friend who was in the city for the semester on a co-op internship program. We scurried about like good little tourists, attempting and mostly succeeding in seeing the major sites. I was sad that St. Patrick's was almost entirely coated in scaffolding both inside and out, but I was rewarded somewhat by happening upon a mass for the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre. It was the first time I had ever seen the Knights in any formal occasion, and it left quite an impression. I think such groups are good for the Church and for civilization in general. I may be accused for being motivated by nostalgia or mere conservatism, but I think such groups can truly raise the mind to the chivalric virtues they strive toward. Modern culture is wimpy. The knights of anything are inherently vigorous.

New York is entirely unlivable. Washington is the upper limit of urbanity that I could possibly ever deal with on a day-to-day basis. There are too many people in New York. There's no breathing room. There's the incessant monotonous march of regular blocks. Urbanistically, Washington wins, hands down. However, as far as the arts are concerned, New York beats everyone else, hands down. But, that doesn't make the city more livable in my eyes, it just makes me happy that I live only a short four hours away at this point.

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I've missed Grand Rapids. I try not to cloud my mind unnecessarily with future plans, but one that I do fixate upon is that I would like to move back to Grand Rapids when the time comes. A professor whom I admire at Ball State would always admonish us, "Never give up on your hometown and never be ashamed of where you're from." This admonition, I think, stings the Hoosiers a bit more than it stung me, because it's very difficult for me to ever feel ashamed of West Michigan. I'm not going to gush on and on about how it's a "special place", but I will say there's a lot of raw material, so to speak, that makes it an interesting place to live.

People I meet in DC are utterly fascinated and bewildered by the Midwest. A classmate from New Jersey has never been further west than Penn State, and she was baffled when we had a lecture on Chicago, declaring "I never knew Lake Michigan was that big!" It's interesting being a stereotype. For many people I meet, Michigan is indistinguishable from anything else between Ohio and Colorado. This confronts my thinking in a harsh way, because there's a strong current of what you might call Michigander Exceptionalism in the Midwest. Michigan is different from everything around it. You can compare Indiana with Ohio and Illinois and be ok. Minnesota and Wisconsin are similar. But, Michigan is different.

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I've made a lot of progress on my genealogical research in the past few weeks. For a long time, I had no information on my paternal grandfather's ancestors. I just new my great-grandparents' names and that they were from eastern Austria. I have since been able to trace back from my great-grandparents back to the beginning of the 19th Century. They were all ethnic Germans who lived in what was then the western edge of the Kingdom of Hungary. Nowadays, the territory they hailed from is a part of Austria. 

An interesting thing I've discovered throughout my research is how heterogenous my family is. There are unexpected little blips of different ethnicities that just pop up sometimes, much to my surprise. For instance, I was researching my grandma's grandfather, whose name was Frank Ryan. I had always been told he was Irish. His father was in fact a half Irish, half English Canadian, but his mother was French Canadian, descended from a family who were among the first settlers of Detroit. I guess the point is that the further you go back, the murkier things become. I started out my research thinking I was Austrian, Slovak, Polish, French Canadian, and Irish. I'm actually Austrian, Hungarian, Slovak, Ruthenian, Polish, French Canadian, Belgian, Swiss, Irish, German, and English.

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Christmas was really nice this year. We had a lot of snow (about 14 inches) on the ground, and there were flurries throughout the day. We went to Midnight Mass at the Cathedral, which was beautiful as always. The chanting of Tollite Hostias and O Magnum Mysterium left a deep impression this year. This was the first time I have seen our new bishop of Grand Rapids. Not that it matters, but I like him. 

I got a hiking backpack, a winter coat, a little DVD player, and a nice messenger bag from my parents. It seemed a lot to me, but I won't complain about it. They will all be put to good use. I'm looking forward to doing more serious hiking in the future. Friends have a February camping trip in Virginia planned, so it will probably come in handy then. 

Friday we head up to the cottage for our extended New Years gathering. Many of the cousins will be up this year. Grandpa reported that the ice on the lake is about ten inches thick - unusually thick for this time of year. It will be good for hockey.

Churches of Quebec

La Belle Province is home to the finest collection of French Colonial architecture anywhere in the New World. Because of Quebec's relatively sparse population and largely undisturbed culture (away from the St. Lawrence, that is), the province is littered with hundreds of beautiful churches dating from the 17th century to the early 20th century. Here are a few to give you a taste. These are taken from the fascinating Flickr group Églises du Québec. Of course, I will remind the readers that I have 300 years of Québecois ancestry on my mother's side of the family, so I have a special interest in the history of that part of the continent.

 

As you can see, there is some stylistic variation, but the uniformity of building materials (granite walls, limestone details, tin roofs) leads to a fairly cohesive architectural genre. Much like the stereotypical white, neoclassical Congregational church of New England, the paroisse stood at the center of the cultural life of New France - first out of a necessity for social cohesion in the face of the wilderness, and later as a bastion against British imperialism. With these two exterior pressures largely gone, Quebec has become one of the most religiously arid places in the Catholic world. Though, in a typical display of Québecois contrarianism, the crucifix remains steadfastly affixed to the wall of the provincial parliament chambers in Quebec City. Only time will tell what the fate of these beautiful buildings will ultimately be.

This and That

Washington is a great city for strolling

National Gallery of Art - East Building

Basilica in the evening

Rosslyn Jazz Festival with friends new and old

Cruising up to Georgetown with friends

My family at my cousin's wedding - 13 September

Beacon Hill, Boston - 22 September

The Mall nearly empty during day one of the gov't shutdown

Morning at the Southwest Waterfront

Old Airmen Cemetery near my residence

Donald Cardinal Wuerl, Archbishop of Washington visiting the Crough Center at CUA

Lecture and reception at the Italian Embassy with architect Claudio Silvestrin

Fall 2013 Sacred Space/Cultural Studies studio with Walton Critic Claudio Silvestrin

Hiking in Shenandoah

St. Anthony of Padua in DC's Brookland neighborhood

Sundry Happenings

After six days of rain, the District of Columbia has finally settled into its sunny autumn that I've been told so much about. Today it was remarkably pleasant, as was yesterday, which happened to be Columbus Day. It was as good of an excuse as any to have the day off of classes. I can only hope the current mild pleasantness of the climate continues apace throughout the week and weekend, to make thorough amends for the recent gloom.

However, the recent gloom did/does seem to fit the current political mood in the city. As you well know, la crise budgétaire continues, bringing new feats of partisan brinkmanship to the fore with each passing day. We have observed it all up close here in the Capitol, from the WWII vets' peculiarly-necessary storming aux barricades, to the man igniting himself with gasoline in the middle of the Mall, to the woman attempting to ram her little car through the bollards around the Capitol building. It's been an eventful two weeks.

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It is interesting to now be classified as one of those "inside-the-beltway" types. Geographically, it's true. But, we know that habitat influences habit. I have found myself much more in tune to the goings-on (or not-goings-on, as the case may be) of the federal government, simply by osmosis. And, let me say, I don't particularly like what I'm absorbing. There is a fundamental malaise that seems to underlie everyone's discussion of things federal. Polarizing doesn't even begin to express it in my opinion. There are quite simply two (or three) visions for the future of this country that cannot come to grips with the reasons the others even exist, let alone contemplate their points of policy. There is something in the political air lurking behind the garbage fumes rising from the piles of uncollected trash. It ain't pretty. But, I don't really know what we can do about it. 

One professor at Ball State, who was one of my mentors, tweeted something the other day to the effect of, "In addition to all of the theatrics, Americans need to take the shutdown as a time to reflect upon what their government is for." I think that's happening bit by bit. Will there be a full-blown revolution or reformation of the federal government? It's hard to say. The mood is here, that's for sure. And, I think, if the "standoff-and-shutdown" mentality continues on down the road, people may start to seriously look at the 9th and 10th Amendments. Already, states are nullifying federal laws (California and the NDAA, for instance). Remember the last time states started nullifying federal laws? I'm no conspiracy theorist, but I do know some history.

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Yet, amidst such uncertainties, life must carry on. The spheres inscribed on the city by my various comings and goings rarely intrude upon the realms of political thought. Rather, at the fore lately has been Claudio Silvestrin's presence in studio. I must truly eat my words from the beginning of the semester. It has been a pleasure (albeit a subtle one) to have Claudio back in studio. How to describe him? It is a difficult task. His round, bald face hardly ever displays emotion. He communicates more by pressing his lower lip forcefully into his upper lip and by furrowing (and un-furrowing) his brow than by speech. Yet, he does speak, though with few words, spoken with a rather intriguing British-Italian accent. When critiquing, he will say something like, "You should work in section." And then he will pause, purse his lips, look up and nod slowly at you. And then he'll look back at the papers in front of him and continue: "It will clarify what is happening here. You must have clarity of thought, purity of intention. That comes with clarity of drawing. Don't idolize drawing. Use it to clarify the thoughts you have up here." He'll slowly press his fat fingers into his bald head, look up, nod again, squint his eyes, perhaps wink, and then stand up and leave. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced in architecture school, but it's bizarrely helpful in a way.

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This week, there are two lectures of significance. I hope they continue the high standard set last week by Craig Dykers, principal of the award winning Norwegian/American firm Snøhetta, who delivered a fantastic lecture at CUA. One of my favorite lines was, "I have never seen anyone enter a building, drop to their knees and exclaim, 'My God, what a fantastic concept!'" You could feel the academics in the room squirming, but the students loved it. Claudio was unamused. 

Tomorrow, the National Building Museum (mercifully unaffected by the shutdown) will host Japanese architect Toyo Ito, the 2013 Pritzker Prize laureate. Mr Ito, perhaps to the chagrin of Mr Dykers, is devoted to a highly conceptual view of architecture. I will say flat out that I dislike most, if not all of his built works. However, it is still an incredible opportunity to hear from such an icon in the profession. And I find most architects are much less polemical than their buildings, allowing principles to be extracted from their words that perhaps get obscured by their architecture. I am hoping this is the case.

Lastly, our friend Claudio Silvestrin will be lecturing on Thursday evening at the Italian Embassy. The studio is all a-flutter over this particular outing. Such excitement occurs when students are promised good Italian food and wine at the reception following the lecture. So, it promises to be a good evening mingling with the Italians.

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I am reading Les Miserables. I am about 200 pages in (of 1200-something). It is very good so far. I appreciate the digressions (sometimes chapters long) that Hugo delves into. They add a layer of authenticity to the narrative. I am also intrigued by many of the Catholic themes I am picking up on throughout the story. I say intrigued because Victor Hugo was decidedly anti-clerical (most clearly exemplified in The Hunchback of Notre Dame). But that is neither here nor there at the moment.

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Catholic society is rather abuzz here in Washington because of the new chapter of Juventutem that is being launched under the auspices of the new Oratory-in-Formation at St Thomas in Woodley Park. Juventutem is an youth apostolate devoted to the traditional Latin mass. I am very pleased that such a group is being established here. They will be sponsoring a Solemn High Mass of Requiem on All Soul's Day that I look forward to attending. 

In other news, Cardinal Wuerl, our esteemed archbishop, was on campus today to see projects done by fourth-year architecture students during their time in Rome last spring. The site for their project was the piazza outside San Pietro in Vincoli, which is Cardinal Wuerl's titular church in Rome. He was happy to see all of the projects and tell stories about the church itself and the relics it holds (namely, St. Peter's chains). He also discussed the conclave a bit - most specifically the electric excitement the cardinals felt after electing Francis.

There is No God in that Church

British-Italian architect, Claudio Silvestrin, is the 2013 Walton Critic at the Catholic University of America. He is with us for three weeks in my studio, teaching and critiquing. Last night, he came to our Theory of Sacred Space class and spoke at length with us in question-and-answer format. Some of his most interesting points, in my opinion, revealed his views on modern church design, and where he sees design flaws. I say they were interesting, not because they were radical, but rather because his criticisms sounded radically traditional. Given Silvestrin's devotion to minimalism, I was taken aback by some of his answers. Here, I have reproduced from my notes, his points relevant to church architecture. These comments were in answer to a variety of questions, but I have reproduced them collected and organized.

Question: How do you understand a church? And, what makes a successful church?

Silvestrin: Well, I have never designed a church yet. I would love to design a new cathedral every week, but the Church has not approached me yet. I do not consider any of my works sacred, as such. That would be blasphemy. It is blasphemy to call a boutique, or a restaurant, or even a house, sacred. It is too far. They have moments that touch the soul, yes, but they are not sacred. As for a church, it is a house for God. An architect must not design for only the client, or worse, only for the satisfaction of his ego. Rather, his work is primarily for God. Architecture, like the priesthood, is a calling. Modern churches have forgotten God. They are acts of ego only. They are not houses of God, they are houses of men. Man is at the center of modern churches. Design decisions are based on man, not on God. I went to Ronchamp. It is a great work of architecture. But, that is it. It is a great design by a great architect. That is what I sensed when I was there. There is no God in that church. 

On my way home to London from holiday, I drove way out of my way into Germany to see Peter Zumthor's chapel. I admire Zumthor. So, I went to the chapel. From the outside, it sits very modestly in the landscape. It is unobtrusive, it has a good material quality. All well and good. But as you enter, you must go through this sharp, aggressive triangular door. It is not at all about God. Inside, it felt like a place for the devil, not a place for God.

The great sacred places are all made from natural materials. They have a certain life and vibration. Stone and wood have vibrations that they bring to a building. Concrete, plastic, steel, glass, do not! They are flat, fake, and empty of all vibration! You cannot make a good church out of concrete! Never! It has no vibration, no soul, no life, no history. It is of the machine. You can feel the cold cut of the machine, not the warmth of man's touch, as in wood or stone.

The architect doesn't design a church for himself, he designs it firstly for God. Nobody knows who the architects of the great cathedrals are. The monks built their monasteries for God. They didn't "design" them. They built them honestly, and with purity of intention. That is what gives them their immense power. There is no ego in a Cistercian monastery [Claudio, being a minimalist, is partial to the Cistercian aesthetic]. The architect must disappear in some cases - to reveal the essence of something.

Two Interesting Masses in Washington

This, the first, will celebrate the feast day of Bl. John Henry Newman. I was first exposed to Newman at Ball State, where I began to look into his works and learn more about him. He was a brilliant and holy man.

On Monday, October 21st at 7:30pm at St. Mary Mother of God Church there will be a Pontifical Mass in the Extraordinary Form in honor of Bl. Karl of Austria. Karl was the last emperor of Austria and apostolic king of Hungary, and he is someone to whom I have a particular devotion (perhaps given my largely Austro-Hungarian roots). I have written briefly about him here.

Blessed John Henry Newman, pray for us! Blessed Karl of Austria, pray for us!

States and Cities

An interesting thing about moving to a new place is learning all of the new geographic prejudices intrinsic to any place. Who do we envy here? What city is the pain in everyone's side? What state is to be looked down upon? To me, these little prejudices form one of the more subtle and interesting parts of American culture, which is so homogenized in so many other categories. On the macro-level, it's hard to compare the United States with say, Germany, where the differences between a Bavarian and a Brandenburger can be quite pronounced in terms of culture and dialect. I suppose the South has a fairly intact regional identity, as does New England, and Texas, but apart from these, it's harder to discern the little frictions that develop between localities.

Michigan, of course, has a longstanding feud with Ohio. To even say the the name of that state elicits feelings of both pity and contempt. We had a war with them once, and, frankly, we just can't get over it. Indiana is not held in contempt, just pitied. There's a subtle sense that Indiana is actually a Southern state that somehow got misplaced. Illinois is ignored, apart from Chicago, which is as the region's metropole is held in obligatory esteem. Wisconsin has beer. Within Michigan, there is a distinct social divide between the two peninsulas. There is also a rather strong east/west divide. The Thumb is just a strange place. In Indiana, the vitriol toward Ohio is regrettably absent, as Hoosiers tend to focus their derision on Kentucky, and Gary. Indianapolis, like most large cities, has its social and geographic strata which became apparent while at Ball State. 

Here in DC, it's harder to tell, since many people I interact with are not from DC at all. But, basically everyone is sort of suspicious of Baltimore. And Virginia is pretty much still written off as too conservative to matter. The Midwest is not really on anyone's radar, that's for sure. Michigan was characterized as fly-over country the other day in class and I was deeply offended. There are many denizens of New Jersey lying hither and yon 'round here. They do their part to both reinforce and shatter stereotypes in rapidly bewildering succession. Philadelphia is just a dirtier version of DC. Joe Biden is from Delaware (sort of), rendering the entire state suspect.

I just think it's fascinating to see what places are on the radar of people in places I'm unfamiliar with. Where do they vacation? Where did their family live before? Who are rivals in sports? 

St Anton Kirche

Zurich is not particularly renowned for its Catholicism. The reformer Huldrych Zwingli succeeded in converting most of the city to his version of Protestantism during the course of the Reformation. Catholics in Zurich, as in Scandinavia, Britain, and other Protestant nations, were largely marginalized until the mid Nineteenth Century. Yet, there are some Catholic gems to be found even in iconoclastic Zurich. This church, in Zurich's fashionable Hottingen neighborhood, was built at the beginning of the Twentieth Century. Karl Moser, the foremost proponent of the Art Nouveau (or Jugendstil) in Switzerland, was the architect.

It's reserved exterior is quite handsome. It preserves the traditional facade of a church, while introducing bits of modernity in terms of the detailing and the materials. It is a very elegant exercise in architectural continuity. The tower is especially lovely, and bears a striking resemblance to the campanile on the campus of Cornell University.

The interior provides many lessons on how church architects today, often faced with tight budgets, might make the most of a parish's resources. It is not overdone in terms of ornament, yet the ornamental scheme that is employed is sound, unified, and beautiful.

Expensive materials are used sparingly around the sanctuary, while the remainder of the iconography is basically all painting. Yet, the richness of the colors and the clear orientation of the painting prevent it from seeming too "tacked on" to the whole. It is a shame that a meager Ikea-table-altar is used instead of the magnificent original high altar.

Francis, Francis, Rebuild My Church

I had thought that the services of my Papal Speculatron 3000 had been exhausted after the smoke cleared form the Conclave in March and all speculation about who next would be seated on the Chair of Peter was ended in the person of Jorge Mario Cardinal Bergoglio. However, his tour-de-force papacy has so far kept the speculators of the world busy! These are interesting times when traditionalists, women's ordination advocates, and the writers at the always dubious HuffPost Religion Pages can all say with equal amounts of dread and eagerness, "What will the pope say next?!"

The ripples that spread throughout the sphere of the mass media from Rome, where the pope is known as Papa Chatterbox, have been a-rufflin' feathers lately. But, despite all of the punditry, analysis, and a fair dose of simply lazy reporting, there is something interesting going on here. If I might role out and dust off the Speculatron for a moment (though it did lead me astray by predicating a Bagnasco Pontificate, probably because he's the one Cardinal who looks most like he could be a Bond villain), I think it's interesting to contemplate what the pope could be doing.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that the Church has suffered, repeatedly, from some terrible scandals, which have done grievous damage to the souls affected, and, indeed to the credibility of the message proclaimed. Add a press eager to caricature Benedict XVI as a stuffy, out-of-touch, nostalgic ultraconservative, and you have nearly a decade of headlines describing the Church's teachings as "reactionary" and so forth.

I know what I'm doing. Really, I do.

His Holiness of Our Lord, Francis, certainly knows these things. He's a crafty Jesuit after all. I think, what the pope has been doing, is starting from the very building blocks of Christianity and attempting to re-evangelize a world that has gotten so busy caricaturing the Church that they forget what she teaches and who she professes as Lord. It's been a long time since the Church has been front page news. Francis, the evangelist-in-chief, is not going to be changing the doctrines of the Church (sorry New York Times, HuffPo, Slate, et al). But, perhaps, the things he does choose to emphasize and develop will plant a seed of thought into a person's mind that may one day flower into an embrace of the Church of Christ. Perhaps one fallen-away person will hear the pope's reminders of God's infinite mercy and will be emboldened enough to return to the Church. Perhaps one gay Catholic will be reminded of God's infinite love for all persons, and will reconsider the Church - not in spite of her doctrines, but because of them.

Folks, we in the West live in a post-Christian world. The old structures of religion, which were once such pillars of community life have been eroded, not without the help of many misguided Christians. The pope, my Speculatron confirms, is grasping for a way to interact with this world. Part of the pope's job is to say "no". His office is, by its nature, conservative. But, perhaps what the pope can do, and can call the rest of us to do, is to remind the world, not of the No's, but of the phenomenal Yes of God. Yes God is all-merciful, yes God is all-loving, and yes God wants you to embrace him in His Body, the Church. Catholicism is not a free-for-all, but all of the doctrines of the Church, though the world may not understand, come from God's desire for your good, and his abundant love for you.

Visible Celebrations of Tenderness

Although we belong to a species which spends an alarming amount of its time blowing things up, every now and then we are moved to add gargoyles or garlands, stars or wreaths, to our buildings for no practical reason whatever. In the finest of these flourishes, we can read signs of goodness in a material register, a form of frozen benevolence. We see in them evidence of those sides of human nature which enable us to thrive rather than simply survive. These elegant touches remind us that we are not exclusively pragmatic or sensible: we are also creatures who, with no possibility of profit or power, occasionally carve friars out of stone and mould angels onto walls. In order not to mock such details, we need a culture confident enough about its pragmatism and aggression that it can also acknowledge the contrary demands of vulnerability and play - a culture, that is, sufficiently unthreatened by weakness and decadence as to allow for visible celebrations of tenderness.

- Alain de Botton, The Architecture of Happiness

Lou Kahn on Our Epoch

About a month ago, I was working late in my office, as is my custom, and a man working with me said, "I would like to ask you a question which has been on my mind for a long while... How would you describe this epoch?"

This man is Hungarian, who came to this country when the Russians entered Hungary. I pondered this question because, somehow, it fascinates me to answer questions to which I do not know the answer.

But I had just been reading in the New York Times Magazine of the things that had been going on in California. I had visited California, and I went through Berkeley, and I noticed the size of the revolution, and the great promises of the machine, and I felt, as I had read recently, that there were poets who were trying to write poems without words.

I sat for at least ten minutes, without moving, reviewing in my mind all these things, and finally I said to Gabor, "What is the shadow of white light?"

Gabor has a habit of repeating what you say, "White light... white light... I don't know." And I said, "Black. Don't be afraid, because white light does not exist, nor does black shadow exist."

I think that it is a time of our sun on trial, of all our institutions on trial.

I was brought up when the sunlight was yellow, and the shadow was blue. But I see it clearly as being white light, and black shadow. Yet this is nothing alarming, because I believe that there will come a fresh yellow, and a beautiful blue, and that the revolution will bring forth a new sense of wonder. Only from wonder can come our new institutions... they certainly cannot come from analysis.

And I said, "You know, Gabor, if I could think what I would do, other than architecture, it would be to write a new fairy tale, because from the fairy tale came the airplane, and the locomotive, and the wonderful instruments of our minds... it all came from wonder."

- Louis I. Kahn, 1968

Resonating

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they're a cloud of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.

- Rumi

*      *      *

Sine I first read this poem last week, it has been resonating with me and my current situation. We are reading the poetry of Rumi as part of our introductory regiment for studio. Rumi has been much in vogue among New Age-ers and the like for some of his more universalist views. But, I echo both Thomas Aquinas who advised seeking truth wherever it may be found and a Polish proverb that points out that even broken clocks are right twice per day.

So early in my experience here in DC, I never know what the day will hold. There are many possibilities for both happiness and sorrow. Friendships are slowly developing, perhaps too slowly for my liking. I come from a vast network of friends, for whom I am very grateful. But, none of them are around. This is a new feeling for me. It isn't like freshman year either, where life in the residence halls provided a ready-made social environment.

This is not to say I am unhappy - far from it. We are just in unfamiliar territory at the moment. Every morning is truly a new arrival.

*      *      *

Tomorrow, there is an information meeting for the campus Knights of Columbus council. I look forward to getting to know some of the men on campus involved in that organization. Next week there are call-out meetings for both the American Institute of Architecture Students and USGBC Students, catering to architecture students specifically. I was involved in both organizations at Ball State and look forward to the opportunities they'll bring here.

So, there are things on the horizon. Organizations, meetings, and minutes will surely come in due time. Which again reinforces the awkwardness of the current moment. I know I will be busy soon enough. I know I will be longing for solitude and peace soon enough. Which means I should soak it all in now with gratitude. I am attempting to do so.

*      *      *

Daily mass is offered in Caldwell Chapel on campus at 12:30pm. I can go every day if I please. I have gone twice so far. I like daily mass because of its succinctness and its silence. Today we chanted the sung portions of the mass a cappella. It was hauntingly beautiful in its simplicity. No microphones, no piano, just the human voice rising to God.

Last week, the university's chancellor, Donald Cardinal Wuerl, the Archbishop of Washington, was on hand to offer a special Mass of the Holy Spirit for the opening of the academic year. The faculty were in attendance in full academic regalia, and the Apostolic Nuncio was present alongside a host of priests from area religious houses. It was a grand and solemn occasion that lasted nearly two hours. The grandeur of the celebration matched the grandeur of the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception - a rare feat.

*      *      *

I have been reflecting on how interesting it is to be back at a Catholic school. In a very interesting way, I think it was beneficial for me to have spent four years away. I loved Ball State, but it is so refreshing to be at a place unfettered from the bonds of political correctness and absolute relativism. This openness to discussion of faith - but also philosophy and more general spiritual things - is pervasive on campus. The studio concentration I have chosen, Sacred Space and Cultural Studies, confronts the metaphysical and spiritual dimensions of being directly, so that architecture can be in service to the whole person. 

Thus, having discussions on truth, beauty, faith, becomes integral to the progression of architectural education. Again, it feels as though I am breathing new and wondrously fresh springtime air. My past experiences of architectural education dared not even broach the questions of what makes architecture "good" or "beautiful". The relativistic tiptoeing-on-eggshells responses of professors were designed to be purposely vague so that one theory of what makes good architecture is not valued more than another. Of course, this was coupled with a nearly universal disdain for anything remotely traditional. At least here, everyone is showing their cards. I am enrolled in a studio that will be exploring minimalism. I have my own intellectual baggage about minimalism, but at least I know where I'm headed. I may be being cleared out for a new delight.

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Campus is thronged by priests and religious in their habits. Seeing the variety of habits, cassocks, etc. gladdens my heart. It's like seeing a policeman or fireman in their uniform - you know that these men and women have put their lives at the service of others (and God, in this case). I wish the wider culture could see more priests and religious properly dressed out and about. It is such a counter-cultural sign to this self-obsessed era of ours.

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I don't have air-conditioning in my apartment. This has taken some getting used to, as it has been routinely in the 90s since I moved in. The humidity is what really kicks my butt. I have never sweated so much in my life as I have the past two weeks. But, I am learning to cope, slowly but surely. Hydration is key, and I find myself drinking water at intervals that would've seemed preposterous in Muncie. Luckily, the evenings have been cool, so sleep has not been an issue. 

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This past weekend, my friend Heather arrived for a visit of a few days. It was so very nice to have someone here to spend time with - especially such a good friend. I got to play tour guide around DC - it's amazing how quickly I'm becoming oriented to everything. It was fun to play tourist a little bit. We went to the National Gallery of Art, the monuments, the Air and Space Museum, caught the Army Blues band playing a concert on the steps of the Capitol. It was a nice, full weekend.

Also in the vein of travel and tourism, I'm looking forward to heading home in a week and a half for my cousin's wedding. The following weekend, I'm going to Boston to meet my parents for my birthday. And, at some point this fall, I must get up to New York to visit a good friend from Ball State who's working there for the semester. Being in a well-connected city like DC makes such visiting so much easier.

On Grotesquely-Dancing Architecture

"Based on such uncertain, shaky, and non-existent cultural foundations, it has not taken long for the structures of much contemporary architecture to assume either the lugubriously ridiculous appearance of a hilariously grotesque Brueghelian dance; or to appear like a sky-reaching duel between aseptic Towers of Babel made of steel, glass, and special materials which, by the first story have lost the reason for their daring apart from guilty and naive construction." - Claudio Silvestrin

 

The Wedding Dance, Pieter Brueghel

Addition to the Royal Ontario Museum, Daniel Libeskind

 

Mr. Silvestrin is an acclaimed Italian-British architect who will be at CUA for three weeks this semester as the Walton Distinguished Visiting Critic. He will be specifically working with the studio I am taking, which focuses on sacred space and cultural expression in architecture. He is an avowed minimalist, which is something that immediately arouses suspicion in my mind, but, as evidenced by the quote above, I think he and I are coming from the same direction when it comes to diagnosing the problem of contemporary architecture. It will be an interesting studio indeed.

My New Home

Tomorrow, classes will begin at the Catholic University of America where I will be working toward my Master of Architecture degree. The past few days have been spent moving in to my new home, getting everything organized, and exploring the city of Washington, DC.

I live in a small, one-bedroom apartment in a two-story building built in the Fifties. It occupies the northwest corner of the building, so I don't get too much hot sun shining in. I don't have air conditioning, but a few well placed fans and open windows have kept the place 10 or so degrees cooler than the outside. I think air conditioning has been, by and large, bad for society, but that's a thought for another day.

My new neighborhood is composed of several leafy, hilly residential blocks wedged between an old military cemetery, the University, and the train tracks. It is a predominantly African-American neighborhood, and it is definitely a working-class place. It is quiet, and everyone I meet on the street smiles and says hello. In the Midwest, I think some people hardly notice anyone else walking down their street.

It takes about fifteen minutes for me to walk to the architecture building on campus. On my way I pass two seminaries (one for the Archdiocese of Washington, one for the Ukrainian Catholics in the US), a friary, two national shrines (Natl. Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, and the Ukrainian Catholic Natl. Shrine of the Holy Family), a convent, and the Pope John Paul II Cultural Center. A Benedictine Monastery and a Franciscan Monastery are both about five blocks away in other directions. Needless to say, I really don't have any excuse to miss mass. I've seen many religious sisters and brothers, priests, and others in habits in the neighborhood.

Today I went to mass at the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. After mass, I walked down to the metro station to see if my SmarTrip card was working yet. I had loaded money onto it on Friday, but it takes one day for that information to reach the stations, thus postponing my few errands a day. The card was working, so I boarded the red line train, switched to the green line at Ft. Totten, and got off at Columbia Heights. There is a Target near the station, but it was absolutely packed with people (all eight universities in the DC area start classes tomorrow). I ran in and picked up a few things and left. Columbia Heights is a pleasant neighborhood that seems like a place to visit again in the future.

From there, I headed to the Eastern Market in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. There was a farmers market, a flea market, and an indoor market. The area was similarly packed (on account of the fine, not-so-humid weather). I got a loaf of fresh French bread, and then wandered around inside a fantastic used bookstore for a little while. I purchased a book on the architecture of the early Medieval period. After a brief stop for an iced tea, I walked through the neighborhood a bit toward the Capitol. I finished my journey by walking the remainder of the way to Union Station and headed home.

There is so much to explore in Washington, yet it seems manageable. I'm sure by the end of my degree, I will know it inside and out. It's an exciting time, and I'll be sure to keep you posted.

A few old things

As far as Middle Western cities go, Grand Rapids and its historic building stock fared decently during the destructive period of "urban renewal" during the 1960s, when the historic centers of small towns and large cities alike were gutted in the name of progress. Notable losses include the old city hall and courthouse, in addition to several commercial blocks dating from the 1870s and 1880s. Yet, many buildings were spared, leaving downtown with at least a handful of intact historic street-scapes.

This past weekend, I had the good pleasure of having to town several architecture colleagues from Ball State. We had an enjoyable time wandering about town, looking at buildings, and taking photos. Here are a few that showcase the architectural heritage of which I speak, alongside other landmarks.

Ottawa Street, looking south

Monroe Center Avenue, looking southeast

Corner of Ionia and Weston, looking northwest

Yesterdog, the city's quintessential foodstop

Meyer May House by Frank Lloyd Wright

The Basilica of St. Adalbert, with its recently installed illumination

Death on the West Side

The city of Grand Rapids sits astride a straight north-south stretch of the Grand River as it makes its way from the centre of Michigan's Lower Peninsula to its terminus at Grand Haven on Lake Michigan. Over the course of the ages, the river has gently sculpted a valley, which the city has long overgrown. On the east side of the river, there is not much flat land, and the valley rises to the hills rather quickly. This is the oldest part of the city, and the early men of wealth and importance built their fine mansions on the crest of this hill, overlooking the city. Many of them still exist, now inhabited by doctors and lawyers. On the west side of the river, there is a wide flat plain, and then a steep rise. An almost uniform ridge from north to south, paralleling the river, divides the low river plain from a rather modest plateau of flat uplands.

Along the west side of the river, factories sprang up. The neighborhood attracted immigrants and working class people. In the early 20th Century, the area was teeming with Poles and Lithuanians, eager to work in the furniture mills that first brought national attention to Grand Rapids. As the years went on, the descendants of these immigrants became wealthier, and they moved up the hill. A sort of animosity was born between those who lived up the hill and those who lived down the hill. Nowadays, the lower west side is home to many Latino immigrants, and the animosity still exists.

A point, then, that is most interesting, is that the hill that divides the upper west side from the lower west side is home to no less than four cemeteries. At one portion of Leonard Street, a main east-west thoroughfare through the city, one passes between two cemeteries, one on each side of the road. The street cuts through the hill at a grade lower than the crest of the ridge, so the cemeteries are held back from the road by concrete embankments. As one drives through this little canyon of death, one is literally eye-level with the dead.

I consider that fact every time I drive that way, going down toward the river. Death is of course the great equalizer. The Poles and Lithuanians who worked in the factories are buried in those cemeteries. Their white-collar, suburban descendants are buried there. And, the Latinos will be buried there. One's station in life is utterly irrelevant in death on the west side, as commingling with every sort of neighbor is inevitable. The hills draw everyone together. It is especially interesting that one of the cemeteries is named Mt. Calvary, after another hill that brought humanity together.

And, I, perhaps with sensationalistic intent sometimes, make it a point to alert people of their proximity to the dead every time I pass by that way. They invariably "ooh" and "ugh", but I find it instructive. We think too little of death in our sanitary age. I would like to commend the city planner who decided to blast a road between two cemeteries, providing such a moment of reflection on an otherwise mundane urban commute. Time flies, much like the car down the hill, but death is always to be considered and prepared for - not as a morbid subject to dwell and sulk upon, but as an antidote to physical and spiritual lethargy and irresponsibility.

Tolkien on Holy Communion

"Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament… There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves on earth, and more than that: Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste (or foretaste) of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality, of eternal endurance, which every man’s heart desires.

The only cure for sagging or fainting faith is Communion. Though always Itself, perfect and complete and inviolate, the Blessed Sacrament does not operate completely and once for all in any of us. Like the act of Faith it must be continuous and grow by exercise. Frequency is of the highest effect. Seven times a week is more nourishing than seven times at intervals.

Also I can recommend this as an exercise (alas! only too easy to find opportunity for): make your communion in circumstances that affront your taste. Choose a snuffling or gabbling priest or a proud and vulgar friar; and a church full of the usual bourgeois crowd, ill-behaved children – from those who yell to those products of Catholic schools who the moment the tabernacle is opened sit back and yawn – open necked and dirty youths, women in trousers and often with hair both unkempt and uncovered. Go to communion with them (and pray for them). It will be just the same (or better than that) as a mass said beautifully by a visibly holy man, and shared by a few devout and decorous people. It could not be worse than the mess of the feeding of the Five Thousand – after which our Lord propounded the feeding that was to come."

- J.R.R. Tolkien, in a letter to his son

Lake House

I've been enjoying developing a design for a lake house that I worked on intermittently during February and March. Previously, everything was done in my sketchbooks, but over the past two days, I've been translating my hand drawings into a SketchUp model. Here's the first design sketch I began with:

Design influences include the work of Brian Mackay Lyons in Nova Scotia, the firm of Olson Kundig in Seattle, and even the work of Richard Meier in his more poetic houses. I think some of the more laudable goals of the modernist movement in architecture can be achieved more readily in a more naturalistic setting. The ability to truly take advantage of a site's topographical proclivities, for instance, is much more easily accommodated in a rural setting.

This is the model in SketchUp so far. Naturally, some things had to give a little bit in order to be accommodated. Things tend to shift as soon as real-life dimensions are applied. In a sketch, one can "draw around" difficult moments in a plan, and simply make things proportional. It is difficult to do the same in a 3 dimensional computer-measured model. This dialog between digital and analog design greatly enhances the architectural process, in my opinion.

I imagined my future self as my client. The site is a vacant sloping lot on Lake Ogemaw, in northern Michigan, where my parents have built a cottage. The lifestyle of such a house is naturally informal, and almost playful. I have attempted to have the architecture reflect such a laid-back way of living.

First Floor Plan

Second Floor Plan

The plan includes four bedrooms and three bathrooms split between two main living levels (above an unfinished basement). The main living space includes a kitchen and dining area that open up into a two-story sitting area. A covered deck is off the dining area. The second floor includes a master suite that boasts a deck that views the lake. Two smaller bedrooms and a bathroom round out the floor.

This section through the main living room shows the high ceilings and the prominent fireplace. Stairs lead to the basement mud room, which is on the main route outside to the lake.

These perspectives show views through the main living spaces of the house. In the first, the kitchen, living room, and main stair to the sleeping quarters are shown. The second shows the panoramic views over the lake from the window-lined main floor.

The house is not completely modeled yet, but it's at a good phase at the moment. It's been fun to think through how the house would be used as I've enjoyed time at my parent's cottage the past few weekends. There are interesting programmatic requirements to consider in such a place: where will the wet bathing suits be hung out to dry? where will the euchre tournaments be played? where does the grill go?

Four views of the Basilica

My favorite building in Grand Rapids is the Basilica of St Adalbert, a church I have written on previously. The sturdy building was constructed one hundred years ago by Polish immigrants. It remains a solid presence in the neighborhood and the city. I biked to the church from my house today. It was an eight mile round trip.

Champion Grandparents

The eighteen children of Francis Xavier and Delphine Pilon as photographed at their home in Bay City, Michigan in 1905. Mr. and Mrs. F.X. Pilon are my great-great-great-grandparents on my mother's side. Mr. Pilon's forbears hailed from Bayeux, Normandy, via a two-century stay in the Province of Quebec. Mrs. Pilon (nee Waters) was of mixed Belgian, French, Irish, and English ancestry, though she was born in Montreal. The couple moved to Michigan around the turn-of-the-century and lived in Bay City before eventually settling in River Rouge, a downriver suburb of Detroit.

An article in a Detroit paper in August 1936 lauded the pair as "Champion Grandparents". At press time, Mr. and Mrs. Pilon had 17 living children, 71 living grandchildren, and 54 living great-grandchildren. A mass in honor of their 60th wedding anniversary was attended by over 100 of their living descendants at the now-demolished but formerly grand church of Our Lady of Lourdes.

Delphine Pilon the younger, the third child of Francis Xavier and the elder Delphine, is my great-great-grandmother (pictured second row, second from left). She met and fell in love with Henry Hebert, scion of one of French Canada's most ancient families, whose roots go to the very foundations of the colony. She was widowed at a fairly young age, and she lived with her parents for the remainder of their lives.

A Smattering of Giles Gilbert Scott

Giles Gilbert Scott was a British architect of the first half of the 20th Century who was well known throughout the country for many of his designs. His most famous architectural commission was the Liverpool Anglican Cathedral, but he is probably best known as the designer of the iconic red London telephone booths. Apart from these well-known and well-loved designs, he was a prolific designer of smaller churches throughout the United Kingdom. Here are a few photos that describe his Mid-Century Gothic mastery. He successfully blended modern and traditional in a pleasing way, making him a good model as we go forward in uncertain economic times.

Ampleforth Abbey, Yorkshire, England

Ampleforth Abbey, Yorkshire, England

Ampleforth Abbey, Yorkshire, England

St Columba's Cathedral, Oban, Scotland

Carmelite Church, Kensington, London

Carmelite Church, Kensington, London