Brittan's blog

Anthony Flint’s description of Greenwich Village as a “place steeped in history” (68), drawing great writers and musicians to it for decades, re-contextualized the meaning of Washington Square park and Greenwich Village to me.  When I read Flint’s mention of Edgar Allen Poe living in an apartment near the park and was continually reminded of the poet’s presence in the Village while reading Michael Sorkin’s reference to his apartment building, Annabel Lee, I decided to find out where it was exactly that Poe resided in the nineteenth century.
 
A quick Google search revealed that Edgar Allan Poe lived on 85 West Third Street from 1844-1845. When I arrived at this address I found a red brick building incased by a larger building, NYU Law’s Furman hall. The brick façade is marked with a plaque to signify Poe’s previous presence in the space. It explains that it was in his Greenwich village house that he began writing "The Cask of Amontillado" and where he was living when "The Raven" was published. In 2001 the original 19th century house was torn down by NYU’s expansion of its law school. It was reconstructed a half a block from its original site using none of the building’s original materials. The building’s façade now is just a symbol of what used to be. 
 
It is interesting to think about how symbolic historical landmarks such as the Edgar Allen Poe house can subtly influence our modern lives. Walter Benjamin, a historical theorist, describes the past erupting into the present as the “dialectical image.” The marking of historical places with plaques is a representation of this image; they signify in the present significant moments of the past.
 
My fascination with the Edgar Allen Poe house or various other places that served as settings for great thought or action, is propelled by the power that accompanies the dialectical image. This power is be manifested into that eerily feeling that can come over someone when they stand before a place and realize the significance of all that has happened before them. Benjamin argues that we should not look to the future but to the past for progression as a society.  We must acknowledge the past in order to understand the capabilities of our own actions to impact the future. Whether symbolized by buildings in the West Village of New York City or by the temples and theatres of ancient Greece, places where the past and present interact with each other are to me, profoundly inspirational.  Is it possible that the greater power of place lies not in inhabiting it but in remembering it?
 
http://www.nypap.org/content/edgar-allan-poe-house

It’s ten thirty on a Thursday night, a black clad mass of downtown sophisticates are crowded around an unmarked door on an otherwise disorienting street corner. Inside, knowledgeable New Yorkers are tucked tightly together, engaging over octopus cabbage tacos and habanero grapefruit margaritas. To them, Barrio Chino is a haven in the edgy and still derelict lower east side of Manhattan.

In the theory of modern environmental psychology, ‘sense of place’ is referred to as a dual concept involving both a person’s interpretive perspective on the environment as well as an affective reaction to the environment (Tuan, 1977). According to sociologist David Hummon, sense of place involves a personal orientationtoward place, in which one’s understanding of place and feelings about place become “fused in the context of environmental meaning” (Hummon 262). Geographer and philosopher Yi-Fu Tuan defines this emotional bond between person and setting as “Topophilia” (Tuan 4, 1974).In the way that Jane Jacobs felt a responsibility and sentimentality for Washington Square Park, and Michael Pollan an assimilation and pride for his writing hut, feelings are  vital in the formation of a cognitive connection between individual and place. Psychological attachment to a place is dependent on the physical and social intimacy created by its atmosphere. New York City restaurant Barrio Chino induces attachment to place by creating, through its nondescript physical location, artful use of windows, and design of interior space, a feeling intimacy.

Barrio Chino is located on Broome and Orchard Street near the lower east side neighborhood on the outskirts of New York City’s Chinatown. ‘Desolate’ might be used to describe this area of the city as, at night, metal graffitied gates envelope the street, creating an air of elusiveness. Orchard Street is lined with black trash bags that border stained sidewalks. These sidewalks lead to various sets of five story buildings that appear, at least outwardly,  in a state of disrepair. The light tone of the buildings’ brick has been replaced with dripping rust from the exterior mental fire escapes.  At night, all indications of liveliness on the street come from the mummer of chatter and the faint sound of Latin music that reverberates from the walls of Barrio Chino. The restaurant’s Spanish name translates to “Chinese hood,” an adequate term to describe this area of gritty area of Chinatown. Unlike Chinatown’s Canal Street, street vendors and bag peddlers are not present here as foot traffic through the space is fairly limited. This area is not a tourist destination; of it no spectacle has been contrived.

A sense of attachment or belonging or in New York City can be fostered by knowledge of the city’s physical and social terrain. Exploration of the city’s streets or communication with residents is required to ‘discover’ a place like Barrio Chino. Having an awareness that others do not garners a certain social power for the knowledgeable that is typically desired as it relates to ‘knowing the city’ well. Due to its discrete location, Barrio Chino is, in this sense, reserved for the locals of New York City. When ‘in the know,’ it seems as if one shares an close secret with the city. An intimate understanding of New York City, as demonstrated through knowledge of a ‘secret great place’ like Barrio Chino, creates a feeling ownership, not only over the city, but of the restaurant itself, allowing for an attachment to be formed between place and patron.

There is not a sign on the exterior of 253 Broome street to label Barrio Chino. In the winter, when windows are closed, the restaurant is as hidden and evasive as the neighborhood in which it resides. The exterior of Barrio Chino is comprised mostly of differently sized and shaped windows. As is stated in Michael Pollan’s novel A Place of My Own in the chapter entitled “Windows,” these panes give the building a face and “set up the whole relationship between inside and outside” (232). From inside of the restaurant, the sheer amount of these various custom widows create a perception that it is only glass that separates one from the exterior; it feels as if one is, both indoors and out on the street at the same time. During the warmer months, this separation between interior and exterior is essentially eliminated when the long paned windows swing completely open into the street, creating “walls that vanish” (231). The exterior of Barrio Chino becomes, like Pollan’s hut, just a frame for an outdoor porch.

The windows in Barrio Chino are a vital element in the atmosphere that creates the ‘sense of place’ within restaurant. The prevalence and differences in window pane sizes creates varied focal points for the viewer. It is interesting to look out onto Broome street through these windows because they frame details of the outside that one would likely gone unnoticed while standing outside the restaurant on the street. In this way, the windows provide varied perspectives for looking (similar to the function of Pollan’s muntin windows). The opportunity for detailed visual observation creates a feeling that one is getting to see something others often do not. Barrio Chino’s granting of this experience, makes one feel mesmerized by or close with the place.

Upon stepping into Barrio Chino, one’s eye is captured by the presence of maple toned wood. An L-shaped bar is accented by wooden selves displaying rows of agave tequilas, a thick wooden communal table is featured in the middle of the restaurant. Private tables for two border the room’s interior perimeter, leaving parties of three or more to be sat on light wooden stools together in the center. The bubbles that typically surround and distinguish differing dining parties burst when strangers are seated within elbow’s reach of each other. Michelle Von Mandel, a weekly visitor of the restaurant, has a “the more the merrier” attitude toward the group tables. She likes that she can engage solely with the people she arrived at the restaurant with, but also has the opportunity to easily start conversations with strangers. She “loves” going to Barrio Chino, in part, because she has formed a friendly rapport with a few staff members and always has interesting interactions with others in the restaurant. The Chinese influenced décor and the familial experience of dining together at a shared table, channels a collectivist mentality. The communal atmosphere encourages people to linger in the space and enjoy the company of new acquaintances. For Michelle, and the many other Barrio Chino regulars I have spoken to, it is ‘topophila,’ or ‘love’ for the place, (created, in this sense, by social intimacy), that keeps them returning.

While the term ‘place attachment’ implies that the emotional bond a person feels toward a place is due greatly in part to environmental settings themselves, the social relations a place creates and harbors are equally as important to the personal attachment process (Altman 7).In Barrio Chino, candle light and Chinese lanterns emanate a palette of yellow, orange and red tones that dimly light the restaurant. This dimness creates an ambience of warmth that seems to foster conversation amongst people. In a city like Manhattan opportunity for serious exchange between strangers in the public realm is not often fostered. The detailed happenings of the public realm are often filtered out as the blazé attitude numbs one to their surroundings in order to avoid overwhelming stimulation within the bustling metropolitan (Sorkin 83). A place in the city like Barrio Chino is special in that it promotes interaction in the public realm.

According to sociologist Erving Goffman, social establishments can be divided into distinct front and back regions.  The “front region” is the place where a social performance is given to an audience. This is the area where hosts and guests meet; it is where ‘appearances’ are upheld. The “back region” is a place where the impressions created by the performance are contradicted. This area functions like a backstage in that it is where those who are responsible for putting on the show find solace between ‘performances’ to prepare and relax (MacCannell 92). An example of this physical and social division can be seen between the front and back of restaurants, where the kitchen, a place where waitresses mingle and chef’s chat, is separated from the entryway where a hostesses formally greet customers. In the division of a space comes an “implicit distinction between false fronts and intimate reality” (95). Traditionally, the success of the ‘social performance’ depends on the back region being inaccessible to audiences and outsiders, thereby concealing behaviors that might discredit the performance out front. This distinction mystifies the authentic, creating a weakened sense of reality for the audience (93).

When there is a dissolution of the distinction between front and back regions the authentic elements of the situation are no longer concealed. In Barrio Chino, the front and back regions are transposed into one another as the restaurant is so small, it leaves no physical room for a backstage. Therefore, the kitchen is exposed to the audience. On the right side of the restaurant one can see the chefs assembling ingredients.  Hot plates of Mexican dishes steam on a counter in front of them until a waitress delivers them to customers sitting less than five feet away. Of this blurring of distinctions between regions, Goffman states, “We can observe the up-grading of domestic establishments, wherein the kitchen, which once possessed its own back regions, is now coming to be the least presentable region of the house while at the same time becoming more and more presentable” (as quoted by MacCannell, 95).When the kitchen is the open and is observable by everyone within the restaurant, the division that fostered distinctions between mere acts and authentic expressions of true characteristics is no longer present (MacCannell 96).  The mingling of front and back regions (public and private space) allows the audience to see behind mere performances. When one has access to both the front and back stages nothing is concealed, making the atmosphere of the place feel far from contrived; it feels incredibly genuine.

Professor of landscape architecture Dean MacCannell asserts that intimacy and closeness are highly valued in our society as they are seen as the core of social solidarity (94). Backstage is the realm of the authentic – where ‘performers’ (employees) stop acting out their roles and people exist as they really are. Backstage access reveals to an audience member the truth about the performance. Seeing that the performers are just acting in a nightly show makes the audience member feel like they have learned the truth and allows them understand what is authentic about the situation. This knowledge of the real in Barrio Chino results in people feeling a connectedness with other audience members (restaurant visitors), and the performers (staff of the restaurant).

People generally express this feeling of connectedness and closeness in their ‘liking’ of a place. People who describe themselves as thinking Barrio Chino is a ‘great place’ typically frequent the restaurant often. When enjoyment of the restaurant results in repeated visits, one has formed an attachment to it as a place.Being in places in which we are psychologically attached is comforting; we like to experience and reinforce this sentiment as often as possible. The prowess with which Barrio Chino fosters place attachment might be the only way to explain and justify its typical table wait time of two hours.

The meanings and values poured into Barrio Chino facilitate the formation of intimate connections between person and place. Because of the restaurant’s physical location, exterior, and interior design, Barrio Chino is a place in which people have emotion evoking experiences that establish attachment. While Barrio Chino is a manifestation of this effect, it is certainly not the only place in New York City that has become popular by cultivating an attractive sense of place. A visit to Barrio Chino an escape from the distancing feeling of the metropolis city and an engagement with the warm and familiar.

Works Cited:
 
Altman, Irwin, and Setha Low. Place Attachment. New York, NY: Plenum Press, 1992. 1-10. Print.
 
Hummon, David. Community Attachment: Local Sentiment and Sense of Place. New York, NY: Plenum Press, 1992. 253-276. Print.
 
MacCannell, Dean. The tourist: a new theory of the leisure class. Berkley, CA: University of California Press, 1999. 91-109. Print.
 
Pollan, Michael. A Place of My Own. New York, NY: Penguin
 Group, 1997. 176-223. Print.
 
Sorkin, Michael. Twenty Minutes in Manhattan. London, UK: Reaktion Books, 2009. Print.
 
Tuan, Yi-Fu. Space and Place. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1977.130-148.
Print.
 
Tuan, Yi-Fu. Topophilia: a study of environmental perception, attitudes, and values. New York, NY: Columbia University Press, 1974. 92-126. Print.
 
 
Illustrations of Barrio Chino can be found here
 
Title and first  photographs by me on 5.29.11

In Michael Sorkin’s book Twenty Minutes in Manhattan, he discusses the commodification of New York City’s TriBeCa neighborhood. Sorkin begins his chapter entitled “Tribeca” by describing the evolution of Hudson Square, noting that Trinity Real Estate company reintroduced the name, Hudson Square, into their marketing of properties in the northwest TriBeCa area in an effort to create an association between their properties and the “place” and “vibe” of the square in TriBeCa (Sorkin 168).  With the marketing of a neighborhood comes the creation of an idealized and packaged form of it as place. This capitalization of TriBeCa has resulted in private financial gain as well and a neighborhood brand that has become naturalized into society. 

In strolling through the Tribeca neighborhood in which I live, one would notice the cobblestones of Greenwich street, wedging themselves, like crooked teeth against one another, creating the foundation for streets that feature the rusted and graffiti covered dark bricked buildings that set precedent for the industrialized TriBeCa  aesthetic.  If one meanders at night to south of the neighborhood they can peek into illuminated windows on warm toned brick buildings and see comfortable loft-like aesthetics, high ceilings and open spaces, featured in buildings with doormen. On the sidewalks during the day, Mclaren strollers and golden retrievers are bountiful. The neighborhood is has an undeniable picturesque quality due its adjacency to the west side Hudson river waterfront.
 
No matter how attractive or distinctive this area of the city maybe, Sorkin explains how it is constantly “seen as set, rather than a setting” (176). As it is often literally transformed with props in order to, in a sense, emulate an idealized version of itself.  There is a discrepancy between what the neighborhood of TriBeCa  is in actuality and, and the version created and marketed by movie producers and real estate companies, amongst others. Sorkin states that on the set of the film It Could Happen to You, a foe luncheonette was constructed in a TriBeCa  parking lot satisfy “requirements for authenticity” and in turn, “make the simulacrum, a fiction more real than any of the available realities” (173). This Baudrillardian idea of substituting signs of the real for the real alters one’s perception of imitation. Finding what is ‘authentic’ can become difficult when dealing with almost indistinguishable realms of real realities, either organic or contrived.
 
TriBeCa’s idealization can also be applied to Roland Barthes’ theory of semiotics. The term “signifier” expresses the object/subject while “signified,” conveys what the object represents. The creation of the Ideal Coffee Shop, a café so ‘authentic’ to TriBeCa that it did not even exist in neighborhood is an example of someone looking at and in turn emphasizing the signifiers of the neighborhood, rather than what is being signified by the neighborhood. Genuine neighborhood authenticity has been desensitized and deconstructed to the point of non-existence. The manufactured version of TriBeCa will be projected on screens across the nation, perpetuating the myth.
 
Works Cited
Barthes, Roland. Excerpts from "Myth Today" from Mythologies 1972: 1-3. Web. 24 April 2010. <http://carbon.ucdenver.edu/~mryder/itc/barthes/myth_today.html>.
Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and simulation. Ann Arbor, MI: The University of Michigan
Press, 1994. 1-43.
Sorkin, Michael. Twenty Minutes in Manhattan. London, UK: Reaktion Books, 2009. Print.

In his book, Twenty Minutes in Manhattan, Michael Sorkin discusses in his chapter entitled “The Stoop” how people’s behaviors are shaped by their environments. Sorkin shares his memory of watching a stranger pick a piece of litter up from the garden of daffodils in front of his apartment building. He notes that he finds helpful and benevolent acts such as these “deeply moving” as they not only make urban life possible, but save us from being absorbed into a concrete jungle mentality where general responsibly is diffused in due to the high volume of people in the a space, and is therefore felt by no one (Sorkin 71).  Sorkin states that there is a “relationship between our pleasure in an environment and our willingness to engage and defend it” (74). Places like New York City’s west village, Disneyland and the beach are environments that are thought of with affection because they have the ability to transform everyday transactions. The beach is an attainable utopia while Disneyland is an ideal safe place due to its price filtering of threatening people and the immaculate nature of its infrastructure. When in these “superior” places of escape, general behavior in the public realm is altered for the better (75).
 
Sorkin’s observations regarding the character of life in well-maintained neighborhoods and the way people act when in places that are cared for, sparked thought about how neglected environments effect people’s behavior in the public realm.  In Malcolm Gladwell’s  book, The Tipping Point, he cites criminologists James Q. Wilson and George Kelling’s Broken Windows theory. The Broken Windows Theory is based, like Sorkin’s claims, on the assertion that the impetus to engage in a certain kind of behavior does not come from a certain kind of person but from a feature of the environment (Gladwell 142). The theory’s founders believe that crime is an “inevitable result of disorder” and that if a window, for example, is left unrepaired, people will assume that no one cares and that authority is not emanated by anyone on street. Soon more windows will become broken and the street in which the building is on will by taken over by an anarchical sense that anything goes (141). Minor city problems like graffiti, public disorder, and panhandling are the Wilson and Kelling’s equivalent to broken windows, and are signals that when in the area, one can commit more serious crimes without the interference of those in the neighborhood. Crime is contagious (142). The kind and neighborly behavior in the places Sorkin describes are due to expressions of order in their environments. In the West Village, Disneyland, and beaches there are, in the words of Jane Jacobs, “eyes on the street” preventing even the smallest of infractions, like littering, and therefore signal to potential criminals that serious crimes will not be tolerated within those neighborhoods and places.
 
Human behavior is shaped strongly by context. Tinkering with the smallest details of the environments  changes the context of the place, in turn effecting the way people act, for better or worse, when in these environments. In places that are not vacation destinations or in gentrified Manhattan, seemingly insignificant steps can be made, by both cities and residents, to exhibit control and care for the place. These minute changes have the potential to turn intolerable places into ones where people enjoy being.
 
Works Cited
 
Gladwell, Malcolm. The Tipping Point. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company, 2000. 140-151. Print.
 
Sorkin, Michael. Twenty Minutes in Manhattan. London, UK: Reaktion Books, 2009. Print.
 
 

In Anthony Flint’s book Wrestling with Moses, he describes the work of urban activist, Jane Jacobs who fought ‘urban renewal’ and demonstrated with both her actions and words that urban planning, preservation, and improvement are a responsibility of the people. In Heniri Lefebvre’s book The Urban Revolution it is argued that the right to the city is the right to command the urban process. 
 
Flint’s discussion of Robert Moses’ powerful role in the urban renewal processes is reminiscent of another powerful urban planner, Paris’ Baron Haussmann, who was responsible for the 19th century renovation of the city of Paris from a mid-evil maze to its current aesthetically beautiful state. At the cost of hallowing out the inner city, Haussmann created public spaces, facilities and monuments that became a center for culture and tourism. Operating under the instruction of dictator Napoleon III, Haussmann destroyed Parisian slums and displaced the working class, changing Paris’ winding streets into wide boulevards lined with café’s and shops. This cityscape renovation ultimately transformed the Parisian lifestyle.
 
To think about New York City urban planning and transformation in modern terms brings to mind mayor Michael Bloomberg. Social theorist David Harvey argues that Bloomberg is “reshaping the city along lines favorable to developers, Wall Street and transnational capitalistic-class elements, and promoting the city as an optimal location for high-value businesses and a fantastic destination for tourists.” By operating the city in this way, he is in effect “turning Manhattan into one vast gated community for the rich” (Harvey 38). The phenomenon of gentrification is one in which Jacobs “never fully addressed” (Flint 190) but is something that seems inevitable. By developing better places, we make neighborhoods and cities where people want to live and thereby create a demand that alters the economic worth of the place. In a capitalist society, this propagation is inherent.
 
With forces as large and successful as these universities, quality of life to for those urban residents living in congruence with the university space has become, in a sense, commodified. Major wealthy universities also play a role in the modern urban redesign process. In Wrestling with Moses, Flint states that in the 1920’s New York University “moved ahead relentlessly with plans for new campus buildings lining [Washington] square” (Flint 71).  Today, universities like NYU that own vast amounts of property, play a large role in shaping the design of cities. As a further example, New Haven Connecticut, a town lacking in resources for urban development and investment, is strongly influenced by the extremely wealthy Yale University. John Hopkins is responsible for the same type of restructuring in East Baltimore. On a visit to Harlem I recall seeing a banner strapped across a building’s façade projecting the statement, “Fight Columbia University’s community displacement!” to Harlem residents. 
 
Even with the past efforts of activists like Jane Jacobs, today, city development is still heavily commercialized and restricted to a small political, economic and social elite who uphold the power to shape cities in accordance with their own desires (Harvey 38). How would design changes in a city be different if every member of its community had the right to easily be involved in the city’s structuring? Is it possible to preserve or create a place where people want to live, while at the same time maintaining mixed income communities? 
 
 
Flint, Anthony. Wrestling with Moses. New York NY: Random House Publishers, 2011. Print.
 
Harvey, David. "Right to the City." New Left Review. (2008): 23-40. Print.
 
Lefebvre, Henri. The Urban Revolution. Minneapolis: The University of Minnesota Press , 2003.
 

In Michael Pollan’s chapter entitled, “Windows” in his book, A Place of My Own, he explores the varying historical, contemporary and personal functions of the glass windowpane. Pollan explains how historically, positive sentiment for window came to being during the Enlightenment period, when people began to regard nature as a sanctuary and place of personal discovery (Pollan 247). The Enlightenment period highly regarded the concept of transparency, particularly of self to nature and of self to other. Pollan continues to explain that the transparency offered in glass construction was intend to function as a dissolvent of the barriers between all that divides us from one another and from nature. While glass architecture did not purpose ideally intended for it within the social realm, I do see the windows on Pollan’s hut figuratively breaking down the separation between human and object. With the addition of the glass windowpanes to progressing hut, Pollan feels a sense of satisfaction and awe as the windows “revolutionize the building both inside and out” (258). The building’s windows provide it with an appearance of completion, and allow Pollan both to fully realize and assimilate into his identity this structure.
 
The hut is brought to life with the instillation of windows. An essence is given to the building when it gains the ability to steadily stream light, transforming a space into a place. Light in both abstract and physical form is associated with clarity and knowledge. This likening is inherent in the term ‘reflection’ which occurs in both glass and thought. With the windowpanes established, Pollan sees the building as possessing a sense of depth. He notes, “glass has a way of inflecting whatever holds it, quickening what was formerly inert, suggesting other layers and dimensions, depths to plumb” (259). Pollan goes onto further characterize his building as expressing a sense of intelligence (260) because the square frames of its windows create six varying focal points within the landscape. Judging simply by Pollan’s writing, it seems that Pollan embodies the characteristics of depth and intelligence. He also seems to be driven by the formation of thoughtful analysis and the understanding of varying points of view on the subject he is exploring, in this case, it is architecture. The personification of the building is a manifestation of Pollan demonstrating a deep understanding of the structure and taking ownership for what it symbolizes.
 
Even though the hut is chiefly designed by Charlie and is constructed party by Joe, Pollan sees the hut as a place of his own.  An analysis of the nature of this building in the woods is one that is subjective, varying depending on the lens of that who views and analyzes it. For Pollan, the characteristics he describes as seen in the building are also features that are associated with himself. In this way, the building is a projection of the self. In terms of aesthetics, habits and values, are all rooms that are personalized, even in subtle ways, a reflection of self?
 
 

In Michael Pollan’s book A Place of My Own he describes the significance of having a place where one’s thoughts can meander in their minds without direction. A place where one can daydream. Pollan describes the indulgence in one’s own random or fantastical thoughts as a type of psychological coping mechanism, he states that it is in daydreams where “we go to cultivate the self or more likely, selves, out of the view and earshot of other people.” Daydreaming requires not only solitude, but also a place where one can be without interruption (Pollan 7).
 
Daydreaming appears to be the adult version of an imagination. Children often use their imaginations to discover, construct, and create places of their own. In reference to the concept of imagined rooms, Pollan describes his own childhood tree house in the woods and the cupboard in the stairs where his sister used to play house, pretending she were in a cottage (18). He states, “Though these huts were firmly held in the embrace of our parent’s house, they formed another interior deep inside it, a second more comprehensible frontier of inside and out, private and public, self and world…” (19).
 
A significant place of a child’s own making, whether it is in a tree, in the back of a closet, inside cardboard box, or under a table, is more emotionally connected and psychologically relevant to the child than a place that is simply, its own. For example, a child’s bed belongs often just to them but as Yi-Fu Tuan states “[although] the crib is his cozy little world, almost every night he goes to it with reluctance; he needs sleep but fears darkness and being left alone” (29). A synonym or child is a ‘dependent, ’ as children are dependent on their caregivers. The child generally does not make the decision when he or she gets in bed, it is decided for them by their parent. A created or imagined place is one in which a child would likely only enter voluntarily upon their own decision and desire. Control over the created “hut” or hideaway is imperative to the function of the place. Creating a space of one’s own is the child engaging in a type of independent escapism, using their imaginations to make places of significant personal meaning.
 
Children are often territorial over these places of escape. Pollan says, “Children seem instinctively to grasp the deepest meanings of houseness – the full significance of territory and shelter” (16). Often a password will be required to enter these place’s of children’s making or they will be “child sized” and physically inaccessible to adults. This exclusivity is often seen in the imaginary d realms and worlds described in the fairy tales that enamor children. In the story of Alice and Wonderland, Alice must become small to enter into the fantastical Wonderland. In the Chronicles of Narnia, the wardrobe is the secret passageway that leads the children into the land of Narnia. The transition between reality and the fanciful is symbolized by both the rabbit hole and wardrobe. The passing through them is a right granted only to children. This territoriality is a way for children to express control over environments of their own creation.
 
A place of one’s own making appears to be a necessity in a child’s developmental process. A place to “acquire some sense of what [they] are about” (7) through daydream and imagination. According to Tuan and Piaget, a child develops significant spatial skills and knowledge of spatial relations through the modeling of “homes” or in the playful re-creations of places they have been to in the past (Tuan 27). As is evident with Pollan’s creation of a space that is removed from the realities of his everyday life, one never outgrows the need to create and inhabit a space of their own. 
 
Pollan, Michael. A Place of My Own. New York, NY: Penguin
 Group, 1997. Print.
 
Tuan, Yi-Fu. Space and Place. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1977.19-34.
Print.
 
 

I remember riding in the back seat of my parent’s cars, noting the few landmarks we passed on a daily basis once we left our neighborhood. By the time I got my license, the empty fields of greenery I passed each day in my childhood had been filled with movie theaters, shopping centers, mega grocery stores, and chain restaurants. “Suburban sprawl” in Colorado Springs is in full fledge. Areas that used to be open prairie are now becoming the “Castle Pine,” “Buffalo Ridge” developments. The last time I visited the city I saw five new restaurants in the proximity of my neighborhood and shortly after got lost amidst a construction zone where a bypass was being hoisted over a six-lane boulevard.
 
When I was seventeen I was driving down a rural road outside of my neighborhood. One lane was jammed with traffic about a half a mile before the intersection. Causing the congestion were the vehicles of broadcasting stations, reporters, and photographers. They were cluttered around the outside of a property that belonged to a man named Ted Haggard, an evangelical Christianleader of a 14,000-member church called New Life. Haggard and the 14,000 people he preached to each Sunday, stood in opposition to same-sex marriage, a significant voting issue in Colorado. The traffic jam was caused after it was discovered that Haggard was participating in a methamphetamine-fueled homosexual relationship with a male masseuse. Religious hypocrisy runs rampant in Colorado Springs.
 
When I was a about seven, my best friend lived two houses away from mine. Sometimes, we would try to get lost while riding our bikes or skating on roller blades. But, out of fear of actually getting lost, we would never leave our four-block “boundary.” The distance we were allowed to wonder was determined based on how far away we could be and while still hearing my friend’s dad whistle, which he would blow whenever dinner was ready at either of our houses.
 
The neighborhood I was raised in is called Pine Creek. It boasts proximity to quality public schools, upscale shopping, and is located on a premiere golf course. Due to covenants, homeowners can only have one car parked in their driveway. If a visitor parks on the street in front of the house, or across the street along the cul-de-sac in an area that is not designated as an approved parking space, they will be fined. One year shortly after Christmas a 6-inch blanket of snow fell onto the Pine Creek neighborhood. It didn’t melt until the beginning of January. All residents who did not dig their Christmas lights out of the snow and tempt their icy roofs were fined $250 for not removing their decorations in a timely manner. When I went home last year for the holidays, I noticed that people in the neighborhood do not even bother to put Christmas lights on their houses anymore; heavy Colorado snowfall can be unpredictable.
 
In 2006 CNN’s Money magazine dubbed Colorado Springs the number 1 best big city for living in America. This rating is based off of the Air Force Academy’s $2.6 billion annual contribution to the local economy and companies Intel and HP as large employers.
 
 
http://money.cnn.com/magazines/moneymag/bplive/2006/top100/bigcities.html
 
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15536263/ns/us_news-life/
 
http://www.pinecreek.com/
 

View slideshow of High Line in winter  (taken by me)
View slideshow of High Line in summer (High Line.com)


Urban environments are typically characterized by an ambitious drive towards productivity and success. Often parks and centers of recreation are developed to offer refuge from the highly stimulating, bustle of metropolitan life. One such place of escape in New York City is the High Line Park, a public amenity that allows city dwellers a place of psychological and physical retreat from the chaos of the New York street life below.

The New York City High Line Parkserves the  community through a variety of different manners. Due to the elevated nature of the park, High Line visitors are offered an interesting change in visual perspective. Looking out to the east, one is presented with the midlevel views of various buildings and the rooftops of others (exposure to roof tops was the inspiration for artist Kim Beck, whose exhibition, “Space Available” is currently on display on many roofs visible from the High Line). Hanging above 10th avenue is a large square enclave where stadium seating allows visitors to view oncoming traffic while suspended in the middle of the street. Because the High Line is on the far west side of the city, it provides park visitors with a view of the Hudson River and New Jersey skyline. The High Line permits one to stroll instead of race through Manhattan, and sauntering in this space is rather practical as one can walk from 20th street to 14th without the interruption of intersections. Even on a chilly winter day, people find solace in the park while lying in the sun on wide wooden lounge furniture. It serves as a site of inspiration as people are often found with cameras in hand, capturing the scenery, views, and various moments with others.
 
The High Line is a one and a half mile long structure that runs through Manhattan’s west side Meatpacking District, Chelsea, and Hell’s Kitchen areas. Under the instruction of urban planner Robert Moses, the High Line was constructed in the 1930’s as an elevated railroad track in order to keep pedestrians removed from the dangers of trains. When trains stopped running on the tracks in 1980, the High Line became another decrepit space in the once industrial districts. As the west side of downtown Manhattan became gentrified, people began to view the High Line as a type of park because it was filled with overgrown vegetation. Labeled “outdated and invalid” by the Surface Transportation Board, demolition of the High Line was planned in 2002. The preservation of the industrial ruin was advocated for and secured shortly thereafter. The New York City Department of Parks and Recreation purchased the space and allowed its non-profit partner organization, Friends of the High Line, to being transforming the railroad track into a public park. After renovation and reconstruction The High Line Park opened in 2008 (HighLine.com).
 
The High Line Park is what writer and philosopher Walter Benjamin would refer to as a “dialectical image” (Benjamin 13). Still embedded on the eighty-year-old steel industrial structure are the original rusted railroad tracks. They lay amidst newly planted gardens and light wooden planks that carve a path through the park. A train stoplight is mounted on a building that provides a shaded tunnel for park-goers to sit around colorful metal tables.
 
The creative repurposing of the High Line structure was a result of psychological, physical and social needs of the community. According to John Brinkerhoff Jackson, the “vernacular landscape” is one that is dependent on social organization within time and space. The relationships between individual people, groups and communities shape the landscape in which they inhabit (Jackson 156). Spaces, like humans, find identity in the relationships they maintain with people. The High Line is a structure that previously supported a railroad that became an urban ruin when other means of transportation for foods and goods began to be utilized in the West Village area. Now, this High Line functions in the community as a park.Because the West Village community saw potential use for the preservation and renovation of the previously industrial ruin known as the High Line, the space was adapted and transformed by the community (members of Friends of the High Line organization).The High Line is not unlike the examples of casual uses of space in other places in America where football stadiums are used for Easter church services and churches are used as discotheques (154). According to Jacksonian thought, the beauty of this vernacular landscape lies not solely in the space’s essence but also in the presence of humanity within the place (xii).
 
In the essay “Intimate Experiences of Place” in Yi-Fu Tuan’s book, Sense and Place, he suggests, “space is transformed into place as it acquires definition and meaning” (Tuan 136). After trains stopped operating on the High Line tracks, the area became obsolete. The inaccessible tracks were inundated with weed growth as the steel structure became rusty and hazardous due to neglect. This space became the High Line Park as it was renovated and recycled. What was once viewed as useless space became a place where many people now find refuge. The trees, flowers, grasses, and bushes contribute to the creation of the High Line’s a sense of place. Not only are they visually appealing in almost every season (in February there was still much color bordering the walkway; a winter garden) but they work to foster, as Tuan would say, “poignant, unplanned human encounters” (143). For example, as I was snapping shots of a flower bush that had bright green bulbs at the end of its stems, I was stopped by a stranger who told me details about the plant. We discussed what we each enjoyed about the plant: I the color, and he, the Witch-hazel’s many uses. The shrubbery and trees in the park were planted for aesthetic purposes, but also serve to promote human encounters. In the summer time, the trees provide solace and shade during the day while the abundance of flowers create a romantic atmosphere as the sun goes down.

In The Geography of Nowhere Kunstler discusses “Better Places” in America and how to continually create them. He references a group of artists, academics, architects and planners led by Christopher Alexander at the University of California Berkley who developed a philosophical theory that emphasized understanding our manufactured landscape in terms of “connecting relationships” between objects and space (Kunstler 249).  Alexander’s remedy for our modern landscape was called “A Pattern Language,” and was a description of how to create places that will enhance human living conditions. All of the ‘patterns’ were originated with regard to “deep human emotional and psychological needs: the need for greenery, sunlight, places to be with other people, spaces to be alone, spaces for the young and old to mix, for excitement, [and] tranquility” (251). In today’s environment, Alexander’s regard for connecting relationships can be applied to the High Line’s design. The space is fully exposed to open sunlight and has a sprawling landscape of trees, grass, brushes, and flowers. The park has public walking space as well as enclaves for people to lounge. The atmosphere of the park feels Zen-like,” due to the contrast of the busy streets and bustling sidewalk below. The relationship between the ground and the park is unique in that entrance is limited to five designated areas. However, while climbing the stairs one is exposed to a place bursting with “aliveness” (250). The elements of the space: the benches, lighting, plants, and tables, have cohesive relationships that support other unique patterns within the park.  It is evident that a high level of attention was given to the details of design in the space. To provide visual substance and interest, there is a viewing box that overlooks the street, a cutout that exposes the framework of the structure, stone seating in the grass lawn, and a calming running water feature. Architect teams James Corner Field and Diller Scofidio + Renfro’s emphasis on the connecting relationships in their High Line design created a place worthy of human affection.

Kunstler sees “disregard for the public realm - for public life in general” (246) as a major element in America’s demise. The park is a small step in rectifying this problem as the High Line was built to serve solely as a public amenity. Public life occurs along the High Line in a way that is non-commercialized and genuine. Casual public assembly occurs in this space as diverse assortments of people linger on the promenade. Park visitors are exposed to permanent public art-exhibitions as well as temporary commissioned art shows. The Friends of the High Line organization offer public programs focused on design, art, history and family entertainment. The High Line functions as a place of play, a place of meeting, a place of serenity, a place to eat, a place to read, and a place to exercise.  Most of all though, it is a place where strangers can be together in an enjoyable environment. The park’s functioning in this way enhances the quality of life for the people of New York City.

In his blog post entitled “Eye Sore,” Kunstler posits his critic of the High Line:
 
“[The Standard hotel is] intended as an accessory to the city’s new High Line ‘park’ — a weed-filled 1.5 mile-long stretch of abandoned elevated railroad right-of-way… In this project, mistakes are artfully multiplied and layered — for instance the assumption that New York City doesn’t need railroad tracks anymore. Or the notion that buildings [The Standard Hotel] don’t have to relate to the street-and-block grid. Instead of repairing the discontinuities of recent decades we just celebrate them and make them worse. That’s decadence at its purest.” (clusterfucknation.com)
 
In fact though, Kunstler’s critiques demonstrate a misunderstanding of the High Line’s function in the New York landscape and experience. The space he is critiquing is in actuality serving the very purposes he promotes in his literature. Planting designer Piet Oudolf arranged for the park to contain over two hundred species of perennials, grasses, shrubs, and trees, that were each selected both for their sustainability and variation in color. The species were also tailored to the microclimates already in existence on the steel structure (Highline.com). Overall, the vegetation contributes greatly to the High Line’s smoothing atmosphere, whether in stimulating interaction between two strangers or in visually beautifying the parks’ edges. The cultivated ‘vintage wine’ cone flowers, Virginia roses, and pincushion plants that bloom on the High Line in the spring season are not what any landscape designer would refer to as ‘weeds.’ The consideration and planning for the park’s landscape design shows visitors that the park is a place cared for and about, fostering a sense of community whose members can view themselves as belonging to a ‘good place.’ In his chapter entitled “Life on the Gridiron” Kunstler cites the worst weakness of the gridded block system is the “straight line repeated over and over” (Kunstler 33). The Standard hotel’s modern raised structure breaks the straight-line pattern and contributes to the architectural character of the meatpacking area. While I see the demand for a future alternative source of fuel being fulfilled by engineers and scientists (Farret, and Simões), if the High Line were to ever again need to be used as a railroad track, the structure has been preserved due to its reuse, instead of demolished, as was scheduled in 2002. Instead existing as abandoned space, it now functions as a place where New Yorkers can escape to find tranquility amidst the hectic commotion of the city. The High Line is a decoration in the public realm.
 
Perhaps it was best put by Walter Benjamin’s fellow surrealist writer, Louis Aragon who said, “We enter a park feeling like conquerors and quite drunk with open-mindedness” (Aragon 137). The park within the city allows one to remove themselves from the overstimulation of the metropolis, relax, and become aware of the world around them in a way that is not overwhelming, but invigorating. Kunstler’s high regard for the public realm and understanding of places with value, Jackson’s concept of the vernacular landscape as a space dependent on social organization, and Tuan’s comprehension of how spaces become intimate places, each can be applied to the understanding of the role of the High Line park an intoxicatingly tranquil element of the urban environment.
 
 
Works Cited:
Aragon, Louis. Paris Peasant. Boston, MA: Exact Change, 1926. 131-137. Print.
Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. 1st. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press,
2002. 1-15. Print.
Farret, Felix, and Godoy Simões. Integration of Alternative Sources of Energy. Hoboken
New Jersey: John Wiley and Sons, 2006. Print.
Jackson, John Brinckerhoff. Discovering the Vernacular Landscape. New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1975.
Kunstler, James Howard. The Geography of Nowhere: The Rise And Decline of
America’s Man-Made Landscape. New York: Touchstone, 1993.
Tuan, Yi-Fu. Space and Place. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1977.130-148.
Print.
 
 
 
 
 

Of James Howard Kunstler’s discussion of the “Three Cities” in his book, The Geography of Nowhere I was particularly intrigued by his description of Portland Oregon. The city is one of the few that is able to meet Kunstler’s version of an ideal place in our modern world. He states, “Much of what is good about Portland came to pass because Oregon was the unofficial capital of the ‘environmental’ movement…” He describes the state as “large, sparsely populated, with a beautiful coast, lots of mountains, farmland, and high desert. People who liked unspoiled places flocked to Oregon” (204). This description reminded me of Colorado; an environmentally conscious state that is geographically expansive where it is common to claim that one ‘worships the outdoors.’ The state’s beautiful mountain ranges, forests, lakes, and national parks make outdoors activity an element of every day life.
 
Nestled in foothills of Rocky Mountains the town of Boulder is home to almost 30,000 college students. Many residents live on University Hill, where pedestrians are often on sidewalks walking past local businesses on small narrow streets lined with parallel-parked cars. Because it is possible to live in Boulder without a car, resident homes and commercial spaces can be found on the same block. Typically, low-income college kids live in five- seven bedroom old Victorian houses, just within blocks of huge stone single-family homes. Geographically, Boulder is only an hour away from expansive mountain ranges that provide the opportunity for great skiing and snowboarding. By Kunstler’s standards, Boulder Colorado is a good place.
 
While Boulder has adopted policies to control urban expansion, such as ordnances limiting building heights and tax increases for development in open space, much of the town’s atmosphere has not been designed solely by city planners. The type of charm Kunstler describes in Portland is found in Boulder partly because of the University of Colorado and the students who inhabit the places surrounding the campus (Boulder is considered a “college town”). Most students don’t have cars, hints a need for mixed-use spaces where stores are easily assessable on foot. Many live on a budget and are therefore willing to reside in old homes with many roommates. The sense of community in Boulder is astounding due to the university culture in the town. Along with general intellectual life, there is a strong presence of environmental and social consciousness.
 
Something interesting about the city of Portland is its ability to maintain the small town feel, (which Boulder, population 97,385,has captured), while existing as a large city (population: 537,081). While the city of Portland benefits from an urban growth boundary, cities that grow in urban commercial fashions are often places where people also like to be (note high populations in metropolitan cities). Perhaps Kunstler’s definition of Portland as a good place that currently exists in America is related to his nostalgia for his own college town in Brockport NY, which he also describes as an ideal place (14).
 
 
 
"City of Boulder Community Data." Resident Information. City of Boulder, Feb 28, 2011. Web. 28 Feb 2011. <http://www.bouldercolorado.gov/>.
 
"U.S. Census Bureau." State & County QuickFacts. Census Bureau, 2009. Web. 28 Feb 2011. <http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/08/0807850.htmlhttp://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/08/0807850.html>.
 

In the third chapter of James Howard Kunstler’s The Geography of Nowhere he analyzes both America and France (among other countries) during the period of industrialization. When discussing modernization of the Western world Kunstler suggests that the “hypergrowth”, and “congestion” experienced by urban dwellers of the late 19th century made many “yearn for escape” (Kunstler 37). In France, for example, this escape from industrialization was found through a “…transform[ation] [of] Paris from an overgrown medieval rat maze into a city of wide boulevards, greenery, and light” (37).  
 
Referencing the photographs of Eugène Atget of Paris in the early 1800’s allows one to envision how Paris looked as a “rat maze.” When describing Atget’s work, Walter Benjamin states, “It is no accident that Atget’s photographs have been likened to those of a crime scene” as he photographed historical evidence of ‘old Paris’ before its gentrification (as pictured above). With the industrial revolution came Baron Haussmann, an urban engineer who under the reign of Napoleon the III architecturally beautified Paris. Haussmannization, involved the destruction of the irregular medieval alleyways and the relocation of many less affluent dwellers, in order to construct a city with wide avenues and picturesque boulevards. Kunstler states that the transformation of the urban environment “Permit[ed] the French to develop a coherent idea of the good life that was at once metropolitan, middle class, and respectful of the arts” (37).
 
Because Haussmannization only occurred in Paris, the its French residents only experienced the positive aspects of rapid change. In Paris, two centuries after its renovation, the word ‘suburbia’ is synonymous with the term ‘slum.’ In reference to the industrial revolution in the United States, Kunstler asserts,  “America reinvented that paradise, described so briefly and vaguely in the book of Genesis (Eden), called it Suburbia, and put it up for sale.”  The suburbs outside of Paris, however, are far from a paradise, and the living standards are very different from the American concept of suburbia. In Faiza Guere’s novel, Just Like Tomorrow she depicts the modern realities of living life in the banlieue(suburbs) of Paris. Daria, the novels’ teenage protagonist, draws parallels between the American and French suburb. Like Kunstler, Daria views America as providing the opportunity for “social mobility” (Kunstler 37). Because of American media Daria perceives the suburbs as a happy place where one can live a nice life as a middle class citizen. Daria lives in a housing project where she and her mother are in a constant monetary struggle. She believes that in Paris, if you are not ethnically French and wealthy, it is extremely difficult to exist happily. Her living circumstances become overwhelming and she suspects that she is fated to live a life of misery. Haussmannization did not make it possible for French people who inhabit the banlieues of Paris to “escape” and “enjoy the good life” (Kunstler 37). The transformation of Paris limited the city’s accessibility by making its borders socially and physically impenetrable to those trapped in the outskirts.
 
 
Benjamin, Walter. "Little History of Photography." 274-287. Web. 21 Feb 2011. <https://classes.nyu.edu/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp?url=/bin/common/course.pl?course_id=_166028_1>.

Guere, Faiza. Just Like Tomorrow. London, UK: Random House Publishers, 2004. Print.

In “Concluding with Landscapes”, John Brinckerhoff Jackson defines landscape as “the place where we establish our own human organization of space and time” (156). This understanding of ‘landscape’ is broad and can be applied to many settings. Jackson applies his theories regarding various types of landscapes to communities throughout time. He introduces Landscape Two as a type of inviolable place that is defined by its permanent social and geographic position. The people who were a part of this community found a sense of identity in their possession of land. The members of the community who inhabit Landscape Three are concerned with the possession and maintenance of the intangible, the relationships they have with others. Because they are less concerned with the natural environment that surrounds them and are more accepting of developing spaces and places (156).
 
Relationships are inherently connected in our various landscapes. Jackson describes a vernacular landscape as distinctly involving time and space to emphasize personal relationships and the traditions within the community (150). If our modern community is concerned with human relationships, the spaces in which we live are in turn indicative of personal relationships. Yet, Jackson notes that he is “bewildered by the proliferation of spaces” and “bewildered by our casual use of space” in our modern landscape (154). If a church is used as a discotheque, it simply means that the community who uses the space has changed, in turn causing the space to be used in a different way. Spaces, like humans, find identity in the relationships they maintain with people. Traditions within a community, as well as traditionally used spaces, are subject to change due to human behavior or emotion. With Jackson’s understanding of the vernacular landscape, it is surprising that he did not also acknowledge the similarities in organization between the vernacular landscape and Landscape Three. 
 
Furthermore, ‘vernacular cultures’ and Landscape Three also share in the concept of place and personal identity. Jackson references ‘vernacular culture’ as not needing laws or politics, as life was dependent on tradition. Within the vernacular landscape, identity was found through membership in a “group or super-family,” instead of through land possession (149). Similarly, the relationships in Landscape Three are permeable, meaning that people are easily accepted and communities are easily built, allowing for the group behavior of those classified as a part of ‘vernacular cultures’ (156). The ease of belonging one experiences in Landscape Three can be derived from personal identification with a space or place. Many people find elements of identity in the spaces with which they surround themselves.  For example, a person living in New York may define himself or herself as a ‘New Yorker’ while a Miami resident might call himself or herself a ’beach person.’ While these adjectives may seem based on the physical characteristics of the places, they can also be derived from the specific relationship that a person who lives in that geographic location has to other people within the same city. A ‘New Yorker’ could refer to someone who purchases their morning coffee from a street vendor and the term ‘beach person’ could be used to describe someone who plays beach volleyball with his or her college friends.
 
Jackson closes Discovering the Vernacular Landscape with the broad statement; “[a landscape] is really no more than a collection” (156). To specify to in accordance with my understanding, a landscape is really no more than a collection of relationships within a space and time. A landscape defined by a community of people who value relationships with each other and use the spaces within their settings accordingly.
 
 

In Taun’s tenth chapter entitled “Intimate Experiences of Place,” he explores the concept of home.  The phrase, “…Resting in another’s strength and dwelling in another’s love” brings to light questions regarding a person as a “home” or “place” (Taun 139). Taun acknowledges that this abstract idea of home is not easy to accept. A place of emotional refuge and security is as likely to be found in human interaction as it is in a building, house, or apartment.
 
According to Taun, the value of a place is dependant on the intimacy of the human relationship that it fosters (140). The reason people become attached to specific places is often because of the experiences they share with other people while in that place. In Homer’s epic poem The Odyssey, the protagonist and Greek hero Odysseus denies immortality and spends ten years of his life fighting with only hopes of finally returning to his home in Ithaca. When he finally does complete his journey, he finds his physical home completely altered, yet is not devastated by these changes because his wife Penelope remains present. With his wife, Odysseus is at home.
 
An element of being at home with a person is emotional dependence. In Space and Place, Taun quotes a conversation between Hannah Jelkes and a man referred to as Mr. Shannon. Hannah states, “I think of a home as being a thing that two people have between them in which each can… well, nest-rest-live in, emotionally speaking” (139). Persons who are a part of a relationship do not seem to be able to ‘dwell’ within each other without this emotional aspect. Can a home exist in a person or place if it is not emotionally satisfying?
 
Taun addresses the concept of permanence in relation to the home by emphasizing that places are dependable because of the immovability of their location. While a place can be defined as a permanent and physical “pause in movement” (138), a person is constantly mobile. A home in another person seems as if it would be more enveloping and dependable than a place, as a person is not permanently rooted in one exact location at all times.  One can be at home anywhere, even in an unfamiliar country, if together with someone whom they share this type of bond. In the same vein, when people whom are married get divorced, their home can be described as “broken”.  While the phrase ‘broken home’ references the physical separation, typically of parents who used to function within the same residence, it also alludes to a broken relationship. The practice of having a type of figurative home that is dependent on a person seems more prevalent than Taun addresses in this text.
 
While buildings can remain for centuries, a home within a person is dependant on so much more than a foundation and bricks; it requires a continually functional emotional and cognitive bond. In this way, the home is not permanent by default, but a fragile dwelling that requires daily maintenance in order to exist.

 
Homer, First. The Odyssey. London, UK: Penguin Classics, 2006. Print.

“We know that the first step towards the intellectual mastery of the world in which we live is the discovery of general principles, rules and laws which bring order into chaos. By such mental operations we simplify the world of phenomena, but we cannot avoid falsifying it in doing so, especially when we are dealing with processes of development and change” – Sigmund Freud “Analysis Terminable and Interminable”
 
As both Yi-Fu Taun and Freud emphasize, erroneous knowledge and opinions can arise from the inaccurate rules and laws by which we first attempt to understand the world. In Taun’s novel, Space and Place he addresses elements of concepts related spatial ability, knowledge and place. Tuan begins chapter six by making a distinction between spatial skills and spatial knowledge, each of which are not dependent on each other. One can perform an act spatially with no mental awareness of how they actually performed the act. Taun references an example of a professional typist who produces finger movement with such dexterity and words with such accuracy that one assumes the typist knows exactly where the letters on the keyboard are located. Taun dissolves, “but he [does not]; [the typist] had difficulty recalling the positions of the letters that his fingers know so well” (68).
 
While Taun acknowledges that complex acts are often performed without much mental planning or consideration (68), he does not fully explore the idea of how and why we often function with our minds on autopilot. I will apply Psychologist Dr. Ellen Langer’s theory of ‘Mindlessness’ to behaviors that are learned due to mental capacity and carried out in the physical spaces by which we are surrounded. Langer asserts that when we repeat a task over and over again, our skills for the task improve and individual aspects of the task leave our consciousness. Eventually, we “assume that we can do the task although we no longer know how we do it” (Langer 20). In reference to the typist example, Langer suggests that the professional is a ‘mindless expert.’ In her experiments with a speedy typist, she found that when she asked him to teach her to do what he did, his finger speed slowed, as did his knowledge retention for what he was typing. Langer concluded, “becoming conscious or mindful incapacitated him” (20). To complicate matters further, if someone’s competence is tested for a moderately known but not over-learned task, the steps for the task can typically be easily explained. Ironically, this type of mindlessness often leads the expert to doubt their confidence in their skill.
 
The depths and capacities of the human mind are vast. Taun and Langer's observations regarding human behavior raise questions about how space and places can result in figurative ‘blindness.’ Aspects of mindlessness can be defined in terms of the loss of senses such as sight and touch, which are, according to Taun, vital to our understanding of the world’s “spatial and geometric character” (Taun 12). How can the spaces in our minds be touched, or activated, in a way that ensures that we are operating mindfully within our general lives? 

Langer, Ellen. Mindfulness. Cambridge MA: De Capo Press, 1989. 19-22. Print.

This past summer I spent six weeks living in Athens Greece and traveling throughout the islands by which it is surrounded. On these travels, I discovered Crete, one of the most beautiful places I have ever had the opportunity to experience. The moment I arrived in the town of Chania, thoughts of a future home on the island preoccupied my mind. I instantaneously felt a sense of belonging. 

I spent much of my time in the heart of the town along a narrow waterfront, which was lined with buildings bursting with character. In hues of pale yellow, blue and red, these buildings encased the sea. Some of them were homes, some were restaurants, but they all functioned cohesively in creating an atmosphere that felt wholly organic. The doors on these buildings were particularly interesting, as they stood boldly colored and adorned with intricate round metal handles in the center of them, conveying an invitation for exploration.
 
While standing along the disconcertingly uneven cobbled stone lined water's edge I was presented with an incredibly serene view of a lighthouse. When boats cleared and the lighthouse stood alone and stagnant against the waves of the Mediterranean Sea, it appeared beautifully simplistic. This lighthouse is symbolic of what the whole island of Crete is to me, beautiful because it is simple.
 
Compared to Athens, Crete was a breath of fresh air. It was a drastic change from polluted and busy streets. As a city girl I never would have imagined that I would be so happy to have left a city. As Jennifer Cross describes in her piece “What is a Sense of Place?” a spiritual relationship to a place can be defined as the relating to place in a profound and intuitive manner. I only spent five nights on this waterfront in this town, but felt, in those moments, as if I truly belonged there. This is what makes Crete, a good place. 

(The above photograph was taken by me in Crete on July 15th, 2010)