In 2009 I spent one semester of my fourth year of college studying at the Washington Alexandria Architectural Center, a satellite campus for Virginia Tech. I wanted to get away from the isolated cow fields I'd become so accustomed to in Blacksburg, VA. I needed to get closer to a city, closer to my family, and closer to potential jobs. So, after three years of living in Blacksburg from dorm to different apartments, and a semester of traveling through Europe with 40 bratty college students, I moved back home for a semester.
Story making: I would come to make great friends in this single semester, friends that until today meant so much to my growth and development. Together with these people, we would share many great laughs and our time together could read like a very sweet story. Shared tales were made out of the stuff of happiness, sadness, anger, and love. Along with building a great network of people, I found myself deeply immersed in my school work and studio project. Perhaps a result of living at home with my parents, and being forcibly required to come home at a decent hour and do my homework (definitely not my most independent semester).
Story dreaming: Our school building was located in Old Town Alexandria, a quaint little city that always appears like a black and white Polaroid when I reflect back in my memory. The building itself was built in 1923 and was a former girls school. It's old brick structure, creaky wooden floors, and puzzle-like interior made for a quirky learning environment. We each selected our own desks at the beginning of the year in the deep corners of this unique place; and as simple as that, I had claimed a part of this school to be my own. I can't remember a time in my life where I was not more comfortable and happy. I loved it. I miss it.
Story reading: We were assigned to read
Micromegas by Voltaire. An amazing short story that tells the tale of travelers from other planets discovering Earth and its inhabitants. In their discovery, they found the importance of cross-cultural exchange and dialogue and how we can learn a great deal from others. Most significant is that in this process of exchange, the travelers realized that their assumed notions about the universe were false - lending to a process of self-reflection and growth.
Story housing: From this old traveler's tale, we were encouraged to design a story telling store - a place where locals would come, pay an entrance fee, and enjoy an hour or so of oral narrative. At the time, this seemed like a fairly intuitive project. I wanted to design several spaces that would be immersed in Old Town. The listener would travel from enclosed space to enclosed space - winding through the city with a map. Each of the buildings dotted on the map were forms that mirrored and reflected back the culture of the city - the architecture of Alexandria. The paths that connected each of the units, therefore, became just as significant - they were as much a part of the story telling process as the actual buildings themselves. Through a series of hand drawings and computer renderings, I produced what I thought was a beautiful reflection of local architecture and ancient story all meshed into one.
Future stories: Fast forward to today, three years later and during my final year of graduate school in Cambridge at MIT. I've come a long way from Blacksburg and Alexandria, and my notions of story telling and story making have seemingly come full circle. However, I've come to realize that stories are much more nuanced than listening and telling. Stories that are produced with the stuff of reality do not always have the opportunity to be completed. Some stories never get a chance to begin. Some stories are just dreams, fairy tales - utopian fantasies. But it is in the anticipation of a story, the possibility and chance of its production, that makes this city much more exciting. Cambridge has been a place of confrontation and self reflection, produced by the very making and potentially-made stories of my interactions.
If I could go back and redesign my story telling store, I would remove all the walls and boundaries of the buildings that indicated houses of reading. Much like the traveler Micromegas, the true meaning of story comes from experience, comes from people, and comes from the deconstruction of reality. Rather than mirroring Alexandria back at the reader, and interpreting it for each person - I'd allow the city to just be, giving each person the right to be subjective. Let love grow in the alleys. Let hearts break on street ways. Let friendship develop through window panes. Good stories are made of the stuff of reality, not to be isolated away within encapsulated spaces.
