by Jayne Joso
He was angry with himself, feeling arrogant and foolish for all his great ambitions to seduce, his great desire that she might love him, and his secret hope that she might stay.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The Architectural Finale
Gaia had been very astute about the press, rumours had indeed begun to spread, and a small ripple was gradually moving outwards gathering driftwood on the way; if she did not act swiftly and with cunning there would soon be a media deluge. Fortunately Alessandro was only too pleased to assist, and fresh rumours were quickly circulated to counter stories of their true whereabouts, the existence of a very private competition and the names of the competitors. Ernest Wrightsin was pretty certain that the finale would be held in Romania, a clever choice, completely unpretentious, a location few would think of. Others speculated that it would be in New Zealand, but where in New Zealand? No one was quite sure. Maybe it would be in Texas. Some said Ireland. Despite the work involved in setting these fanciful stories running, it did pay off. The misinformation worked well for the most part and was the cause of much amusement to the architect guests soon to arrive in Italy.
The guests very quickly and obligingly settled themselves in, few special dietary requests and no complaints, for all that ego they would not play the prima donna here. Gaia ran through the itinerary for the day of the finale itself. If they wouldn’t mind, she would like the proceedings to begin with a few words each from Edwin and Alessandro – Edwin as the most senior in age, Alessandro as the host. She had decided to save her own words until after the architectural works had been shown. It seemed a wise move, allowing her to retain a small amount of distance from the competitors, that she might apply a degree of critical objectivity, and focus her attention on the designs and presentations without the encumbrance and distraction of first delivering a speech.
There had been so much to consider, and now, now they were here! Would that they had enjoyed the challenge, would that they enjoyed their stay in Italy, and the finale itself. She had asked so much of them… and was it too much?
The Day Had Come…
Before embarking on his opening speech, Edwin Ray first took Gaia to one side, “May I just say Mrs Ore, that I think this is a tremendous and most fitting way to celebrate the memory of Charles, Grand Architect, and indeed your very dear husband.” Gaia smiled enigmatically before moving away to the comfort of champagne.
It was a select gathering, four world class architects, the ghost of another, the good will of Selené, and Gaia herself. She looked into her glass as Edwin Ray began his speech. At first it seemed it was entirely in remembrance and celebration of The Great, Charles Ore. Edwin, soon in full flow. – But Gaia did not hear his ebullient memento mori, but rather her own internal words of anger as they streamed through her mind now, completely unbidden.
The competition was to design a home for me! Charles, lest you not forget, is dead. My husband was known to contenders, critics and admirers alike as The Architect of the Age, and as such, to each of you, he holds the place of hero, of accomplice or enemy, but that doesn’t matter anymore, he’s dead! And so too The Age in which, and for which, he designed. I gave you each the most open remit, now let us see what you have done!
She felt a shudder as her thoughts jolted back to the present moment. Her mind raced, but she must stay calm; she took her seat and listened now to Edwin Ray.
“Politicians, despite understanding so little, always attempt to avoid taking part in the real adventure of architecture….”
Ralph Coover interrupted, “Yeah, Risky, they call it!” A considered smile crossed the room.
Edwin picked up again, “Too much caution… that’s the usual run of things. Of course I understand some elements of this, but we must avoid the indescribably banal that previous generations have given in to… the hyper-traditional over-build, the repetition! Things we are all too familiar with. – Anyway, each of us… in our own way… seems to have carved himself from the cloth of the rebel architect, and if I do not make myself gauche in saying so, I think Mrs Ore has truly gathered here the ultimate rebel set. – Speaking for myself at least, I have to say that this competition and the process I have engaged in has been a wonderful re-acquaintance with the basics, the fundamentals, with the absolute joy and playfulness of architecture, and my approach has largely been ‘back to basics’. One I have most thoroughly enjoyed.”
Coover raised his hands and applauded. He had thought to add a “Here, here!” but was cautious of sounding mocking; this was a competition alright, but he found himself incredibly moved by the whole encounter. Their coming together quite like this was something such great adversaries would seldom do, and so it had required the widow of a former adversary, and a competition the likes of which they had never seen. And Edwin was right, this had been a real grassroots experience; sitting alone with pencils, paints, and charcoal, tearing up paper, crafting little models. Thrusting their hands deep into the soil again.
A modest little house, this was the kind of project Coover felt he had largely missed out on, it was what his soul was missing of late, and dirty fingernails had never felt so good. He looked over his calloused hands in deep admiration. They didn’t pull in the ladies, they did do a mean old sketch.
Edwin was fizzing in champagne by now, the bubbles seeming to pop from an emboldened brow. He scratched his beard, “There are times when both my methods and my designs have been seen to cause provocation, but really, this is what is required – or we will all fall into a deep complacent slumber – architects, dwellers, all.” He laid down his glass.
Edwin had finished speaking, and after Alessandro’s speech it would be time for the architects to present their designs. Gaia felt distant again, the initial gentle silence that followed Edwin’s closing words now slipping away, awkwardness filtering through.
Her thoughts grew cynical as bereavement reared, and she grew afraid. What might they have done? How had they attempted this task? Her head, suddenly terrorised by scenes of how aggressively Charles would have met with such a challenge. Sleep-working, frantic sketching, irascible and bullying, ego-fired. Competing, always competing, with his peers, and certainly with all who had gone before him. Might these architects have done the same? Had they now designed to compete with the dead, with their memory of Charles? Or perhaps, they had designed in adoration… might they have designed an altar to him? Is that what I have asked for? An architectural collage to compete with his own works? Should I want even to lie in such a thing, a crude mutation of his own designs, in materials he would favour? Or do I even want to be reminded of such things? Will they have remembered that this was to be… a house of my own?
Her cheeks coloured with the fear that any of them might read her thoughts. Thoughts too emotional, irrational and all unkind. The wrong-thinking went before her. She must gather herself, tear herself from memories and pains. That was done with, that was past. The present time, and the people here gathered, deserved a careful appreciation of all that had actually been designed, in tenderness, in detail and with passion.
Edwin now passed the baton to Alessandro, “Thank you, Mr Ray, and so… I hope I am not too bold in speaking on behalf of all of us like this, but I think that I may be right in saying that this has been a wonderful project and challenge. Most importantly, I feel that this generous and open remit has been a way of keeping things fresh… and soft – something Mr Ray has also touched upon – indulging again those youthful and vigorous thought processes where we could permit the primacy of imagination and creativity with very little restraint. There are few clients who would ever have allowed our minds, talents and skill such freedoms. For my part, I have not enjoyed architecture so much since I was a small boy!” The room filled with warmth and laughter. “I have been able to revisit some methods of working that over time I may have lost. Working only on large scale projects, moving too much to the dictates of too powerful clients
, we… or I, can feel constrained, impeded, frustrated… and deep inside is still the desire and ambition to run free, to take a small idea, to keep the mind and fingers soft, to take the seedling, find that perfect spot, plant and let it grow, to take the ideas, the imagination, keep them malleable… make something new, appropriate, thoughtful. Something for someone else but clearly with your own prints embedded there. Something new emerges, ideas made manifest. With the big projects, we are aware and can enjoy the team dynamic, but so many demands press in on us, the client always hovering in the wings somehow. Anyway, as Coover knows more than any other here, I will talk and talk and talk if permitted to,” Coover smiled, he loved the sound of his name in Zandro’s tones, “but I wanted to take a moment to reflect, for during this project I have certainly experienced some joyous moments of breakthrough. So, thank you, Mrs Ore… Gaia.”
“Indeed, indeed!” called Edwin Ray, and sounds of approval filled the room.
Edwin Ray now gently whispered into Gaia’s ear, “Mrs Ore, what do you think? Are you ready now… might we begin to present the designs?”
“The designs. Yes, of course,” she was happy, “Shall we take a look?”
They moved to the adjoining room.
It took a number of hours to work through all the presentations. Models, animations, explanations… Gaia drifted in reflection as their words glided through their magnificent designs.
Ralph Coover’s – Globe
Alessandro Cannizzaro’s – Eyrie
Carlos Santillana’s – Pebble
Edwin Ray’s – Frozen Music
The intellect! The potency! The spontaneity! And brilliance! And what tears came now. Powerful, appreciative, heartfelt.
At the close of the presentations the assembled group retired for the day, each free to set out and explore their host’s local environs, or to seize some rare and precious time alone. They might relax awhile and sleep away the journeying or muse upon the day’s events. They would meet again at dusk.
Evening came. Gaia would speak. A winner would be chosen. A most wonderful dinner would be shared.
It was Gaia’s moment. Carlos stood calmly, a pebble in his pocket; Coover sat astride a broad wooden bench, quietly confident, the promise of an announcement, and then of good food, seemed like a result! Edwin appeared cheerful and animated, glass of red in hand; and Alessandro, Alessandro feigned a quiet confidence, but his heart was a flutter. Was this going how she wanted? Was the event a success? And had he made the other competitors comfortable enough? Was the hotel to their liking? But mostly his thoughts settled on Gaia. – Had she found a design that she liked? Just four competitors! They might all have failed her… And then finally… finally… she spoke, “I could hardly have hoped that any of you would even consider, let alone accept my wild proposition, and yet… you did. You did, and each of you has shown such great sincerity, thoughtfulness, and energy. And you have worked quite as I had hoped, though dared not dream, with equal care and consideration of both the inside space and the outside. You have thought about how a person might dwell in the place that you have made. And you have also thought how I would most feel comfortable.
“As different as your designs are one from another, and your methods also I suspect, I chose you each for the single attribute I most admire in an architect… rigour. For you each apply rigour in all things, at all stages.
“Outside is in, inside is out… you are concerned about mood, and light, and most importantly to me… you take care of the culture of the dweller. These are the ingredients of great work… and with such intense rigour applied… well, that’s quite an equation.” A ripple of warmth circled the room.
Gaia looked the models over again, “I gave you almost no time at all to produce these works… and look!” Her heart was filled; the architects’ also. “Just look at this great harvest!”
Coover bowed his head, afraid of blushes. Edwin smiled broadly, and puffed out his chest, would The Scotsman were here, a tail would certainly be wagging. Carlos had pulled himself up almost on tiptoes, the sunshine of praise causing him to blossom. And Alessandro… blushed from head to toe.
“And why do I so adore architecture?” She paused a moment, warm emotion rising, she must not lose the last few words, “That’s an easy one to answer. It is simply the discipline which encapsulates all others. The profession and art I most admire.
“From all of you, I have learned a very great deal. You work, each of you, with tremendous passion… and zeal. I think I can say that I love that in each of you.”
– So how would she choose?
– And who would she choose?
“Each one of you, in your own distinct way, has managed to design… to design a home, a perfect home, for me.
“I conclude,” she breathed, “that this… will necessitate the construction… of all four designs. Four builds! Let us make four homes. I love them all, and so, let’s build each one! Such is my own, and your, deep love for architectural works, I truly think it will take all four to satisfy such thirst! –I clearly cannot live in all four, extravagance on that scale would not sit easy with me, but we will find good use for each of them. For certain we will. – And I will not divide them in order of merit. Look at them, it would be impossible. – And… if he is agreeable, I will put my trust in Alessandro… to find the perfect site for each.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Home
Letter: In Words of my Own
Gaia to Alessandro
My dear Alessandro,
As you read this letter, I lie awaiting you in the adjoining room.
Do not move, do not venture in.
Be still, read me, alone, in the quiet, and when the reading is over,
When the ink has run its course, then come.
Here, near to you, I sense a kinship I have never known, and will never know again.
Here, as I have watched you, I feel desire such that I have never known,
And will never want to know again, for it is desire entwined with pain.
If the desire is met, if it is fulfilled, perhaps it will nourish – until then,
I will hurt with the deepest physical pain, emotional… physical, the same now.
Images run through my head, sensual, crazed.
Tears of passion flow from cheek to breast, and you?
Undress my sweet.
Would that I could feel that intense heart push through your flesh
And bleed close to mine
Just flesh
I do not need a house
I do not need a home
Not glass, nor stone, but a house, a home, of flesh
I need a house
I need a home
Of flesh, of the senses, and spontaneous design
Your hands, my skin
Your skin, my warmth
Wrapped, swathed, in nakedness
Just skin
Alessandro, I am, with you, most passionately, in love
I do not need a house
I do not need a home
But that of your sweet skin next mine
Gaia
Acknowledgments
Particular thanks go to: Joerg Rainer Noennig, Christopher Knabe, Mickaël Postel, Catherine Mauduit, Greta Dowling Flaherty, and June Zhao.
Huge thanks go out to all the friends and family who have supported me along the way; and a special thank you to all at Alcemi, especially Gwen Davies; and to my agent, Melissa Pimentel at Curtis Brown.
I would like to thank the Welsh Books Council for their continued support.
I am grateful both to the RIBA and the V&A for their public lecture series; and to the RIBA for answering a writer’s naive questions. I am also grateful to the architects who have helped with technical detail, and to others for
inspiration. I am sure to have taken liberties with what might truly work in the real world, and so, whilst inspired and guided by experts I have most blissfully indulged the imagination to create the buildings of a fictional one.
As for my own notebooks on architecture (the starting point for this novel), they began their adventure quite without purpose when I was living in Japan (mostly as a series of small sketches and observations). I kept up the notebooks as I travelled back through Europe and home to the UK. After this, they came along with me to China, and after some time there, back again to the UK, gently zigzagging their way across the map. Glad I started them. Glad I kept them.
The Gallery
An artist’s impression
of the houses featured in the novel
by
Hiroki Godengi
Artwork © Hiroki Godengi 2011
www.alcemi.eu
Talybont Ceredigion Cymru SY24 5HE
e-mail [email protected]
phone (01970) 832 304
fax (01970) 832 782
