Status Updates From La casa de verano

‘As soon as you were inside you sensed a change in the air—fragrance of wood and books —‘If you remember it that well, it must have been well built.’ The evening light, tinged with red, shone on the crown of the tree behind him. I saw the shadow of a bird fly across it—From somewhere overhead I heard the song of a gray thrush—Could the blackbird have changed its coloring bit by bit until, after many generations—’

‘Something I never quite got used to—the way many architects write 解, the Chinese character for ‘solution,’ on their plans in places where they’ve met a client’s demand. Unlike mathematics, in architecture there are no correct answers, or 正解 (seikai). It might have started as a way to show that although you’ve solved the problem, the outcome isn’t perfect—What is the difference between being careful and being fussy?’

‘—Kanto-Koshinetsu—right in the path of the storm, at present a huge spiral over the Pacific. We set off from Kita-Aoyama—feeling the typhoon at our back as we headed for the northwest side of the Kanto Plain like stragglers lagging behind a flock of migrating birds—It was warm the following morning, & kept getting hotter—The cicadas were at it more shrilly than usual, & the humidity was rising along with the heat.’

‘—first to break the silence were—Woodpeckers, grosbeaks, thrushes, flycatchers—names come quickly to mind. Some I can only remember by their songs—sky—an odd shade of blue—All too soon, without waiting for the sun, morning broke—the best carpenters were lone wolves—he had been apprentice to Frank Lloyd Wright—Without getting caught up in the excesses—economic boom—he designed buildings—w/ a beauty that didn’t fade.’