Where do I stand to start my new edifice? Do I begin designing from the inside, weaving intricately like a weaver bird crafting its nest? Or do I stand outside and endure having to interact with the “natives” who are designers in their own eyes? (Let’s label them neighbours). Even under this broad label, there are those who have completed designs, those in progress, and those whose pencil lines are as crisp as the ripples in grandma’s asanka: a traditional grinding bowl, symbolizing deep-rooted skill and texture.
I doubt you would understand why I am not entirely enthused about the other side of the coin. Truthfully, I like how audible my design voice is, even though I am only now finding it. Deep beyond the surface, the battle I face in my mind with uncertain ideas is enough of a rollercoaster for the designer’s heart. They say the profession, architecture, starts well beyond forty. I intend on keeping a healthy heart for those "nineties fine" years ahead.
A lot of us designers forget that our clients and the community are a key propellant for the manifestation of our life-sized dreams. Shielding them out completely is a crime against the user. That, however, is another discussion for later.
The Revelation
Aaah, I am finally done! Now all that is left for me is to walk out and see what a beauty I have erected! I was content. It looked exactly how I envisioned it one afternoon during my “gob3” empowered daydream, a moment of clarity fueled by a simple, grounding meal of beans and fried plantain.
It has been ten years since then, and as I walk past this same dream, I realize how virulent the streetscape seemed. But it wasn’t only my dream that stood out in the wrong way. There was visual turbulence everywhere.
Every single day as we commute through neglected spaces bordered by buildings that were “designed,” there is music being played. Music that is immersive, yet we cannot seem to realize we are moving through it. It is far different from the cacophony of honks and peeps spiced up with the heated arguments between Bra Kwame and Dr. Aggrey, a clash of everyday citizens, highlighting the audible chaos of the city.
The Subtle Symphony
It is the music we, the built environment designers, make, even though you and I play our drums and blow into our flutes at different times in history. This music is powerful and yet so subtle. Its presence is made evident by the visual turbulence I saw during my walk.
Just as there are different strokes for different folks, music is a language grounded by identity and culture; so, too, are our designs. Not to say that as we take the next stroll down to go get a late-night kelewele snack (a popular spicy fried plantain dish), this special music should be a monotony suggesting an overdose of repetitive elements, so much that we would have designed dead music.
When I close my eyes, I hear, see, and maybe smell music that makes one hop instead of walk. It is music that engages me beyond the ears, which is why it is special. I would not mind ditching my car and taking a stroll a couple of times a day to engage with it. It neither drains nor adds to my internal turbulence.
Architecture, I like to call Music, is potent enough to bring life to my dreary, repetitive days here on planet Earth.