Time travel for us is an alien concept, something out of science fiction; an impossibility. But for architecture, time travel it is the native language. A building exists simultaneously in the past and present. It is compressed time. It is given a window of time, from its construction to its demolition, to navigate through time. Through architecture, we may see into the past and sense the lingering presence of our ancestors who once inhabited it. But to travel though space - something that we humans take for granted - is for a building the strangest sensation, the rarest oddity. In preparation for this trip, we spread out various models from past projects on the workbench and the studio floor. Deciding what to take with, none had the resonance of the farmhouse; our first model. The house is born of the collective memories of our ancestral past, upon the farmlands of the Midwest. Though we leave for other places, it follows us once again. Uprooted from its foundation, no longer tied to the earth, this, our precursor to the mobile home, travels west with us in search of alien landscapes, emptiness, the void. Other items that have hitched a ride include a gallery pedestal, a shovel and rake, two bicycles, 36 4” white cubes, 2 bags of lump charcoal, a couple of costumes and of course, a camera. We begin our travels through the farmlands of Wisconsin, Iowa and Nebraska, and the model house emits audible creaks from the cargo hold, watching through widows the old farmsteads of the Midwest rolling by, each in its place, still anchored to the soil. The old farmhouse bears witness to its kin for the first and last time.
Thursday, May 19
Forms of Travel
Time travel for us is an alien concept, something out of science fiction; an impossibility. But for architecture, time travel it is the native language. A building exists simultaneously in the past and present. It is compressed time. It is given a window of time, from its construction to its demolition, to navigate through time. Through architecture, we may see into the past and sense the lingering presence of our ancestors who once inhabited it. But to travel though space - something that we humans take for granted - is for a building the strangest sensation, the rarest oddity. In preparation for this trip, we spread out various models from past projects on the workbench and the studio floor. Deciding what to take with, none had the resonance of the farmhouse; our first model. The house is born of the collective memories of our ancestral past, upon the farmlands of the Midwest. Though we leave for other places, it follows us once again. Uprooted from its foundation, no longer tied to the earth, this, our precursor to the mobile home, travels west with us in search of alien landscapes, emptiness, the void. Other items that have hitched a ride include a gallery pedestal, a shovel and rake, two bicycles, 36 4” white cubes, 2 bags of lump charcoal, a couple of costumes and of course, a camera. We begin our travels through the farmlands of Wisconsin, Iowa and Nebraska, and the model house emits audible creaks from the cargo hold, watching through widows the old farmsteads of the Midwest rolling by, each in its place, still anchored to the soil. The old farmhouse bears witness to its kin for the first and last time.
