I Said I Would Never Do It

Blog, that is.

Then again, I said I wouldn’t do a lot of things:

  • buy a digital camera
  • get facebook
  • get a cellphone
  • get an e-reader

Yeah, so I tend to dig my heels in when it comes to new technology. I own all of these items now (well, the last one was a gift), so I guess I come around eventually.

In university, my friends joked that I was so behind the times. More than behind the times. Before my brother generously gave me his old iPod a few years ago when he upgraded, I was still carrying around a discman. Well, I didn’t carry it around too often for obvious reasons (i.e. social embarrassment). I ran without music in my ears and struck up a lot more conversations than I do now with people sitting beside me on buses and trains.

My “home” bus station in Ottawa

I signed up for facebook on the last day of undergrad – my attempt at doing something “dramatic” to celebrate this significant day, something that my peers had persistently pressured me to get for four years, and here I was, finally giving in and making it a much bigger deal than it deserved. In hindsight, the timing wasn’t so great either. With two weeks of exams still to study for, I had to fend off a new and highly potent form of distraction that normal students who got fb in first year had already learned to (somewhat) manage.

The next year when I moved to Victoria for my Master’s program, I capitulated and got a cell phone, after realizing my mom, like usual, was right. My landlord would likely not have a phone I could use for long-distance calls and it was time for me to become more “connected.” The Telus guy looked at me incredulously.

“Seriously? You’ve never owned a cell phone before?”

“Nope. Is it really that weird? I’m sure you’ve seen other people like me before?”

“Yeah, I have. It’s just that they’re usually over 65.”

“Oh.”

Considering this history, I suppose it was kind of ironic I chose a title for my blog that has such strong associations with cell phones . . .

textingthecity started a year ago today because of 2 things:

1)   the anticlimactic moment after defending my Master’s thesis and realizing, “hey, I still really love my topic and want to keep talking about architexturewho can I talk to?”

readers, thanks for letting me talk with you!

2)   boredom, needing something to fill my time between sending out resumé after countless resumé

dog days in Victoria

And guess what? I’m really enjoying this blogging thing. For someone who associates the day she got a cell phone with the word “traumatic,” I’ve come a long way. (In my defense, it was a smart phone, okay? to go from nothing to that was mildly overwhelming). And my favourite part? The community of people and their words, art, and interests I’ve been gratefully introduced to.

 

A brief look at where textingthecity has been:

It was born in Victoria in a yellow room

It travelled to Ottawa and New York to follow Mondrian and learn a lesson in expectations and reality.

It relaxed in Hawaii’s pacific waves.

It vicariously went to London through the hopes and heartbreaks of Olympic athletes.

It frequently returns to its home base of Vancouver, through such characters as a feline hotel guest and storytelling windows.

For this coming year of blogging, I hope to feature more examples of urban art, literature, and architecture outside of Vancouver, whether or not I actually travel there myself. So yes, I hope to change it up a bit more on here . . .

That being said, some things will never change. Like my firm resolution to never get twitter.

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Mapping your way through a book

Looking for a Canadian book that takes place in your region, city, town?

Check out the 49th Shelf, an online interactive map that tags Canadian books to  geographic places. You can even add your own books.

Say you pick up Timothy Taylor’s Stanley Park. Maybe you’ve never been to Vancouver and don’t know where Stanley Park is. You can search for it on the map and it will come up.

Or maybe you’re going on a cross-Canada vacation and want to read books about the regions you’re going to pass through. You know, to “culture” yourself. Zoom in on an area of the map and see the variety of books you have to choose from — fiction, non-fiction, young adult, memoir, cookbooks, mystery – you name it!

Seeing the places you read about makes the text come alive in a new way. It offers orientation, familiarity. As great as maps can be, nothing beats seeing what you’re reading about in person though.

Here’s a passage from Canadian author Anne-Marie MacDonald’s Fall on Your Knees showing a character’s diary entry about New York that really came alive for me because I had just recently been there. I’ve interspersed my own photographs at the appropriate moments in the text to show this spatial/textual relationship. If there’s no photo, well, that means I unfortunately didn’t get around to seeing it this trip (but here’s hoping to going back one day!)

On foot up through the Bowery, the Italian quarter — kids, carts, food, women in black, good-looking guys but don’t let them see you looking, opera verismo —

Greenwich Village, ladies and gentlemen,

Tenderloin — get hungry here, buy a pretzel, have lunch in Hell’s Kitchen – really! Why do they call it that? Seems perfectly nice . .

Up Broadway a bit tipsy – not used to beer –

the golden mile, Union Square,

Madison Square,

Herald Square, past the Met — genuflect —

promenade through Times Square,

Columbus Circle,

buy popcorn for the pigeons to keep them in the statue business (where they perform a valuable civic service by keeping the glorious past in perspective), into the Park,

zigzag through the immense chunk of countryside smack in the middle of the greatest show on earth, past the Pond,

the Lake, the Castle, skip the Reservoir it’s too big and too small, promise to go the Metropolitan Museum next time, Haarlem Meer (sit down and decide I’ve walked far enough) out onto Central Park North, up Lenox thirty-seven blocks to the Haarlem River. It’s night.

From being in NYC myself, I could follow the character’s footsteps through the city and understand the terrain, the proximity of places to one another, and the sights, sounds, and smells when you look around. I’d love to go to London and trace Clarissa Dalloway’s route home along the Strand, or Oliver Twist’s escapades through East London.

What places do you want to visit because of books you’ve read? Which characters’ footsteps would you like to follow?

Reach for the Roof

Passing by these neon silhouettes at night, I felt I could have been in New York’s entertainment district, not Vancouver’s Gastown – the oldest part of the city characterized by brick and historic facades rather than modern silkscreen silhouettes that, from a distance, look like they belong on an iPod commercial as they raise the roof.

Silkscreen silhouettes on 60 W. Cordova, Gastown

On closer inspection, they’re actually standing on the shoulders of each other as they reach for the roof (or the sky). Gregory Henriquez, the architect of this condo project at 60 W. Cordova, explains their symbolism: “[The] silkscreen silhouettes of people standing on each other’s shoulders, holding up the building, is a metaphor for rising higher.” He has used visual art and poetry on other buildings in the Downtown Eastside:

Bruce Eriksen Place. Photo by Derek Lepper

The recently finished condo at 60 W. Cordova aims to turn renters into owners for those who have been shut out of the market. A partnership between Westbank Projects Corporation, Vancity, and Henriquez Partners Architects, the project intends to provide affordable homes to people with a Downtown Eastside connection – those who live/work here and desire to give back to their community.

Hence another metaphor for the silkscreen silhouettes – that of support, both physical and figurative. A building needs a sound structure and the support of people to come and stay into existence. It highlights the idea that architecture is a marriage between the hard city (the physical site and materials) and the soft city (the people who begin a building—architects, developers, and the the people who continue it—occupants, community members). This cycle is summarized on Henriquez Architects’ blog as people supporting people.

Even if this metaphor is lost on passersby, the silhouettes at least make great beacons at night showing 60 W. Cordova residents the way home to their stand-out condo.

Photo by Martha Perkins.

Alphabet City

On an almost-blank wall where East 46th Street intersects Avenue A in the area called Alphabet City in New York, is this graffito in three-foot-high black letters, saying BELFAST, with the cross-stroke of the T extended into an arrow pointing east, to Belfast. I have a photograph to prove this, but it’s lost. In New York, no one that I ask seems to know the meaning of this careful scrawl, whether it’s a gang, the code-word of a gang, a fashion, a club, or the name of the city where I was born; but the latter seems unlikely, though Alphabet City — barricaded liquor stores, secretive tobacco shops and elaborate Russian Orthodox churches – resembles Belfast, its roads pocked and skid-marked, littered with broken glass and crushed beer-cans. (from Ciaran Carson’s Belfast Confetti)

If I had read this before my trip to New York, I would have tried looking for the BELFAST graffiti — a text message between two cities, or an urban equivalent of geocaching, if you will. But as I didn’t, I will simply offer some pictures I did capture of and around Alphabet City — an aptly-titled neighbourhood in the East Village. What do you do when you run out of numbers to name your streets and you can’t go any lower than 1st Ave? Switch to letters — hence, Alphabet City with Avenues A, B, C, and D extending all the way to the East River. Easy to remember, I suppose!

When I Thought I Knew York

There’s nothing that could have prepared me for the scene that met my eyes when I emerged from Penn Station with my friend Emily two Sunday nights ago.

I knew New York was huge, but I didn’t fathom how big and how busy it was until I landed there myself.

We took an escalator from the bowels of Penn Station into what my friend and I both thought would be a central atrium, more in the manner of Grand Central Station. I think part of the shock was expecting one thing and getting another. Instead of entering an indoor area, we were abruptly thrust onto the frenzy of Seventh (Fashion) Avenue, where I think one of the first comments I made to Emily was, “Look how big and bright it is!” I felt like Michael Ondaatje’s character Patrick in the novel In the Skin of a Lion. He arrives in Toronto’s Union Station for the first time, having only ever lived in the country (I’ve lived and travelled to several cities but I still felt a bit like a kid in a candy store). Ondaatje writes, “[Patrick] spoke out his name and it struggled up in a hollow echo and was lost in the high air of Union Station. No one turned. They were in the belly of a whale.”

Grand Central Station, one of my favourite spots in New York

Penn Station, one of my least favourites

New York makes you feel small and big at the same time. Small because the city dwarfs you, and big because it makes you feel important just by being there – like you’re in the centre of the action. This is the city that never sleeps, even on a Sunday night. We ate our first meal from a street vendor whose cart stays open until 4 am.

So many stimuli compete for your attention. The city compels you to look up at the steel and glass monoliths marking the relentless gridiron pattern of Manhattan. Yet the massive crowds at street level and the plethora of people selling you everything from knock-off purses to comedy club tickets compels you to keep your gaze on the street as well. We lugged our suitcases for what felt like a very long four blocks to our apartment building at the corner of 34th Street and Park Avenue, fighting crowds the entire time until finally arriving at our prime yet noisy destination. You know it’s noisy when an entire minute goes by without hearing a siren or a car honk and you think to yourself as you’re falling asleep, “Ah good, this will be a quieter night.” I got used to the noise by the end of the week and actually grew to enjoy the cacophonic lullaby of 34th Street (reminiscent of Jane Jacobs’ Hudson Street ballet.) As a local was telling us, some say that a New York minute is the time it takes after the light turns from red to green for a taxi to honk its horn. Not long at all.

A futile sign in this city

I came to realize that this city is a work of art – not just a man-made architectural art, but a human art as well. For instance, the art of being aware of your surroundings so you don’t break stride and disturb the flow of pedestrian traffic; the art of weaving your way through crowds and looking for gaps in which to step; the art of timing your photographs when you’re stopped at an intersection instead of midway on the sidewalk where you’re sure to be an annoyance to everyone (that didn’t stop me all the time though!). Even the art of hailing a taxi. Who knew it would be so difficult? There are yellow taxis everywhere in this city, and not one stopped for us after coming back from Mamma Mia on Broadway. Granted, many of them were full, but still. What I’ve observed from New Yorkers for next time: be more aggressive. Be willing to risk your life and step out in the middle of the street to flag one down.

Taxis, taxis everywhere but not a ride to catch

If you read my previous entry, you’ll know that I had expectations for New York, and I was curious to see which ones would be accurate and which ones would be blown out of the water. I’ll now fill you in on the other side of that “split screen” I referred to earlier – the reality that always accompanies expectations.

The Pulse of the Streets

New York is like the Energizer Bunny that keeps going and going and going. That’s why I love it, as do many others. It’s always moving with a magnetic drive that’s hard to resist. I only noticed that the pace of New Yorkers was fast when Emily and I were lost and had to stop on the sidewalk in order to consult our map. But when you know where you’re going, the pace is just fine. In fact, it was actually a relief to find a city where peoples’ speed of walking matches my own. I think I could fit in quite well there on that account.

The Subway

Sometimes it was dirty and smelled of odours you’d rather not smell. Sometimes it was confusing to navigate. Actually, most times. But a few of my favourite moments were exiting onto the platform where beautiful music greeted my ears, whether from a violinist, pianist, guitarist, or singer. Emily made a thought-provoking comment in contemplating the mayhem of the underground (and for that matter, the above ground) with the magic of its street performers. She said something to the effect of, “I wonder how New Yorkers find beauty or stillness in a city that’s always noisy, busy, and on the run. Maybe it’s even in small things like this – listening to music at a subway station – that they find peace amidst the chaos.”

Statue of Liberty

Speaking of a city that’s always moving, the Statue of Liberty was as I expected, except for this detail a tour guide pointed out that I didn’t notice because most shots of her are taken from the New York side, instead of from New Jersey: her right foot is lifted as if walking forward, unwavering in her strength, her fortitude, and in the idea of liberty she enormously represents despite whatever circumstances.

Empire State

I took far too many photos of this building, basically every time I left our apartment (partly due to the fact that we were staying just two blocks east of it). Daytime or nighttime, you can see its majestic tower from miles away.

Fun fact: You know this photo below that I included in my previous entry? I always thought it depicted the construction of the Empire State, but it’s actually of the Rockefeller Center, which also gives great views of the Manhattan skyline.

View looking north from the Rock

Times Square

Of course Times Square was loud and ostentatious, and I guess that’s part of its attraction. I call it an assault on all of one’s senses. One thing that did surprise me though is how long it goes on for. I thought Times Square was well, a square. It actually extends six or seven blocks. I liked it best in the rain and at night, giving it a moody ambience.

Central Park

You can forget you’re in a city when you’re in Central Park, but a quick glance up will quickly remind you that you’re still in a concrete jungle where skyscrapers frame every edge of the park’s rectangle, so you never really forget it. That wasn’t the noteworthy thing though. What was noteworthy for me, and, I admit, a little disappointing, was how green the park was. I was hoping for colourful autumn leaves like you see in the shot of When Harry Met Sally that I included in my previous post. Instead, this is what I saw:

This is slightly better

Apparently autumn splendour arrives in New York later than in Canada, and one guy we spoke to said New Yorkers will often leave to go to other states that are even more vivid in the fall. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective. Something else I didn’t expect to get in New York: snow. A nasty storm hit the eastern states on on our last day there, and even the locals were snapping pics of Central Park in October snow, something that hasn’t happened in what I hear is a very long time.

Alice in (Winter) Wonderland

Watching the storm from the comfort of the Loeb Boathouse in Central Park

Looks like Canada's winters

Ah, New York, unpredictable and ever enticing. I haven’t done a whole lot of travelling, but I think I can safely say that no place can quite compare.