The Entry as Space
The analysis of space holds a special place in my education. The professor who taught my Freshman Writing Seminar in the Fall of 1971 was technically a professor of Art History. Every Freshman had to take writing seminars their first two semesters. The academic powers that be at Cornell in those days felt that writing skill was a necessary component of the education of all students, regardless of anticipated major and regardless of how much writing they had done prior to college. It was assumed that all incoming students could and should benefit from a forced exercise of learning how to write in some structured ways. The structure varied widely and was forced to conform to the departmental arrangement of disciplines within the area of the humanities. Beyond the amount of writing that needed to be assigned, there must have been a great deal of leeway for the professors to choose the exact assignments. Being asked to write our first paper as Cornell students by describing the space between the two major campus libraries was epic. That was not the only unique writing assignment for that course, but it was the first and therefore most memorable.
I was the son of a wannabe architect. My father pretended for years to have received his architecture degree at Padua University. When my mother did him a favor in 1980 (when he was 57 years old) and got a counterfeit diploma made by an accomplished Roman forger, we all learned the irony of his request. The 1944 diploma was a one-of-a-kind since Padua University did not graduate students that year due to the turmoil of fascism at the University which was initially embraced, but then resisted by boycott. Despite that inauspicious heritage, I was also a genuine descendant of a graduate of the Class of ‘37 at Cornell University. I even have some of my mother’s stories written for her version of a Cornell writing seminar. So, I had Cornell, the dream of architecture, early collegiate writing experience and a touch of larceny all in my make-up to guide me in my first writing assignment.
I do not remember, nor do I have a copy of that paper, but I do recall that my assessment had mostly to do with the library space’s social functionality as a passageway for students as they transitioned from the Art & Sciences Quad to the major Student Union at Willard Straight Hall and the architecturally significant Campus Store. The space was and remains a social bottleneck through which students must pass as they seek knowledge in the way in which Ezra Cornell intended, “where any person can find instruction in any study.” The space houses a few pieces of sculpture (on loan from the I.M. Pei Johnson Museum of Art) and some plantings presumably blessed by the best global landscape architecture department in the School of Agriculture and Life Sciences. But what makes the space so special is that it is squeezed between the undergraduate and graduate libraries. Despite the digitized future of research, academic libraries are as valuable as ever, based mostly on their ownership of historical documents that provide important scholarly sources. In the same way that a narrowing of space causes winds to take on the Venturi Effect that expands the power and speed of wind through a confined space, students forced between libraries is a perfect symbol of what Cornell tries to do for students that matriculate there.
So, here I sit in my hilltop living room, looking at the newly freshened-up entry foyer of our home. This began as an effort to replace an old delaminating front door. It turned into a redesigned entry. The outside required artistically fluted moldings to match fluted pewter handles. The California mosaic is an important touch added to the front by Nephew Jason. It’s a perfect fit with my obsession with the California Missions along the Camino Real since it depicts San Juan Batista inching his way on the Camino towards the Mission San Diego de Alcala (a Mission that he actually never visited since his brief was to explore Monterrey Peninsula along the Anza path).
Once the outside was completed, with replacement lanterns and painted in Chinese Red, it seemed necessary to address the inside of the entry. The new red door found its way to the inside as well. On that door we have placed a large round Indian (as in Punjabi) tapestry. That makes the space over the door look to have an echo in the form of a large round modern clock which I have always disliked since I cant seem to tell time on the rather abstract face. Today, Kim suggested that we buy a large lateral wooden filigreed panel that will bring another shape element into the foyer art. We now have a few artistic potted plants, a small mosaic table, a large tree stump table, a lovely stone and metal sculpture of a buffalo (done by Thomashevsky) and giving inspiration to my Bison Boulder sculpture on the lower hillside. There is a large Canyon de Chelly framed photograph of a cliff dwelling called The White House. And there is a triptych of native Mexican art with all its vibrant coloring and hammered perforated Silver frames.
The entry to a home is literally and figuratively a portal to a different place. Home and hearth are even more than a place, they are a symbol and a icon of sanctuary in a world going increasingly mad. If I were asked today to write an essay about the space created by this entry portal, I would describe all the physical attributes, which I can now testify that we have hand-picked to suit our taste and express what the entry of our home should say about us. It speaks of artistry and personal flair (both Kim and I are fans of red). It speaks of attention to detail. It speaks of our global outlook and experience and our belief in both art for art’s sake and the value of history and indigenous people.
The free flow of people through our portal and space is something we hold dear about our life out here on this hilltop. For all our liking of New York City, a welcoming portal is not something that we ever felt possible in the Naked City. We will formally christen that portal next week when we hold a neighborhood open house to say goodbye to our beloved neighbor, Mary. This seemingly meaningless entry space will become the symbol of the passage of life, just like that space on the Cornell campus. As that may be the most important space on campus, so must this entry become the definitive space of our home.