A City of Observers

From the upper level of the Whole Foods Market at 6^th and Lamar one can see a piece of a city of lights. One can see the surrounding businesses with all of their signs lit up, drawing in capitalistic profit, waiting for their purpose to be realized, watching the street below in contempt. Some of the signs try to be flashy, using shock value to entice. Others try to be simple, discrete, allowing their nature to be demure and patience to get them through the boredom. And yet still others are simply there, neither enticing nor calm, lacking any kind of attitude that might increase profits or bring notoriety to their store. These are the worst; these are the ones that allow the eye to pass over easily, only to be drawn back because no information was gained with the first glance. They are cruel and meaningless, a trick of the eye meant to distract from the daily circus. These lights are a city of observers and are thereby meant to be observed.

The interior city of lights is much brighter, much more consistent in its luminescence. From the upper level one can see all of the supporting threads that hold up this canopy of light over the market below. This intermediate region, between the ceiling and the roof, is a city in and of itself; a city behind a city, lighting it up and making it possible. But this city’s height makes it impossible to attain, to interact with. It, too, is a city of observers and is thereby meant to be observed, but never reached.

The city of car lights is one that is constantly moving. It wraps around buildings and people, avoiding them at all costs. These lights are dynamic, ever changing, ever important. Even their colors signify something. Even the shape of the lights signifies the style and cost of the attached vehicle. These lights tell the story of their body. They glow when moving, some glow brighter when stopping, some glow when moving backward, some flash when turning, and some flash when in trouble. By simply making note of these lights and their behavior over time, one can say with a degree of certainty where the body has been and by which routes it got there. It may even be said that these lights are more important than the body they are attached to, but never more important than the body they protect, the body all of these lights are meant to interact with, but never directly. The city of car lights is one meant to protect and warn. It is only to be observed and never reached.

Man is the reason these lights exist. These silent cities of light are all tools and observers to the city of man that happens around them. They entice man, they help man, and they protect man. They do not, however, interact directly with man. This is of the utmost importance, for if they were to do so they would lose their ephemeral quality, and ironically, in order to do so, they would have to lose their ephemeral quality. For that reason, they will always be a city of observers, meant to be observed, but never reached.

From a Rooftop

Here at the edge of this building I am able to experience the distinct worlds that make up the city, but to really understand our surroundings one has to see every component of these different realms. I am able to perceive sights, sounds, and movements swirling around the various buildings and people I can see from my position at the edge. I am physically in this position, yet I feel a stronger connection to the experiences happening beyond it.

Straight ahead I see buildings starting to fill up with light as the sun goes down, giving  glimpse to the movement happening inside. A few like the large tower under construction remain unlit, and one can  only imagine the vitality it will gain once it is inhabited. In reality these views would seem static and dead if it wasn't for the people that inhabit it. People move in and out of the parking lot below and drive, walk or run to unknown destinations; each at their own pace. They become part of the rhythmic sound of the traffic on either side. 

The city exists through the motion its inhabitants create, and the constant interactions it creates. The path of an object's movement will cross the paths of  many others, thus crating the complex web where everything is connected.

moments of experience

I sit in a downtown cafe looking out the window watching the light fade
The music plays loud enough to hear-but not overwheling
I sit facing the window-my back turned to the commotion inside
A group of four sit to my left, a group of architects talking about their work
I drink a warm coffee-mainly because I felt obligated, since I plan to be here for a while
The darker it becomes-the more traffic starts to increase
people continue to walk by in front of me on the sidewalk

I see cars maving past-moving from one destination to the next
I am siting in a public place-a socoil gathering where we come for a moment
A group to my left talks business
I am physically segregated from the street-yet visually it is what attracts me
many people pass by on the sidewalk, looking into the window curiously
there is a connection between myself and those that pass by for a brief moment
the rest of my sense are consumed by this interior environment
the music, the coffee, conversations
I hear conversations of the people sitting around me-catching bits and pieces
The mood is relaxing
Lights on trees illuminate the sidewalk

P.O. Box

People are coming in and out, filing through the door, taking a number, and sorting with their hands. Everyone converges at this point, at this axis of communication, only to reach someone further away. A part of everyone belongs here, though. Hundreds of people claim one of the numbered boxes lining the single-faced wall. From here, there are invisible lines that connect people everywhere. Not just people, but points on a map. Specific addresses link one box to another, and routes are paved leading from this very spot. At the busiest time of day people are getting impatient. They see this clearly as a drop-off point and ignore the others while they wait to send out their postage. Everyone keeps it strictly business in this naturally casual environment.

Reading a Space

Halcyon Coffe/Bar/Lounge:

6:30pm: Halcyon is located in the warehouse district of downtown Austin on the corner of 4^th and Lavaca. In examining the nature of the space, I experienced mixed emotions. Maybe these emotions are partly altered do to the fact that I spilt hot tea on myself since I was uninformed how to operate the self-brewing mechanism of the hot tea kettle, but also in part to the “triality” of the interior space.

Description of the space is as follows: there is a long over-sized bar located along the back wall of the shop. Various bottles of liquor are house on cubical-like shelves, along with coffee brewing machines, and a few assorted fruits and pastries are housed around the register area. The “lounge space” is occupied by a variety of lime-green sofa chairs, bar stools, tall tables, and niches. There are large double-hung windows on each street façade, along with a garage door window facing Lavaca Street. The atmosphere is that of a modern coffee/ lounge geared toward the younger, social crowd.

The first half hour or so, the space seemed more public and attempted to invite people in from the streets, the lighting of the space was normal, well lit, but as the night proceeded the staff reduced the lighting eventually to candles. This simple gesture greatly altered how I, as an individual, experienced the space. It went from an open, “jamming” bar to an intimate social lounge.

During my hour and half tenure at Halcyon, I noticed a variety of people inhabiting the space. Three young business men sat in the lounge booth next to me and were in a heated conversation and debate on financing issues and the global market. A few couples sat at tables, whispering intimacies to one another, and a few people sat at the bar or were on their computer. A group of girls roasted marsh mellows in a booth in the corner and were constantly giggling and taking pictures. Furthermore, I noticed that most people were in groups or at least pairs, which arose the question of why so few singles in a place such as this?

My mixed emotions of the space derive out of the fact the shop attempts to be three things at once: a bar, a coffee shop, and a lounge. I have contrasting emotions about the shop because it can change in such a short period of time. Why can it not be a coffee shop with a lounge, or a bar with a lounge, etc. Where is the hierarchy? Some may argue that the multi-functionality of the space makes it successful; to me it was almost confusing. However, I eventually enjoyed my stay at Halcyon but it took a good hour for that enjoyment to settle in.

A walk through downtown

After my visit to Halcyon, I wondered around downtown, sometimes following groups of people heading to 6^th street, other times wondering solo, simply observing the city around me. This gave me time to digest the excerpts from Calvino’s Invisible Cities and make observations on the city of Austin and how I could relate the readings to personal experiences and observations. In Cities and the Sky I found it interesting in how Perinthia was laid out according to the axis and lines of certain constellations and heavens found in the sky. Likewise, I thought of the logic behind the organization of the city of Austin and how it has altered and changed overtime. It is also interesting to note as the city evolves, so do its inhabitants. In the next chapter, I found it interesting in how one perceives the city differently based on their location. From personal experience, I have viewed Austin from a variety of locations and each spot yields a different view of the city, thus a different perception. Throughout the reading, I found many ways to relate personal experiences to the examples found in the excerpt. From the tangled network of canals and streets in Esmeralda to the intersecting system of trails and roads in Austin, each section of the reading made me analyze and view the urbanity of the city in a different light.

The Hideout 7th and Congress Ave.

9:19pm: Although classified as a coffee shop much like Halcyon, The Hideout has a drastically different atmosphere. The space seems to be more individualistic. I say individualistic because there is only one couple in the shop, everyone else is reading, listing, and eating, etc. by themselves. The Hideout is what it is: A coffee shop. I felt comfortable as soon as I walked in. I kicked my feet up on a chair and listened to the live music playing, for I did not have to endure the loud, annoying speakers such as that at Halcyon. I often found myself pausing during my readings and writings to listen to the lyrics of the songs the two-man band was playing, and one caught my hear which was titled, “Show me Home.” This further enhanced my thought, for I began to analyze how one begins to call the city their home. “Home” is such an intimate and personal word and each individual has some inner reason of why a certain place is their home. It is interesting to observe how a conglomeration of impersonal, inanimate materials can be arranged to greatly alter ones experience, physically, psychologically, and spiritually until eventually they call the place their home. (Although one must keep in mind there is a wide range of scales when referring to “home,” i.e. Texas is my home, but not all of Texas, Austin is my home, but not all of Austin, my yellow house on Fruth Street is my home, but not the entire house. There are so many different levels and intimacies associated with the world “home!” In analyzing a topic such as this, it is crucial that the architect address and investigate the varying scales associated with each project.) Back to the topic at hand: However, one criticism that I have against The Hideout is that I wish there were more solo seating arrangements, but this criticism could be based on the nature and timing of my experience, for I do not know how the atmosphere of this coffee shop is during peak hours. Although located on Congress Avenue, my experience was calm and gratifying. I had little urge to ponder life passing by on the street; I was content with what was happening inside.

true story -- epoch

Windows are amazing: they let you see things that aren’t visible. Warmth, for example. You sit outside a coffee shop in the middle of January for a few hours looking at the spidery tree branches silhouetted against the faded indigo sky and watching the vapor from your breath mingle with the delicate curls of smoke unfurling from strangers’ cigarettes, and then you look inside and see all these cushy armchairs and couches and all these people lounging comfortably on them and this yellow light creeping up these rich, orange-y walls and you think, “damn, if I were in there, my feet wouldn’t be frozen.” But then, a perfect stranger asks why you and your friend are sitting all the way over there and invites you to come join his group, based off nothing more than a loose acquaintance – a friend of a friend of your friend – and now you can’t feel the cold anymore.

That’s sort of a lie: you’re still shivering, your feet are now not only frozen, but numb, and the loss of feeling is creeping up your legs, but it doesn’t matter as much anymore. These people – these complete strangers – are somehow inexplicably friends now. One asks you to sit next to her for warmth, not content until you actually rest your arm on her leg. One offers you a cigarette. One makes a necklace for you with tools he, for some reason, had in his car out of a bottle cap given to you by the only person you actually know here. They talk with you as equals, and laugh with you, and simply accept you without thinking twice. No consequences, no restraint, and somehow, you’re the newest member of their unspoken brotherhood.

This is why I love this place. Complete strangers, right? But you can share your life with them, knowing full well that in the long run, they really don’t care, but for that hour, that minute, that moment…well, maybe they do. Maybe it’s just the night. You know what I mean, right? Nighttime does funny things to people. You can talk about nothing but talk about it forever and have it be the kind of talk that you’ll remember for a long time as a good talk even though you’ll probably never remember what it was you actually talked about. Everything becomes more meaningful. But then again, maybe it’s not…maybe it’s just the city.

Austin is the kind of place where this sort of thing happens all the time. We are such an apathetic generation, but despite that, a stranger will sometimes open a door for you, or wish you a good night even though you had no money or food to give him, or stand on a sidewalk holding a sign that reads “FREE HUGS”. I’m the kind of person that smiles at people I don’t know, and it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one. It’s a sort of affirmation to the faith I have left in humanity.

Yeah, it’s freezing out here…but somehow inside doesn’t look so enticing anymore.

There is no one visiting loved ones today, the day is cold enough to chill bones in the grave. The only sound comes from the wind blowing through the trees and disturbing the fallen leaves, and all around all I can see are the trees, tombstones, and low income homes. I feel at peace in this place with those who have already found it, not because of their presence but rather by the environment that surrounds them. The murmor of the highway in the invisible distance is reminiscent of the motion of the ocean, which speaks its own peace in what lies beneath the turbulance. Some how the sound of peace for those put to rest beneath this east Austin earth has the same significance, except that it is limited by the harsh reality brought by a barb wired fence. Despite the sound of the wind and the highway, the scene still seems serene and silent, which is interupted slightly when a car passes by. Through the bare limbs I can make out the Austin skyline and new baseball stadium, and I'm brought back to my position in this east Austin neighborhood. The architecture of the cemetary is sparse, with only a brick utility building from the early 1800's and a number of classical looking mausoleums; but the numerous gravestones, varying in size, shape, and color, give the site a unique architectural character. The gravel roads wind around in figure eights, and are there more for maintainence rather than convenience of visitors, who would have to walk only an eighth of a mile from one end to the other, and realistically only half that distance since the entrance from Comal is at near center. The trees along the main, central, linear roadway are cut away to frame a view of the Texas capitol building, which is the only other building you could see in summer and spring. This place has an interesting quality because it is a site that is inhabitted by the dead but serves the living.