The Geometry of Going Home
I often find myself standing on a platform in the city, watching the steel veins of the transit system pulse with the weight of people I will never know. There is a specific, hollow rhythm to the commute—a collective holding of breath as…
The Geometry of Silence
In the quiet corners of old libraries, or perhaps in the hollowed-out spaces of a cathedral, one often finds that the architecture is doing more than holding up a roof. It is holding a conversation with the sun. We tend to think of buildings…
The Geometry of What Remains
There was a skylight in my grandmother’s attic that I was never allowed to reach. It was a jagged triangle of glass, perpetually clouded by dust and the slow, grey drift of city soot. I spent my childhood imagining that if I could only climb…