by Orhan Ayyüce
Say, many times a question asked; how did you become an architect?
Memories of childhood hold many clues to one's present condition and intellectual content.
For few years, I grew up on an old rug with geometric patterns, not unlike a sub-divisional map with individual plots of land. Kind of Cartesian grid, rocked and unrolled...
Those patterns -perhaps developed on a Central Asian steppe, by the people, who, near Tashkent, not necessarily having an address in the city.
Me, a budding designer, with tin-car toys and day after day organization trainee, in the living room, on the family rug, providing sound effects for this otherwise silent city... Sort of, self defining and infrastructuring a sprawl, an inner city block, a utopian community in my childish imagination and 'cheekiness.'
Plots of land;
Randomly containing, a house or a low-rise apartment, even a bad ass doll house, resolving 'detailed details' for each, landscaped, gardened and sitting pretty on top of the wool piles...
I am five years old;
At the heights of my learning curve.
Just before the elementary schooling, shortly after I can recall my personal memories and spatial recordings, as a child.
As the super junior, no, make that a master of the living room rug.
My grandmother's wedding present to my parents.
Yes, I was born to the Wooled City. With worn out sections and smell of naphthalene, before it was declared dangerous to my health.
I drove the police car with toy siren and bringing my dirt truck via the other edge pattern into the scene, if I am not just parking one my taxicabs, near the designated train station, not far from the homes of real characters in my life at that point. I would sometimes put, as his political downfall, our mean neighbor in the basement beneath the family dog Mike's two story house. My dog Mike, a brown Pointer with private jets and the best house on the block, the only being, deserving all the best...
The original departure point of my architectural foray, the foundation of young architect's urban design visuals and purest configurations of better cities.
I was in the same city day after day, until the third grade.
A familiar landscape, endlessly remodeled with cars changing hands and roads changing directions.
The monotony of pattern-less wall-to-wall carpet, not...
Scale of the 8' by 11' rug changing back and forth, in the child's imagination. There were roads, buildings and bridges no more than few inches in real time.
My first physical model of entire city, called Rugtown in Livingroomia, in the continent of First Floor unit: C...
Street address typical.
You need the details of small places when you work the metropolis...
Many years later;
The said town is still there. The rug exists. Buildings long gone, infrastructure worn out, inhabitants moved away or dead.
It is tempting to walk down to toyshop and get some plastic transportation. However, the size of my body would be out of scale, which would make it hard to maneuver some of the urban transformation ideas.
A child's imagination is large.
But, it gets cynical in time for some people, rendering itself minus constructive plus doubtful.
Perhaps, blown out of scale, providing less, taking more...
If any, and not for the conversation's sake, I have to remind myself to get kynical...
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