One’s ability to understand the present is strongly informed by the knowledge of the past and how deep does one perceive history through different events, people, stories and myths. No other city made me more conscious of this, as I struggled to grapple with the Berlin landscape of empty dark voids, glitzy global commerce, historical sites and the neon night life. I don’t know why but I sensed a strange melancholy in the city. Was it because of the extremely cold weather, the snow, its history or the Easter holidays, is something that I will have to leave to my future visits to this place.
As we entered Berlin from the Schonefeld airport, with the S and U Bahn heading towards Zinnovitzer Strasse on the U6 line, I saw huge empty plots of land, streets that were magnificent axes of power today dimly lit by street lights that would alternate on each side and distanced enough to create pockets of darkness and light, cold wind passing freely along fat masculine buildings separated by equally wide distances. As we reached our hostel, a booking misconception landed the 6 of us in a dormitory with 5 rows of bunk beds in a hall, each one of us having a number that we had to hang on our beds, just like the rest of the 50 odd transits who changed every night. To be sleeping in a room full of strangers, hearing them snore, cough, talk and seeing them brush, shave and change, exchanging uncomfortable glances of suspicion and self awareness was an experience that started my exploration of Berlin. As I observed people from my bed I could see each one of them being travellers, some in groups of two’s and three’s while most being a majority of solitary explorers with different places, experiences and environments etched on their skins.
Through our five day stay in Berlin, we successfully covered the usual suspects like the Reichstag with the Foster’s dome, Eisenman’s Holocaust memorial, Libeskind’s Jewish museum, Mies van der rohe’s National Art gallery, Walter Gropius’s Bauhaus at Dessau, Schinkel’s Altes museum, the Brandenburg gate, the East side art gallery on the Berlin wall, Postdamer platz, Alexanderplatz, etc. Each layer of history layering new assertions of power, like being able to cut through a sedimentary rock and read into the past when the region went through floods, droughts and climatic changes, I felt this city could be understood through these layers that knit together loosely held centres created through Berlin’s engagement with the global economy and empty dark voids that slowly undergo a process of rebuilding. The public realm seemed to take refuge in old buildings, pubs, bars with metal doors and plastic curtains in the form of a very active night life for goths, ping pong players, retired tram drivers, chain smokers, vegetarians, etc. Somehow my experience of Berlin has left me a bit disoriented, hope i get an opportunity to visit it again someday.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
(drawing courtesy Kostas)
It is during this presentation of ours that something amazing happened! For the first time our course director stood up and looked at our drawing, ...and then he spoke, but he did not speak as Colin Fournier the course director, trying to negotiate around different interest groups or diplomatically playing cards of offence and defence, but instead he was Colin Fournier from many years back, a young man who had just finished making a drawing with Peter Cook in the Archigram series, someone who had just assisted young Bernard Tschumi to formulate a project that will change ideas of context for ever. He spoke and described the continuous struggle between the socialist modern architect’s vision and the present day all facilitator, negotiator, open market, post modern architect’s systems and policies. We read the success of our presentation through Colin's transformation, and have come to realize the ordeal that lies ahead.......taaddaaaaaa!
Friday, March 07, 2008
In the Greek language different words with meanings get added and subtracted like a mathematical or design process in order to almost invent a new word like oplismeno skirodema......which is a word communicating reinforced concrete through combinations of “to support” +“strong”+”small stones” + “earth” and each of these words having multiple other connotations and references. The Spanish language seems to thrive on accents and slang that hides and reveals meanings based on which history one is a part of, but on most occasions everyone is your “socio”. The Japanese language through its words for numbers can reveal what is the nature of the object that is being counted and also sometimes its status simply through the number. When my Brit friend Tom asks “anyone fancies a drink?” at the end of a tiring day, I enjoy retorting “always a pleasure”......two sentences filled with enough desire, to turn going for drinks into a an absolute passion in a city with a fast eroding public realm.
So as we through language, assert pluralities, sexualities and history on forms and spaces, do our experiences of these spaces change as well? Is it that the very language used to construct and sell the idea of these spaces got reinforced through the process of their implementation? Or am I simply building myself an elaborate “baroque” trap that will keep me engaged in the process of ornamenting the language and convoluting the content?
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Very delicately every cut severs skin, nerves, flesh, muscle and bone as the steel blade carefully splits an infinitesimally thin gap almost invisible to the eye, maintaining an informed pressure completely conscious of the entire cross section. Like cutting and cleaning meat, it manages to tread carefully negotiating a fine balance between the violence and delicateness of the act. As methodical as drawings in Diagram diaries which start deforming grids and cutting forms, risking every possibility of returning back and landing up in a space that has deconstructed everything that was you. And as intimate as Frida's colourful self portraits of pain that attempt to experience and communicate multiple layers of joy, pain, anxiety....through extremely conscious constructs of colours, symbols and compositions. I myself try hard to negotiate around my own Jekylls and Hydes who tear and restitch me back every night like a living, rotting, breathing Damien Hirst art work.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
A month back as I fiddled with the template of my blog, I landed up making some changes that put me under the impression that I had deleted it (which is something that has happened before) this incidence coinciding with feelings of Kafkaesque metamorphosis, as I struggle to stand on my insecticidal legs and my exoskeleton rattles with cold winds that pass through its shields and tickle my flesh. Few days back I rediscovered my blog through my gmail account to realise it had become something else, same content within a different context. I remember reading about how artists who attempted self portraits by looking at mirrors, always went wrong due to the mirroring, flipping lefts and rights and reassembling it in a face. I also realised it had become private......a beautiful giant's garden with constant winter, cold, silent and quite. A good place for hibernation, moulting, and everything else that may shelter cold blooded creatures....I intend to maintain this as my personal space for a while like my Narcissist pool of thoughts that will help me desensitize myself from my Echo....