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.

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.

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.

Fountain Street Church

This past weekend, while back in Grand Rapids for ArtPrize viewing, I was able to have a look inside one of my favorite downtown buildings - Fountain Street Church. Founded as a liberal Baptist church in the 19th Century, Fountain Street has remained committed to a loose doctrinal understanding of Christianity and is now someplace deep in the realm of the New Age/Unitarian Universalist/radical liberal/feminist/nonsense Department. However, that is for another day. My point in this post is to draw your attention to their fantastic worship space. The Romanesque/Byzantine hybrid happening in this church is first-rate, and is a model that we would do well to imitate in new construction.

Two Views of Blandford

These are two photos I took yesterday in the woods of the Blandford Nature Center, which is right behind my house. The area is a nice natural respite from the urban and suburban landscapes of Grand Rapids. It's very lovely in the evening.

Graduation Day

"This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad!"

The melodious sound of those immortal words from Psalm 118 reverberated elegantly through the Basilica of St Adalbert earlier this afternoon. The occasion was the Baccalaureate mass of the West Catholic High School class of 2012. We suspect that most in attendance were rejoicing and glad for any number of reasons. Ostensibly, we in attendance rejoiced for the graduates and their accomplishment of four years of secondary education well done. The students, on the other hand, were perhaps quietly rejoicing in not having to don another uniform, serve another detention, or attend another likely meaningless forum.

In any event, it is good for the community to gather and celebrate these students (my sister among them), and pray for their continuing bearing of good fruit in their post-high school lives. The setting for such celebrations and prayers, St Adalbert's, is particularly apt for the grandeur and gravity of the event. Carved angels and colorful saints adorning the cavernous interior, frozen in eternal celestial praise, added their mute support to those gathered below. Perhaps they were joined by a quiet echo of the generations of Polish Catholics who have gathered under those graceful copper domes, and whose spiritual zeal lead to the birth of West Catholic in the first place. There is a fitting symbolic crescendo of the worldwide Church, local spirit, and academic legacy in such a storied place.

His Excellency, the Most Reverend Walter Hurley, Bishop of Grand Rapids, was the chief celebrant of the Holy Mass. Though in the twilight of his time at the helm of this diocese, reaching the mandatory retirement age of seventy-five at the end of this month, the Bishop is still an able man with a quiet sort of wisdom that shone through during his remarks to the graduates during his homily. It is hard not to be inundated with banal cliches on such a momentous occasion, but the Bishop kept his gaze firmly fixed on Christ and extolled the graduates to do the same - wise words in these times of material uncertainty, tragedy, and fear.

At that singular juncture, I couldn't help but allow my thoughts to wander into that dangerous region of the mind that remembers how much I've grown since I heard similar words from the same Bishop three short years ago. At the time, I was decidedly lukewarm about the whole faith business. My, how times change. I have to imagine there were many students in attendance who are at the same point in their lives, and may yet turn toward God in new and unexpected ways. High school students have a peculiar habit of knowing everything, but the real exhilaration comes when you realize you hardly know what you know, and have no idea what you don't know. That's when God goes to work.

From the sacred realm and those cross-adorned pinnacles, the ceremonies transitioned into the more secular business of commencement within the gymnasium. I love the formality of the graduation ceremonies - pomp and circumstance indeed. It all raises the mind to the seriousness of the event and the responsibilities that come with the eventual transition into adulthood. In due course, speeches were spoken, diplomas were conferred, and all of the usual suspects said all of the usual things - with great clarity and grace. It was all very dignified and nice. It is one of the benefits of a small school with a small graduating class that allows a more decorous pace of things than at one of those huge student-factories where one is forced to labor through four hundred or so names, leaving hardly a moment for a more intimate discussion of the day.

Pictures were taken in copious number, rivaled only by the number of congratulations bestowed upon the graduates. Kayla was soon whisked off to the Senior All Night Party - an old West Catholic tradition, a sort of last-hurrah if you will. We were left to our own devices and soon made our way to the Walker Roadhouse, one of the most prominent West Side establishments, for some appetizers. Also in attendance at the restaurant was nearly all of what I shall call West Catholic society. In other words, a lot of people we know were there (including the Bishop and another priest of the diocese). I love having a place like the Roadhouse in town. It's the sort of place that I can see myself becoming a regular at (if I haven't already).

Thus ended Graduation Day. We here send all of our best wishes to the Class of 2012, that as they step out to a world roiled with change, they might take with them their knowledge and their virtues and change the world. A special congratulations to my sister, of whom I am so very proud.

Proposed Chapel Redesign

Regular readers of this blog (if you are, I'm terribly sorry) will no doubt be familiar with my penchant for coming up with conceptual or theoretical designs, sometimes for renovations of places that already exist. Such is the case with this post. My high school has a chapel for perpetual adoration, where the Sacred Host is exposed on the altar throughout the school year, so that students are able to avail themselves of prayerful time spent before Our Lord. Members of the community are also welcome to come pray throughout the school day.

Currently (I was there today filling in for my mom during her usual prayer hour), the chapel is in a rather sorry state. I do not have a photograph, but picture if you will a standard-height room with concrete block walls, three narrow blueish-green stained glass windows, an altar that looks like it belongs on a spaceship, and pious clutter of every possible description. In short, it's a bit of a holy mess, making it an uninspiring place to spend time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament.

Thus, since I had nothing better to do this afternoon, I spent a bit of time imagining what such a chapel could look like if it were shown a bit of tender loving care and a few spare bucks. The results of my imaginative scribblings are shown below:

 

The first, most profound, change is the height of the space. Since this chapel is located near the front of the one-story school, raising its exterior profile speaks to the priorities of Catholic education to the wider public, while the added interior volume results in a room more able to inspire thoughts of heavenly things. Structurally, this addition could be accomplished rather easily by simply continuing the concrete block walls an additional story.

The rest of the changes amount to some liturgical reorganization, clarification, and beautification. The altar remains the focus of the chapel, though it has been replaced by a more noble and beautiful model of (preferably) red stone. A small tabernacle and space for candlesticks are provided on the small ledge immediately above and behind the altar. The reredos, or altarpiece, is imagined as a mosaic illustration of the Divine Mercy encased within a gilded, red-stained, wood frame. The words Jezu Ufam Tobie crown the composition. These words were revealed to St. Faustina along with the image of the Divine Mercy and are translated as Jesus, I Trust in You.  

The iconographic program of the Divine Mercy was chosen, in part, because of its connections with Poland. The west side of Grand Rapids is known for its Polish heritage, and many students of my high school are of Polish descent. Of course, the image and message of the Divine Mercy are things which are very pressing for our times and would be of great spiritual reassurance to those who frequent the chapel. Another, more subtle, nod to Grand Rapids' Polish Catholic heritage is the colored bands of stone composing the pilasters on both sides of the altar. A similar coloration pattern can be found on the columns of the Basilica of St Adalbert - one of Grand Rapids' finest churches, a monument to Polish immigrant faith, and the location of my high school's baccalaureate mass each May.

In doing this little exercise, it was tempting to treat the space as larger and grander than it is or needs to be. Small spaces and projects are always a little trickier because they force the designer to be succinct about the visual points he or she is making. I stuck with one iconographic program, a warm color scheme, a limited palette of materials, and a rather straightforward composition in order to make this little chapel someplace dignified and beautiful without being cluttered.

I'd be pleased to hear what you think.

Thoughts on ArtPrize, Three Years On

This past weekend I was home (yet again) and paid another visit to downtown Grand Rapids. It was the final weekend of the annual two-and-a-half week spectacle known as ArtPrize. Founded in 2009 by Amway heir and entrepreneur, Rick DeVos, ArtPrize is a radical and profound community event. Open to any artist that can find a venue (in the defined downtown district), the competition is voted on by the general public and comes with a $250,000 grand prize - the largest art prize in the world. The event has energized Grand Rapids intensely - estimates say that it has a $7 million dollar economic impact each year, and that this year 400,000 people visited.

All that said, however, ArtPrize has its detractors. Many claim that because of its democratic voting process and open-to-all mentality, good art is not necessarily rewarded. There was considerable outcry from the so-called art snobs when the top ten were announced this year. They were, in my opinion, not the best entries. Others claim that ArtPrize is nothing but a huge publicity stunt for Grand Rapids.

However, my opinion is that the democratization of art is a good thing - especially in our current economic times when the arts are the first to see the axe in federal, state and local budgets. Since ArtPrize is essentially free for artists (aside from material costs), there is no downside to creating good art, even if it does not win in the end. Even if a certain piece of art is only seen by a fraction of the ArtPrize crowds, it can still have an impact on a viewer's thinking. I have had this experience many times.

Of course, it's the large, showy, cool pieces of art in prime locations that will always win the competition. I hate to burst that bubble for all of you, but simple math seems to support me here. If you have a good location, you increase views of your art, leading to an increase in votes for your art. Perhaps this where a possible improvement can come in - having venues be more discerning in what pieces of art they allow to be displayed on their premises.

In any event, the competition was never meant to be an end-all decision on the merits of any particular art - Rick DeVos said as much when he ignited the competition three years ago. It's purpose was to create a huge public forum for discussing art. In that respect, any ArtPrize event will be a success. It has generated a huge public response every year from a variety of media outlets, and, given the ever-changing nature of art, this will likely continue.

Yet another lens through which to view ArtPrize is its effect on Grand Rapids' image as a city. Young people are attracted to cities with vibrant urban life. In order to stop the Michigan brain drain, cities like Grand Rapids need to get serious about their urban strategies. Young people, having by and large lived most of their lives in soulless suburbs, want someplace to live that has vibrance and excitement. Now, of course, economic development of a city cannot happen overnight, and cannot happen simply on the back of a two-week event each year. However, events like ArtPrize can get people interested in downtown. People have to love a place before they will want to change it for the better. ArtPrize is a way to help people fall in love with all that Grand Rapids has to offer.

They Don't Make 'Em Like That Anymore

"They don't make 'em like that anymore" is one of those phrases that one hears quite a bit in our topsy-turvey maelstrom of Postmodern America. Sometimes it refers to a sturdily crafted toaster or to a car with enough steel to emerge from the Battle of Britain unscathed, but oftentimes the phrase is whispered at buildings that catch one's eye for their beauty and fine craftsmanship that seem inimitable in our current societal situation. The phrase provokes a symphony of questions: when did our craftsmanship stop? why don't we care about classical notions of beauty anymore? is this even economical these days? Why, indeed, don't they make 'em like that anymore?

The full answer involves a long, tedious slog through the history of modern architecture whose chief and original goal was to destroy ornament and create "machines for living." For brevity's sake I will simply say that architects of the day such as Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Le Corbusier, and their fellow Modernist windbags sought (whether they knew it or not) to de-humanize architecture. The result litters America's cities to this day. The city hall of my hometown of Grand Rapids is a chief example of this "progress": a noble Gothic Revival edifice (pictured at left) was torn down to make room for two black glass boxes. Tragedies like that happened nationwide during the decades after the Second World War leaving us with dry, lifeless shells of structure that care nothing for their physical or human surroundings.

So, when we see buildings from an earlier time, buildings that involved the dedication and effort of the community and the skilled labor of artisans, we are rightly awed. Awed, and perhaps - like me - a bit disgusted at what we have sacrificed on the altar of progress. 

My goal, as a future architect, is to make 'em like they used to. People deserve better buildings; our survival as a culture demands them. 

When Germans Come to Town

Well, distinguished readers, it has been awhile since I've written anything, so I want to update everyone as to the recent goings-on this side of the computer. I haven't blogged in a great long time because of a very happy set of circumstances caused chiefly by the visit to the US of my good friend Florian - of Weil am Rhein, Germany. You may recall some of my posts dealing with my grand tour of the Continent that transpired last May. Those wonderful travels grew out of my visit to him, for which I will ever be thankful. So, long story short, he has been staying in Grand Rapids with me and my family since June 10th and will depart for his home on July 5th.

In the time that he has been here, we have attempted to survey as much of the Midwest as possible, for he did not get much opportunity for travel while he was here on exchange (the genesis of our friendship was caused by him attending my high school my senior year). Chief among the places we sampled was the great city of Chicago. It is one of those cities that never really gets old - this, I believe, was my sixth (give or take) visit. Skyscrapers were gazed at, deep-dish pizza was ingested, and a grand time was had by all.

We shifted gears from the epitome of urban to the epitome of rural as we journeyed from Chicago to the humble town of Nappanee, Indiana (probably my sixth or seventh visit there as well). Several readers of this blog are residents of Nappanee and they were gracious hosts to the two of us. Seeing the Amish was a highlight for Florian and provided a nice contrast to the hustle and bustle of the big city. On our return from Nappanee, we stopped off at the University of Notre Dame to enjoy the sights and atmosphere of that august institution.

Since then, we have stayed closer to home, with a weekend visit to the cottage (involving an entire cohort of the Schmalzel-Mitera clan, in addition to my lovely girlfriend), and a trip to Lake Michigan to enjoy the sun and sand. This past Tuesday, a party was held in Florian's honor which brought together many old friends from high school that I have not seen in some time. The jovial company lasted into the wee hours.

The greatest adventure, however, surely lies ahead. Tomorrow, at the shocking hour of 5am, we (my family, plus Florian, plus my sister's boyfriend) depart for a ten day escapade featuring such locations as Niagara Falls, Upstate New York, Boston, Acadia National Park, and the Province of Quebec. Several of the places on the itinerary will be new to all of us (Quebec City, Acadia, and Boston), while Upstate New York is an old family favorite and Montreal featured on my architecture field trip last October.

Keep us in your prayers for safe travels and the maintenance of everyone's sanity as we embark on what will surely be a memorable week. When I return, expect blogs on a number of things that have occurred recently (Pentecost, Corpus Christi) as well as my thoughts on issues as diverse as the Republican Presidential candidates to the necessity of streetcars in urban Grand Rapids. Until then, Arrivederci!

St. Mary's Church, Grand Rapids

The other day, since I'm unemployed and have nothing better to do (having already filled out my fair-share of job applications), I went down to the Lower West Side, a Grand Rapids neighborhood that was once home to many different groups of European immigrants. The legacy of these ethnic groups lives on in the ecclesiastical architecture they left behind (there are four impressive Catholic churches within the neighborhood: Sacred Heart of Jesus, St. James, St. Adalbert, and St. Mary). Most delightful, in my opinion, is the church of St. Mary. It was constructed by German immigrants and completed in 1873, making it the second-oldest extant Catholic church in Grand Rapids after the Cathedral of St. Andrew. The structure is neo-Gothic in style, reaching back to the Gothic architectural heritage of Germany. The bell tower, completed in 1884, is a Grand Rapids landmark that can be seen from the main highways, soaring to a height of 200 feet.

Inside the church, the neo-Gothic-ness really gets going. Spires, pointed arches, and a riot of color fill the nave and sanctuary with visual interest. The 24 large stained glass windows tell the saga of salvation through scenes from the lives of Mary and Jesus. Two side altars, one dedicated to the Virgin Mary and one to St. Joseph, are decorated with statues of other saints important to the heritage of the immigrant church-builders. Nowadays, a shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe stands next to the Mary altar; a sign of the changing demographics of the diocese and American Catholicism as a whole.

Above is a panoramic view of the nave of the church, looking toward the sanctuary. Visible on the left is the side altar dedicated to St. Mary, and the right is the altar dedicated to St. Joseph. The main altar is also quite magnificent, placed beneath several marvelous stained-glass windows in the apse.

A Stab at SketchUp New Urbanism

Hello Readers, and a Happy New Year to all! I have taken a much-needed break recently to spend some quality time with family and friends and to enjoy the spirit of the holiday season. Blogging, and texting, facebooking and tweeting, to a point, were put on the back-burner. Which brings me to a new year for the blog. About a year and a half ago, when one of my friends suggested I start blogging, I scoffed and avoided the idea. Now, to date I have posted 177 times on this site, and very much enjoy doing it. Blogging provides me with another means of creativity, and a measure of intellectual discipline, and I hope the things I share spark some sort of interest in you as well.

That being said, I thought for the first post of the new year I'd switch gears a little bit, having been swamped in December with liturgical and Catholic topics a-plenty in the Advent and Christmas seasons. For January, I thought I'd try to keep the religious topics at bay for a bit, and let my two or three "big topics" ferment in the old brain for a little while longer. My focus, then, will be on design, with special emphasis on urban design and architecture in general.

My first little new year's venture into this, my future field, occurred just last week. An artistic explosion (art attack, if you will) gripped me, and in a fury of creativity, I produced a little scheme for a suburban node in an older Grand Rapids neighborhood in the New Urbanist mode.

New Urbanism is something that many of my readers are probably unfamiliar with, so I shall explain a bit. The basic philosophy of New Urbanism is the same as that of Old Urbanism, i.e. how cities grew before the over-active and consumerism-dominated twentieth century. The major premise of New Urbanism is that the way to have healthy and better-functioning cities is to facilitate personal contact and a sense of community fostered by walkable streets, a decreased dependence on all things automobile, and human-scaled developments. This is how cities developed for all but sixty years of human history, but those sixty years wreaked havoc on urban centers and ballooned development into unsustainable suburbia.

New Urbanism seeks to rekindle the 'sense of place' that is brought about by a city in which people feel comfortable, and thus a connection to. The ways that this sense of place is achieved are many, but there are a few focuses such as mixed-use buildings, human-scaled streets, and connectivity that are commonalities among most New Urban developments. My little schema is an attempt to bring some of these good qualities of a healthy neighborhood into a small corner (literally) of Grand Rapids.

The site is at the corner of Garfield and Dayton streets in the Lower West Side. Garfield runs north-south and is one block east of John Ball Park, a green asset to the community. Dayton runs east-west between the park and the rest of the neighborhood. Sacred Heart of Jesus Church fronts Garfield, and a parking lot is across Garfield from the Church. The neighborhood is mostly lower middle class, and was once populated by Polish immigrants (who built the church). Nowadays, it is still not a rich place. Businesses in the area are pretty few, mostly confined to Fulton Street (a main Grand Rapids arterial road) a few blocks to the north. The neighborhood, in short, has no sense of place and is in no way distinguished from any other neighborhood in the Lower West Side.

I am not trying to present a case that this scheme is at all economically possible, but I do suggest that it would improve the character and sense of community in the neighborhood. The rough layout is of five multistory units arranged along the north side of Dayton street, across from the church parking lot. They range from two to four stories, with the shorter unit being on the end of the development that ends further along Dayton street, so as to meet the scale of the surrounding two-story houses. The corner of Dayton and Garfield is occupied by a three-story unit with its entrance on the corner, so that Garfield street is not neglected attention.

Uses are split vertically, with business uses designated for the street level and living areas above. The second unit in from Garfield street is a four-story townhouse that I designed selfishly as a residence for myself. Each unit fronts the sidewalk and street directly, without the interference of parking lots that separate the passer-by from the business. Additionally, the sidewalk space provides space for outdoor seating. Service entries are on Watson street (i.e. 'the back').

The style of each of the units is based on a Grand Rapids historic precedent. The use of local, traditional styles help reinforce the sense of belonging in the neighborhood, so that the development does not seem like a foreign object inserted into the site, but as something that is supposed to be there.

Mixed-use and the re-marriage of living and working is a sustainable alternative to living in the suburbs and commuting via a smog-emitting two-ton hunk of steel. For instance: I could live in the townhouse, work next door in a firm, grab coffee on the way to work at the corner shop, walk to the park on my lunch break, and grab a few groceries from the market next door on my way home. Sundays I could walk across the street for mass, and bike downtown in the afternoon. All of this without using an ounce of gasoline.