I was scheduled for a final site walk at one of
our projects last Tuesday, so I flew into Denver
After the comped upgrade to first class, on-time
blue sky flight and Tesla playing on
satellite radio when I fired up the rental I felt like I was on track for a
perfect Sunday afternoon. Driving into Denver
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After a tasty Big City Burrito, I headed downtown. I fill my quota of city in ATL everyday of the world and being around humans didn’t make the list but there are at least (2)
buildings you are obligated, as an architect to visit when you are in the
Denver area – Daniel Libeskind’s
Denver Art Museum and Michael Graves’
Denver Public Library. In simple terms I
view Libeskind as inaccessible and Graves as a sellout and there is a
measure of truth in both of these trite assessments but neither is entirely
fair. They are both rock stars, and I
admittedly resist rock star architecture with nearly every fiber of my being
but sitting on the street curb between these two buildings I found myself drawn
to both. Equally. The symbiotic tension
between the two disparities is predictable but also compelling, if not shocking
and overwhelming.
On one hand the museum grows out of the earth
with seemingly random exuberance; its surface fracturing and reaching out and retracting
and opening up at the perfect moment to reveal itself. It’s not confined to its site or even to the
rigidity of the street grid within which it resides. It’s expressive. It moves and changes with the passing of the
sun, it’s dynamic – it’s everything that isn’t static. It’s the sporadic journey of artistic
creation exemplified in built form. It’s
an art museum.
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On the other hand the library is exactly what a
library should be, but with a wink and a nod
in placid defiance. It’s
ordered. It’s virtually
symmetrical. It’s post-modernism at its finest
– a reinterpretation of the known; what the world has become accustomed to
understanding as public architecture – but it’s different. There’s a colonnade but the columns are not
of a classical order. There is a rotunda
but there isn’t a dome. The materials
are familiar but the colors are unique – there is actually color (gasp) on this building, virtually
a cardinal sin among architects before Graves . But it’s still a library.
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Built more than a decade before the museum expansion, I
couldn’t help but wonder how I would have perceived it alone. How would I have encountered, how would I
have experienced either building without the other? What would my assessment of either be without
the other one standing diagonally across the street screaming at the top of its
lungs the exact opposite of what the other one was screaming back in response?
I sat there in the warm afternoon sun attempting
to reconcile these thoughts with what I view architecture to be, the principals
upon which I’ve inadvertently started to lay the foundation of my career. I don’t often allow myself to venture into
the high-mindedness of what
architecture can be – the work that
I/we, my firm does is architecture with a very
specific purpose. What I realized is,
that so were both of these very dissimilar buildings. They were both hyper-purposeful, actually the
very essence of specific intention. Is
it possible that the nonexclusive club of the other 99% of architects (of which
I’m a member) is just as important as the rock stars? Am I the sensible bridge between the
pedestrian and the philosophical? It was
as profound a moment as I’ve had professionally or personally in a long
time. I didn’t appreciate at that moment
that the entirety of my time in Colorado would be a study in dichotomous
juxtaposition, that my being out west
would be defined by the events unfolding back
east. Then my phone rang.
Word from back
east was that Maynard was lethargic, not eating and effectively paralyzed
in his hind legs. He was vomiting,
listless. It sounded worse than his other recent episodes and I couldn’t
help but fear that we were approaching his end. I knew that he was in
good hands and there was nothing I could do so I just sat there, frozen in
time. I resolved to bury my worry in
nature come Monday. I went to bed with a
heavy heart. I didn’t sleep much.
Sunday night came and went. Monday morning I was up and out at the crack,
determined to disappear into the wilderness and deal. Pikes Peak was way up on the list and only a thoroughly
entertaining hour or so drive to the south, just west of Colorado Springs
The peak was too populous and I found
the solitude I sought around the mid-range of the mountain. I hiked for what should have been days but
was only a couple of hours. In the
magnificence of nature I did what I never do and prayed to God or who or
whatever is up there pulling strings to pull my little Maynard through this
struggle. I was wrought with bouts of
depression and buoyed by fits of wonderment in rapid succession. I was seeing an environment, a world I’d never seen but I was
racked with guilt for having a good day.
I was relieved that I didn’t have a phone signal and felt like an
asshole for not being back east.
The morning sucked. The morning
was amazing.
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Garden of
the Gods,
Manitou Springs and a long drive
later I got back to the hotel exhausted to find out that Maynard had been
diagnosed as diabetic. If we chose to
extend his life, he would have to be on a prescription diet and I’d have to
give him twice daily injections of insulin – this was the best case scenario. He still might have pancreatitis, liver
disease and who knows how any of this affects his heartworm treatment. I was surprisingly relieved to finally at
least know something. I phoned a friend I thought might give a damn and silently begged for wisdom and insight that
they couldn’t possibly have or give. I
went to bed knowing that a decision had to be made and that I didn’t have the
balls to make it.
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I woke up Tuesday morning with a sense of dread and despair like I have never known.
I had obligations to the client and I fulfilled them as I always do, but
my heart wasn’t in it like it almost always is.
The project turned out better than expectation and I’m proud of the
final product. It’s vernacular. It’s appropriate. It’s the client’s image almost
perfectly. Said the primary broker,
“It’s the best building of its type in Denver
I bolted to the west side of town.
Hiking up and around Genesee Mountain
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For the first time in I guess ever, I realized
that no matter how much money I spend, I can’t keep Maynard alive longer than
he is supposed to be alive. He’s brought
nothing but joy to my life and I’ll always believe I did the same for him. It’s ridiculous that a little old weenie dog could make me a
better man, but he has done exactly that. If I’m honest, I sat on the side of that
hill, watched those deer mill about and had a good cry. I came to peace with the unavoidable fact
that Maynard is near the end of his natural life and if he is ready to go I should let him. So after much soul searching, I made the decision to not make the decision until I saw him again.
He’d let me know, right?
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Late Wednesday night, I gave Maynard his first
insulin shot and he took it like a champ.
I stayed home Thursday to watch him and monitor his glucose levels. Just after noon there was a big storm and I
was lucky enough to witness this little slice of perfection.
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That was that. Back to Atlanta.
It’s only then that I knew I had made the right decision. These two are the opposite of each other. If there is any purity in any dichotomy it’s right here. If ever the beauty of juxtaposition was more fully revealed, I've never seen it. Belle is young. Neurotic. Full of life. Maynard is old. Super chill. Dying. They can’t get through an afternoon thunderstorm without each other. They are best friends and they still have a little more time together.
I just took Maynard out for his evening walk
and it sucks to see him stumble around the back lawn where once
he ran like the wind. He certainly isn’t
who he used to be but he still has a will to be alive – even barked at my neighbor for no
reason. He
hates it when you try to help him out (stubborn to the end) so I let him find his own
way. He hasn't stopped fighting so I can't stop being there for him. I kicked myself all week for being out west and not back east when Maynard needed me the most. In the end, I realize that it was for the best.
Without that separation, I don't think I ever would have come to terms with Maynard's eventual mortality. I've been tense since May when he first got sick. Now I can finally relax and simply enjoy the rest of his life. Whatever happens will happen and I'm finally okay with that.
Without that separation, I don't think I ever would have come to terms with Maynard's eventual mortality. I've been tense since May when he first got sick. Now I can finally relax and simply enjoy the rest of his life. Whatever happens will happen and I'm finally okay with that.
