(MA) My Last Letter with Love

Dear Andy,

I am writing to you in shock. Vocationally and professionally, I have failed you.

Through this project, I delved into the intricate role of architecture in shaping the decisions that forge our relationships. Can it offer solace amid its starkness and the trials of existence? Undoubtedly, it played a pivotal role in a final choice. Now, as I reflect on this work, I yearn to share my inner motivations with you, hoping that through your understanding, I might find validation for my actions and, with it, a sense of peace.

I remember when you came to me, inquiring about a house you wished to be built, while expressing to me your difficulty and fear in forming relationships, and your negative connotation of love. You had just moved here, looking for a permanent residence, and possibly a friend to talk to. Through this house, I strove to embody your irrational fear and past relationship hardships, acting out rituals of the body and mapping out spaces between furniture, to cater to your moods in expressing rituals such as cooking, sleeping, and washing.

How could I treat the window? How would the glass react? Would it allow you to reflect or gaze at yourself? Could I design in Foucault's ‘great bed’ logic, in taking on the role of ritual as pleasure, expression, and nurture. Is it fair that I attempted to get a grasp of another person's psychological life in trying to design empathetically.

The small plot of land you presented for development was only a street parallel to The Hague's Red Light District. The atmosphere in this area was hostile, yet a certain fragility lingered in these Dutch streets. A fragility that, unknowingly I compared to you. How could I amplify this delicate atmosphere through the house? How could I get it to resonate with you? The façade, therefore, became the portal to connecting the exterior with the interior.

The façade treatment, not only in the district, but also in the wider Dutch context portrayed exciting notions of the relationship between subject and viewer. How far deep into a ground floor plan was I allowed to look into? How long a glance is acceptable when walking through these sexualized districts?

Glass, therefore possessed favourable characteristic, allowing me to play with opacities and orientation in relating yourself with the context. I would draw in the warmth on a cold Duthc autumn, as the sun shines on the façade. I draw you towards the façade to feel the sun on your skin, and to gaze outside and plastic, superficial acts of love. Similarly, the fragility such a crystal made of compressed air possessed was key in framing the house, and your life for society to witness on display. You never really questioned this, and accepted it, growing more distant from me with every meeting we had.

I remember consciously placing your bedroom at ground-floor, arguably the most sacred and private space. How did the space feel? Did that thin curtain I placed do justice to your privacy

or was the overlooking nature too overwhelming. I attempted to prompt unspoken dialogue between you and the neighbourhood. Could I draw people closer to you?

The illuminated box entryway did however capture your presence perfectly. I had watched you one night on your first week in the house. I saw your silhouette lit up in the red-light backdrop of the polycarbonate panels. How many times must you walk up those steps  in solitude, I wondered? How did the hot rolled, perforated steel mesh staircase feel under your feet.

There was one instance when a middle-aged man walked up the 'semi-public’ staircase while you were walking down, almost reflecting, in an opposing manner, each other's movements.

Entering the house was marked through four doorless doorframes, marked out within an existing wall. I attempted to invite the public through the doorways and into your semi-private territory, almost breaking fragile social boundaries. An informal, ambiguous invitation. This was done through marking a bicycle rack area behind the entryway, near the bedroom, and a drinking fountain on the façade. The last time we spoke, you were convinced of wanting a restroom sign stuck to the entrance. I placed this small public bathroom mirroring your bathroom, separated by frosted glass. I never saw anyone use that restroom however. I exhausted all design possibilities to induce movement through the ground floor, accounting for one to be stimulated as they walk through the doorframe past the polycarbonate sheets. You were never sold on the polycarbonate sheets, despite never telling me directly. I could see it in the way you expressed its conception. The polycarbonate however did allow for a play of light, starkly contrasting with the surroundings, yet complementing the sandblasted glass making up the rooms. The beams of red light illuminated through the plastic sheets unified external architectural elements such as the outer concrete public staircase and the brick wall entryway.

Additionally, I mirrored your internal staircase. I placed the outdoor concrete staircase directly facing your staircase, and your landings.  Deciding not to encase this outdoor concrete staircase with railings was not a clear-cut decision. I finally opted not to do so as to condition the body of who entered the house. Perceptions of care and awareness that architecture can provoke within visitors was key, as I didn't want just anyone to climb up the stairs and interact with you. In this case, your body was the text that communicated with the public, an open invitation giving people a glimpse of what its like to live such a seemingly lonely life. Was I in the wrong for wanting people to see you for who you truly were, in daily lonesome and innocent rituals. Did you notice that I wanted people to empathize with you and pity you. I pitied you.

This semi-private staircase was placed directly facing the central doorframe entryway, slightly offset back. This allowed anyone who dared to walk through to be immediately invited up. The walled doorframe was also essential as to define your territory, and enable people to acknowledge the spatial shift. Although I never saw people interact with you at higher levels, I always imagined individuals who would be so interested or empathetic with you that they might actually sit down and eat with you, or watch a game with you.

At first floor, your dining table, pushed against the glass mirrored the concrete table opposing it outside. In this way, when you would eat, you would either eat in solitude and gaze through neighboring windows, showing glimpses of family life, or you would eat with a stranger. The frosted glass would be such that you were unable to see the food through the glass, having only visible views from the shoulders upwards, from a seated position. At night. however, having your artificial indoor light on, the window acted as a two- way mirror. You could either gaze at your reflection eating in solitude, or look out at the neighbourhood.

Same goes for the living room. Although I never saw anyone sit on the concrete ‘sofa’, directly adjacent to your deep cushioned sofa separated by the frosted glass, I always imagined you watching a football game and looking over your right shoulder, seeing a silhouette of a figure sitting next to you, and vice-versa. Unfortunately, I only saw your sitting silhouette alone from ground floor, lit up by the television screen and the red light from the illuminated box.

You see, Andy, what I proposed was not only an experimental dwelling for you, but also an experiment for residents. Le Corbusier had argued that, to better understand, from a sociological standpoint, how different functions across society can operate together, there requires a deeper understanding of societies relationship with the building and greater context. The way society reacted with the house overtime, was indeed how would come to react with you. Should they have vandalized the house or disrespected your privacy through the thin glass sheet, that would deliver a certain message. However, despite the building's short life span, that did not happen.

But society did accept you Andy. I wish you could see the turnout today. You are in the papers.

Everyone came to visit the house upon hearing the news of your untimely death. They want to experience the senses the house evoked in you, as you have seemed to piqued their interest. I see a couple of people crying by the doorway, over flowers they placed on the ground for you.

They do care for you Andy. Even if it wasn't obvious.

This is by far the most difficult and painful letter I've had to write. I'm questioning this profession’s role and am unsure if my role in your life should be questioned in the eyes of the law. Did I go to for to embody a sociological role when designing the house?  The house was less a final product, but the final production (was) the event, the discovery of new territories.

These new territories we discover differently, together. I must face my shameless, conflicting acts, and you wonder through the limitless afterlife.

Why did my architecture threat you in such a way, causing you to take your own life?

I'm sorry on behalf of my architecture and may your soul find eternal rest.