Built World: Personal Essay
I think about my mail that still arrives somewhere there. Discounts to Boots, catalogs from John Lewis, and the odd flyer from a local painter. I think about my juice man who delivered brightly colored pressed juices every week. I think about my local coffee shop, where they knew my name and order and asked me about the Jersey Shore. I think about the farmer's market and local grocery store. I think about the 7:52 am train to Twickenham, and I think about the city in which this all happened.
The city of London has been deeply seared into my mind, like a brand on a cow or a grill on a steak. I can recall every step from my flat to the train, every split and odd brick along the platform. Like a memory jolting smell, a cologne from an old lover, a certain soffit or tile, even specific wood floorings and window frames place me within the city. I see evidence of London wherever I go; a simple starling in the park transports me to my freshman dorm, a small 6' by 10' box with a striking arched hoodmould window. The window opened unabashedly, screenless, above the small campus courtyard. A starling or two occasionally flew in when I attempted to get some air.
A glimpse of white-painted brick brings me to Kensington, where I am sipping on a vibrant orange spritz outside an ivy-covered pub. A trip to the loo is a dimly lit maze of deeply stained cherry. Shallow-roofed corridors intersect swinging kitchen doors.
The sight of skinny doorframes and tightly wound switch-back stairs takes me to Richmond, where I am engulfed by rows of Victorian and Georgian homes comfortably nestled into one another. I am unsure if I am knocking on the correct door, round ornate gold knocker in hand. Up the long, narrow, and steep stairs, the damp smell of earth still feels close by.
I think about these minuscule elements that weigh heavily in my mind's eye, what I am afforded by remembering buildings in this way. Architecture has transcended just the building; it is intrinsically linked to memories, towns, streets, and people. I cannot recall my first Putney apartment without thinking of the building's reliance on clunky old skeleton keys or the building's crumbling brick cladding and the smell of the mortar that fixed it. The buildings of London became beacons in which I could orient myself. Piano's Shard, Foster's Gerkin, Vinoly's Walkie Talkie, Roger's Lloyd Building, Big Ben. They are all planets that I orbited. A map defined by stature. Being in their company was like a desperate act of improvement, a love letter to my future. I am lucky that in the presence of simple brick and amongst the everyday marble of a countertop, I have fond and vivid memories that arise. Like finally being fit for the right prescription and wondering how you went so long without it. Architecture has infilled a missing piece in how I remember and understand space.
It is not my intention to be inauthentically profound, in that ‘architecture has taught me what nothing else could’, but more that architecture has been the link to so many pieces of information that might have otherwise gone unnoticed or unappreciated. Architecture serves as a lens through which we can understand history, culture, society, technology, and even the human condition itself. It bridges gaps between disciplines, revealing connections and insights that might otherwise remain hidden. Cities like London are so rich in all of these elements; each corner has a story to tell, but this richness and fullness come with time, like vivid memories,time is a key ingredient that can not be replicated or artificially produced it cannot be bought or given it just is. These buildings have such immense stories to tell from their time and place in history, stories that echo through their walls and resonate with every passerby. As I think of my time in London, I see that its architecture is not merely a backdrop but an active participant in shaping my experiences and memories. I will see red brick and see Chelsea, or floating homes in skinny winding channels and see Paddington. My time there remains present through its buildings; I am still there so long there are still bricks and windows and kettles full of tea. One day, in my own buildings, I will place these little elements unbeknownst to anyone but me and remember where they came from and hope to never forget.