Tokyo: Architect: Paul Tange: Mode Gauen Cocoon Tower.

Architecture and most things built to rise from the ground up have a certain mien: Never an old friend but a nuanced persuasion: Buildings sway in times past and present- – I greet the new: A dream within a dream: The framed countenance of those I know those I barely know and those I will one day encounter a mere second before now:

Architecture has no evidentiary character: In time it resembles something I may remember- – resembles someone I might have known- -then erased from memory and reborn- -and repeat: A chorus of history’s remnants will fill the air: The vacated lives that lived before beyond lives we know below are often heard; an echo that becomes familiar in time: Our forefathers are buried in plain sight and in spirit:

True fantasies are never imagined: Allow your eyes to transport the realities into fantastic truths defined; The Egyptian Pyramids, Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia and just about anything Zaha’s:

Architecture was not built with stone, cement, glass and nature’s fibers: Architecture has been built like Charlie Chaplin; The imaginative manner that recognizes the likeness to ourselves and speaks in volumes:

Boston: Architect: Harry Cobb( Cobb, Pei, Freed) John J. Moakley Courthouse.

Wind, Sands and Stars; Antoine de Saint Exupéry spirits our mind’s eyes to new realities: The strident striated appearance of feelings explode as the writer melds his sufferings into our eyes: He enables our visions to feel the desert sands as if glass and steel were blinding us with passions and foreboding: The darkness and survival stands ahead. I crave the writers; eyes and knowledge:

His vanished character- – The sensibilities of self. Maybe the understanding of what blinds and equally enables to envision what we crave. That would be a marvel: A step into a gathering not of souls but for games and dances- -houses of support- – hearts and minds:

The generations of imaginary Parthenon’s and Shakespearean Globe Theaters adhere to bending minds that dance with millions: A place for the eyes to comprehend the mien; The breathing- -inhaling and exhaling that is shared as well in arm with architecture.

The profusion of voices, reverberating ideas in Japanese, Chinese and 93 other languages; confounds the senses. I invoke Niemeyer, Zaha, Adjaye, Hollein, Rogers, Foster, Ando, Kuma as one may follow a moon shot of beauty and engagement: My ears turn like wolves and lions: I might as well been cast in C.S. Lewis’ Narnia: Cast in permanent imaginary gazes.

Philadelphia: Architect: Rafael Viñoly: Kimmel Center for the performing arts.

The entire craft of photography would be hollow it it was not for the voices that have carried and compelled me to see what must be taken. If it is to be true, I would repeat the timeless manner one thousand times:

Many times I feel aligned to Len Deighton’ Harry Palmer quip:”the name Harry Palmer (‘my name isn’t Harry’, says the protagonist in the book, ‘but in this business it’s hard to remember whether it ever had been’: The unimportant name that I use to make pictures is certain to be mine: The importance of everything I write is about the company I keep among the “—-scrapers” and clusters of the world’s built environments:

The hollow man arrives waiting to be defined by his experience with the known and unknown: The structures that represent the here and now beg my eyes to feel the benevolence of the manner of humanity in a simple thing called architecture: It sometimes speaks in quiet sonic booms and sometimes in the most unexpected whispers: A clearing of worlds seen like dappled fields of dreams and dreams not yet met, seen as a river of adventures opens a path of bewildering sights – -then I can see.

New York: Photographed before completion: Even the built process is fascinating: To be continued.

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