I believe that there can be architectural substance in every life.
I grew up in the South Hills of Pittsburgh and have never changed homes. I’ve been raised in the same home since I was brought home from the hospital. The same amber wooden floors, red brick veneer, and teal slap brush knockdown walls have held the activities of my everyday life. Nearby, a public-use building from the early seventies sat perched on the local peak. There, I would ride my bike after hours as the sun came down. The covered walkway served as a dragstrip for me and my sister to race eachother down. The covered walkway initially held as an entry into the Wallace Middle School prior to Baldwin’s relocation of the program. It had since been turned into the local library. Summer was spent walking up to the library to find new movies to watch. While I waited for the librarian to check the items out, I’d run up and down the ramp in the main lobby - creating lots of noise. The building was typically empty. As I ran around I learned about the building. The entry office that had been turned into a local political office. The old classrooms that were used for evening and weekend public programs. The lockers that stood along the walls, now used by custodians to keep small items. Even in the dark hallways beyond the library room, people occasionally moved about in their daily lives, quickly passing through. Every bit I found was being used by someone, somehow. Each space, as neglected as they may have been, meant something to someone: a workplace, a library, an afternoon public program, a playground, ect. People were willing to forgive the dimly-lit teal and tan hallways with flickering flourecent tube lighting for the value and purpose they filled in their lives, myself included. It was never about the physical picture that the building presented. It was about the mental picture it slowly developed. With Wallace serving as my playground it became my first alma mater. Perhaps it is no surpise anyhow, but I am still learning from it.
gallery.