It's fashionable (amongst a certain population) to refer to tall towers and other similar structures as phallic. On the one hand I am glad that such critical theory-esque terms and attitudes have entered popular discourse. On the other, what the hell does it mean to refer to the bell tower on your campus as phallic? -- especially when you do so only half seriously. When I was in D.C. I can honestly say that I felt oppressed by the architecture, and I doubt it was just the phallic nature of the Washington Monument.
So, lets move beyond calling all tall building phallic and generalities about big government buildings. What features of your landscape do you notice/find interesting/affect you?
I, relatively recently, moved to a new city, which looks unlike anywhere I have previously lived, and where I am still learning my way around. My interaction with surroundings is as an outsider and not a true inhabitant of the space. So, while I do have plenty to say, I'll take my turn after a few others have chimed in.
As a member of a certain population, I can say that it is difficult to bring abstract concepts like the effect of architecture on a person into the light (pun to come later). So, something simple like the fact that a tall tower looks a bit like a human penis is a tactically pleasing way to bring that conversation to more people than would be possible without the silly sexual references. It gets the gears turning, so to speak, without alienating your audience.
ReplyDeleteI, for one, have always been affected and enraged by white or very light colored flat buildings with sides facing either east or west. Why would it be a good choice to temporarily blind any passerby who could otherwise, I don't know, generally enjoy the gift of sight?
I also have found that sidewalks can really affect me. There is a neighborhood in Santa Barbara, for instance, that has no sidewalks. It then forces you to make a decision: do I negatively affect these nice, manicured lawns and, indirectly, the people inside these houses, or do I negatively affect the cars and bicycles passing by, putting myself in harm's way while feeling the liberation of walking in the street?
Or, in the city of Cordoba in Argentina, many streets have sidewalks only large enough for approximately 1.5 people. Then a power-game ensues: Who is the more qualified to momentarily walk in the street, and who is deserving of the sidewalk? And why?