Tag: Architecture
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Great, Greater, Greatest Gifts
Plunging into another Bloganuary prompt and once again obliged to qualify my response. This time the question is sufficiently open ended to invoke a great variety of answers. Hurrah! But I’m going to bend the inquiry toward Rosslyn for better relevance. With that prologue, on to great, greater, and greatest gifts. Here’s the Bloganuary prompt.…
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Porosity & Permeability
Porosity and permeability. Words. Ideas. Aesthetics. Biases. So many opportunities to mis-listen. Misinterpret. Assume… We volley language and visions without ever knowing whether or not we perceive the same boundaries. The same winning. And losing. Sometimes an image, less answer than visual poem, is the only way. Other times a poem-poem, less answer than question,…
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Brutalist Boathouse
This past summer, our friend, Teel, visited us at Rosslyn. Her energy and unique perspective made for plenty of indelible memories, but she recently added another visual chapter to her Rosslyn legacy. For Susan’s birthday, she painted and gifted her this potent painting, a brutalist boathouse rendering as captivating as its subject. Originating in (and…
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It’s Not a Bug, It’s a Feature
Yesterday I made a passing reference to coder jargon when I said that “the bug is beginning to feel like a feature”. (See “Yesteryear or Yesterday?“) I’m not a coder. Never was. Never will be. But I like the way coders think (and sometimes the way they talk.) You may be familiar with the acronym…
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1882 Harper’s Weekly: Children’s Excursion to Lake Champlain
When I stumble upon artifacts specific to Rosslyn or Essex or Lake Champlain or the Adirondacks I’m usually unable to resist collecting and showcasing them for others to enjoy. Often I can explain precisely why the artifact is of interest, but other times I’m unable to explain clearly, succinctly the appeal. Today’s discovery is fated…
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Almost Logical
Within minutes we were tripping over each other, drunk with excitement, imagining one whimsical “What if…” scenario after another. No filter, no caution. Our reveries flitted from one idyllic snapshot to another. “What if I finally sat down and finished my novel?” After dawdling self indulgently for a dozen years – writing, rewriting, discarding, rewriting,…