Week 2 [9/17-9/22] – 9/17 Monday – 9am – I’m walking from my ridiculously far away spot in the Westgate lot on the MIT campus, but I try to not begrudge my fate and observe some light on the way. When I walk by the Briggs athletic field, I notice an almost invisible layer of fog of humidity over the grass. I don’t find this entirely surprising because we’re close to the Charles River at this point but you can’t necessarily see it from the road I’m walking on. The light fog is comforting for me, because it’s not only like a blanket but also it remind me of my time on the University of Rhode Island campus. R.I. is known for it’s beaches and rocky Newport bluffs, but I know it as the land of turf. U.R.I. was originally an agriculture school and its main campus is surrounded by cattle and turf farms. Turf farms are incredibly boring to drive or walk by on a clear day. Yet on foggy, cloudy days, the dull rolling lawns seem mysterious, almost Celtic in their allure. The Briggs Field doesn’t have hills, but the fog still hugs it like a morning nap.
4pm – I’ve been stuck inside all day in class and meetings so I slip outside to walk between buildings instead of through them. Since my morning reminder of my undergrad campus, I’ve been comparing the two campuses all day in their flow of students. MIT seems to be based more off of indoor connections, full of perplexing twists and turns, staircases, and hallways that look exactly the same on different floors. But when you get outside, it’s mostly manicured lawns with paths in grids. At URI, the buildings had more room to breath, but that meant more walking to get from one place to another. But even off the main quad, you saw students making their own paths everywhere, cutting across grass and path alike. And the parking was situated at the far ends of campus, unlike the lots sprinkled between buildings at MIT. I’m hating those lots today, because the angle of the retiring sun blasts straight sunlight off the glossy cars windshields and bodies into my eyes. We’re deep into reviewing the United New Orleans Plan for Gateway, and my groups is focusing on the on-foot transportation paths. So I’m attempting to evaluate the flow of MIT’s paths and the sun seems to be attempting to thwart my efforts. Maybe this is why everyone is walking inside…
5pm – I decide to eat my dinner outside, out by the Student Center. I like sitting near the chapel because of it’s unique round shape and the contrast of the field in front of the Kresge Auditorium to the grouping of trees near the chapel. As I eat, I observe my fellow students and how they cluster near trees and not out in the open field. Is it natural protective instinct for humans to rest under trees versus out in the open sun, to avoid sunburns and swooping predators? Then why do architects and planners choose these open flat fields? To show off the architecture of the Auditorium? In a cramped urban setting such as Cambridge, it seems wasteful to have a field of flat ground when humans don’t want to sit in the middle of it. Plus the light is so much more interesting under the trees.
12midnight – I’m finally returning to my long off car in the lot, so I pass by the Briggs field again. I thought I might see my friend the fog again, but everything is harsh in the floodlights of the construction going on Vassar Street. I know the lights are for the safety of the workers and drivers, but they seem especially intrusive in their glaring beams of pure white light, especially in contrast to the dark night sky. 9/18 Tuesday
7am – I get up early to read a bit in the kitchen, but I daydream a bit and stare at my little herb garden growing in the window sill. The surviving basil, mint, and parsely are pressed up against the glass of the closed window like a small child waiting for a visitor. I know the plants are really just getting as much light as possible, but it’s more fun to give them a little personality.
9am – On my walk to the train this morning, I’m watching the leaves face the sun like the herbs in my window. Some trees make this action more pronounced by having white undersides on their leaves, that look down at me as I look up to see where the leaves are watching the sun.
7pm – Another long day, but I’m greeted by a lovely pink sunset on my walk home. I love the silhouetted dark shapes of trees and buildings against the warm colored sky so much, I spent many failed watercolor attempts trying to replicate it. I’m also reminded of an amazing song by Alexi Murdoch called “Orange Sky.” The song really isn’t about the sunset but, the orange sky is the backdrop to homage to the people who have supported and loved him in his life journey. I find the times of light change (morning and dusk) to be much more heartening than bright midday, especially when the colors are so warm and rosy as they were that night. It seems fitting that Murdoch chose this kind of sky to be the chorus of his song.
11:30pm – I’m studying in the kitchen again, and I’m hating the bright white light I have to study by to save my eyes. It’s so severe and makes it so all I see is black outside of the windows. I’m also taunted by the warm brown tones of the living room though the doorway, which is great place to sit and relax and NOT study.
9/19 Wed
7am – Even though I’m tired this morning on the subway, I keep my eyes peeled for some interesting play of light. On my escalator ride out of the station at Central Square, I turn to my left and see a boy with an older woman. She has a hand on the boys back, in a silent, physical effort to steady him on the moving stairs below us. I only see the back of his head, but it’s a fascinating light show to see how the details of his chestnut hair change as we move upward out of the florescent light of the station into the morning sunshine. It goes from blues to yellow undertones, and is captured by his form so well because he doesn’t move at all during our short ride.
8am – I’m back in my class in Building 1 that overlooks the Charles River for a double extended lecture. Again the morning light on the water is amazing but I’m struck especially by the contrast of the warm light and the freezing temperature of the room. The air conditioning is probably broken, and the light from the river doesn’t seem to penetrate our space at all. I find it an interesting paradox of only seeing the warm light and really feeling the frigid desk below me.
12midnight – I drive a friend home to Newton and I’m especially disappointed that the emerald flora is also ruined by similar construction floodlights from Monday night. It’s a good visual metaphor for man fighting against both nature and the night to pave roads. The only light they can use seems unnatural and ridiculous in the face of the quiet night that just is.
9/20 Thursday
10-12noon – In an effort to not get any more lost in Economics, I stayed home to study all morning. Without even realizing it, I kept all the shades down, closed the doors and played soothing jazz music all morning, cocooning myself in my orange room and powering through all the problems. When I finally lifted my head up for a few minutes, I realized that I had created a totally sensory deprivation spot for myself. There’s been a lot of writing about how our living environment, especially in urban centers, is totally infiltrated with excess input (usually commercial ads). I mean, there’s ads on the bus, on the inside of the bathroom stall, and on your coffee cup. So in order to focus, I had to create a space for myself that had both little man-made and natural (light, sound) input. Is this why libraries are quiet and so carefully lit?
2pm – When I jumped in the shower, I realized I was in there without the light on. Again, I’m running away from harsh, artificial light whenever I can!
5pm – I attended the MIT Communications Forum in the Media Lab’s Bartos Theater. I LOVE the Media Lab building, with it’s weird cube shape and the big open, multistory open office space of the Lifelong Kindergarten group. Where else can you see into an array of genius’ offices, and be surrounded by both live hanging plants, iron steps, and bins of Legos? Anyway, the theater itself seemed to go against the communal design of the rest of the building, especially around light. The speakers were so far away (I was late, so yes, I was in the back) but the rest of the theater wasn’t dark (as it would in a movie theater). As it was, without that focus of light in one spot, I found it hard to keep my attention on the speakers. I think humans have perfected the use of light to highlight things at events (take any big ol’ rock show) but I’m curious how they could using something more natural to light this room.
9/22 Friday
10am – I spent most the day preparing for a class presentation in Gateway, and I’m sad about being inside so much when the weather is so temperate. I do get antsy in the winter when I have to stay inside so much, but it’s not as extreme as seasonal affective disorder. It’s just amazing on much better one can feel emotionally when you’re just walking outside around natural atmosphere such as trees, park, or river. It almost feels too constructed to walk down streets like Vassar, where there are carefully placed trees among concrete, squared off building. I do wish Building 7 had a common garden in the middle of it, instead of the large entryway, like the one at Isabella Gardner Museum. I think I’d find the natural light much more useful for studying and creativity.
3:30pm – Not so deep of a light observation, but during my dry-run presentation for Gateway, I somehow found myself in this spot trapped between the beam of the projector and the side of the first row of desks. If light created the presentation (most literally by projecting our powerpoint presentation and more metaphorically by focusing the audience’s attention on the front), it was unforgiving about me intruding in it’s way!
5pm – The presentation team went out for a much needed beer after our presentation to a bar I particularly like, The Miracle of Science on Mass Ave. Even though it is a tiny space, stuck on a corner of two close streets, it feels very open and comfortable. It plays up on the theme of a science lab, with the black table tops, beakers for glasses, and chalkboards everywhere. But I think I like it more because of the floor to ceiling window on three sides. As I sit with my back to the only non-window wall, I can look out onto Central Sq. and my fellow beer-drinking patrons without feeling boxed in. I think they save on electrical bills by utilizing the natural light. If I think about this space as a dialogue between the bar and I, it says relax and have a beer. We respond as humans but getting comfortable, filling booths and stretching arms across the tables to hold a glass – AND by filling the space with comfortable conversations and laughter. It’s different behavior than out by the student center, because we feel enclosed by the windows but not trapped by them. I’m more likely to glance over and watch someone at the next table here than watch someone sitting under the nearest tree at the park.
7pm – Yes, still at the bar, but I do notice as it gets darker outside, how the light plays differently inside the bar, almost taking on a warm hue of amber like my beer. The tawny coloring of the wood of the booths and bartop seems to get more saturated in this light than the more direct light of the earlier afternoon.
11pm – I meet a few other old roommates out in Jamaica Plain at another bar, The Dogwood Café, and I’m even more acutely aware of how wood gives warmth to a room, even late at night when there’s no natural light coming in from the windows. No good bar will use harsh, artificial lighting (until they want you to leave at closing time, that is) but this one is especially good at balancing soft atmosphere light with not making it feel too much like a dark smoky bar with no windows.
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