archy type

A totally random post (but I have been slacking on my blog posting so here it is).  For anyone who knows me and I am not referring to the "knowing me" in the virtual world, but people actually knows me. These are the people that know that 9 times out of 10 I am never without a red pencil behind my ear (typically left ear).  Not just any pencil but a Prismacolor: Verithin – 2745 Crimson Red pencil.  These are the pencils that you buy in bulk from any office supply store and can find in EVERY architects office. 

I started to think about my red pencil and how it seems odd that I am rarely without one only when I was made aware that I had one behind my ear at the recent AIA Convention here is DC.  I was fortunate enough to meet up with several of my twitter friends that I refer to as “Twittertects” (a group of architects that have been conversing with each other for over a year sometimes longer).  Anyway, it was Bob Borson (author of the wonderfully entertaining architectural blog “Life of an Architect”) that finally said “what's with the red pencil?” I honestly didn’t realize I had it in my ear, but then I shouldn’t be too surprised it was there. So, why do I carry it?  Is it a security blanket? Nah, I has also been noticed (equally pointed out by my twittertect crew) that if there is a pencil in my ear then there is a sketchbook in my hand.  So there simple enough I am constantly sketching, RARELY architecture.  I tend to sketch the crazy stuff in my head, or if I see an image that I find fascinating I draw it to practice drawing (not copying - just practicing).  Here are a few sketches that come from my little red pencil:

 So, with pencil in my ear and sketchbook in my hand I sketch on...so should you.  (There will be a part two to this post once I complete my sketch "Laotian Lounge Lizards" - twittertects beware).

 

I love to drive; most of my posts thus far have been about loading the family up in the car, pointing it in a random direction and sharing what we have found.  Well this one isn’t any different, though I had the strange opportunity to have a solo adventure when my entire family was out of town and left to my own devices.  With a quiet house at my disposal I would normally drop on the couch and channel surf. But decided that today I would load myself into the car (forgo the Doctor Who marathon on TV) and head into the Western Maryland countryside to find what folly or forgotten I could find. 

As I left the house the birds were waking up with the most wonderful of morning songs that seemed to follow me the entire day because every time I pulled over I noticed the same song being sung reminding me I was never far from home.  It was mother’s day and a lonely one at that, but it was a warm and sunny spring day which made up for it.  Windows were down and the smells of the countryside; apples, flowers and creosote from the treated timber of the train tracks filled the air.  This was an opportunity to finally stop every 20 seconds to snap off a shot or two, normally my photos are taken in drive-by fashion with the kids hoping the next time we stop it’ll be for ice cream (well me too).  Heading west I decided that I would take the similar route westward as the early settlers and traced the C&O Canal route starting at the Great Falls Tavern and ending at Antietam Battlefield, with stops in Point of Rocks, Monocacy Aqueduct and Brunswick the route stretched through the Maryland landscape dotted with vegetable, dairy and horse farms.  Historical signs with that proclaimed “George Washington passed here, slept here or owned this farm” reminded me that our national history albeit a young history is all around me, mostly in the ghostly remains of a barn, bridge or business that has come and gone in the fields of memory. 

On one of my recent “Detroit Drives” I found a very inspirational bit of architecture, one of those bits that had me slamming on the breaks and pulling the most illegal of u-turns in the middle of a 6 lane road (thankfully is was day-break on a Sunday morning and an empty road).  As I swung the truck around there stood Fordson High School a with its gleaming neo-Tudor style tower looking over Ford road in Dearborn. Gleaming in the morning sun was a granite and sandstone school that harkened back to the days in which Detroit and its suburbs were enjoying the wealth of the world.  Originally located in the village of Fordson (now part of Dearborn), Fordson High School was dedicated in 1928 and was hailed as “one of the finest school buildings in the United States”.  Designed by architect Everett Lane Williams (of the Detroit based firm of Van Leyen, Schilling, Keough & Reynolds) which stated that the tower and grounds were inspired by the Lawyers Club at the University of Michigan and the Yale University quad.  Though I didn’t have a chance to go into the school (I save my photo snapping adventures for the wee hours of Sunday mornings, schools tend to be closed then) it is said that the main entrance has ten busts that include philosophers, playwrights, and mathematicians like Plato, Socrates and the like and that the library has carved oak paneling, I’ll have to check out the movie “The Rosary Murders” where the tower and library are featured.

Beyond the architecture the Fordson tower has served as a beacon of protest and protection.  During WWII and the Korean War the tower was a watch tower for potential bombing raids to the Ford Rouge River plant.  During the Korean War is was speculated that soviet bombing raids would come over the arctic circle heading for the plant, therefore to do their part all the faculty at Fordson were enlisted to do sky watch duty and would take shifts in the tower watching the night sky .

 For me, as one who currently specializes mainly in educational architecture, I can’t help but stand and stare in envy of such an amazing and inspirational school building.

 

Detroit is a fascinating place, most people come down hard on it because of the stories they hear about crime, poverty and violence and I can’t sugarcoat the fact that those aren’t untrue, it happens there, in fact it happens everywhere.  But what most people never take the time to do is find out for themselves, never drive the streets and see what is going on, get the impression first hand rather than through hearsay.  I was born in the Detroit metro area, Pontiac to be exact (part of the region but not next door neighbors) but I was raised in the St. Petersburg Florida so I never really knew my birth home, I have family there but we aren’t really that close so for the most part of my life I never knew where I was from.  I knew my adoptive town was where I lived but never seemed like home.  So now as an adult married to a native Michigander who travels to the metro area quite often I take every chance I get to reacquaint myself with the home I left behind. 

Recently on a trip back to the “D” for the holidays I took one of my normal, before everyone is awake, drives from the suburbs of metro Detroit to the inner city, camera and coffee in hand.  I pick a road, I pick a direction and drive.  Snapping off pictures along the way, which let me tell in this post 9/11 world we are living in make even the most innocent of sight seeing a bit tense sometimes.  Typically I pick a road and try to soak in the stories.  In the Detroit area many of those stories can chart the story of 20^th century America from the development of the industrial age to the rise and eventual decline of the auto industry and all of the shifting demographics that have come with that story.   This day, it was Ford Road, a road that leads you from the working class towns like Westland and Garden City into the heart of downtown Detroit.

For every burnt out and graffitied building, left behind and forgotten there are those that show the cities resilience, its past glory and a peak into what the city can become again.  I am certainly an extreme optimist when it comes to the potential rebirth of the city and as part of the rebirth is the reconnection to its past.

In coming post I’ll add to my growing discovery of Detroit, its surrounding areas, its history and its stories. 

 

 

First Cathedral? How can this building in Baltimore be the first cathedral?  Sure the Basilica in Baltimore was built between the years 1806 – 1821 which were the early years of our young country, but surely there has to be older?  Well thiis is a bit of timeline semantics, you see the Baltimore Basilica (or its formal name of - Basilica of the National Shrine of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary – say that 10x real fast) was the first Roman Catholic Church built in the U.S. since the ratification of the constitution and the U.S. officially being recognized as its own country, SO, it was America's FIRST.   It was also, by that previous definition, the first cathedral built in the U.S (later having it’s rank raised to a Minor Basilica by Pope Pius IX).  The Basilica is one of the highlights of any trip into Baltimore city.  Which is a tough one since the Basilica is located in the Mount Vernon neighborhood which, if you have ever been there, is filled with many architectural highlights and the neighborhood as a whole is a highlight of any urban architectural trip.

The Basilica was designed by Benjamin Henry Latrobe, who himself embodies a few more of our nation's first.  He was the first formally trained “professional” architect in the U.S.  The first Architect of the Capitol (sorry this is an easy feat for him, he designed the damned thing). Latrobe was a master at his craft and left us with shining examples of Gothic and Greek revival, as well as Italianate architecture.  Amongst his most notable works (and let me tell you, there are TOO many to name) includes: The U.S. Capitol Building, Bank of Pennsylvania,  the main gate at Washington Navy Yard (aka Latrobe Gate), and even did a little remodeling job on the White House.  Latrobe is a fascinating character in the history of architecture and of our nation’s history, he himself is worthy many blog posts but I want to share with you my experience though the view of his famous work in Baltimore. 

I my previous post on Baltimore I mentioned I lived in the Mount Vernon neighborhood when I was there the Basilica was not in the best of shape, it was in dire need of restoration and for decades they were trying to secure funding for even basic repairs, this was in 1995.  On my visit 16 years later the Basilica was a shinning beacon, it had gone through a 2 year $34 million dollar restoration and (in my opinion) must look better than the day it opened (I would think?).  The building itself seems an pleasantly imposing vision, made of silver gray gneiss (a local stone that was mined in nearby Ellicott City).  The stone exterior on first view gives you the impression that this was the typical European gothic cathedral, dark and heavy, and on my previous trip (in 95’) with darkened windows that was the way I remembered it.  But now once you pass though the entry you enter a voluminous space filled with light and air that draws you eye straight to the main alter.  The interplay of light and the warm yellow interior color makes the Basilica feel very warm and delicate.  With the restoration the domes skylights were re-opened up and the light just showers in.  A little interesting story I learned about the dome was that Latrobe had initially planned to have a masonry dome but it was under the suggestion of his friend Thomas Jefferson that the dome should be a wooden double-shell dome so that he (Latrobe) could add the skylights.  I suppose if you’re going to take advice from a friend doesn’t hurt that your friend is ol’ TJ. 

As the nation’s first the Basilica is intertwined in many of the events that are forever intertwined in the history of our young country.  It has served the setting to the funeral for Charles Carroll, the only catholic signer of the Declaration of Independence.  The Basilica has played host to numerous dignitaries including the papal visit of Pope John Paul II and Mother Teresa.  As I have read it is one of the 8 most visited catholic pilgrimages in the US, but if you find yourself in downtown Baltimore (archy nerd or not) your first choice should be to visit the first cathedral.

The drives with my project architect out to our jobsite every Monday morning are typically filled with discussions about the office, projects and what was done over the weekend.  Today, we got on the topic of historical buildings in the area.  Since she when to architecture school locally, I wondered if while in school she travelled to some of these historic buildings to learn about the different eras of American architecture, imagining how great studio trips would be visiting some of these buildings and urban areas.  Much to my dismay she said no, NO? Why would an architectural school in one of the most architecturally diverse areas of the nation NOT, I repeat NOT, take advantage to the most amazing sets of architectural lessons?  Your lesson plan is set, visit the nation’s capitol, visit the industrial city of Baltimore, visit the revolutionary town of Annapolis, or Alexandria, or you throw a stone and you have a readymade lesson.  Opportunity lost? Sure, in fact she said that her school (purposely left nameless) doesn’t spend much time on history.  That will be a rant filled post for another time, but yes, what a lost opportunity.

The subject of history came back up this evening when my son was showing his homework writing assignment, his chosen subject was about our weekend trips.  And it got me thinking about the history lessons we try to never miss.  This writing assignment showed me that these aren’t wasted trips, that even though we are trying to have family fun, we are also hoping that our kids absorb some of the history they are treading on. 

One of those history filled trips came this past weekend.  A weekend that was like most weekends, but unlike typical weekends where we chose a direction and just stumble onto somewhere, this weekend we wanted to get back to Baltimore.  Outside of my hometown Detroit Metro area, Baltimore is one of favorite cities.  Most people look at Baltimore as a scene out of the “The Wire” or just a grimy working class town that suffers from the blight and fright of typical American inter-cities and YES, they are right to some extent.  But every time I go to Baltimore I enter the city as a doe-eye  architect that can see past the grime of the hard times and can see the glory days, can see the great collection of turn of the century (1900’s that is) buildings that exude the glory years of American craftsmanship.  Going to Baltimore is like taking a trip through the history books.  Baltimore is home to many first the first built memorial to George Washington – Robert Mills, which coincidently designed the more famous Washington Monument a few short miles down the road in Washington DC.  Another first is the Benjamin Henry Latrobe’s first Roman Catholic Cathedral built in the United States (now called the Baltimore Basilica).  Baltimore has always fascinated me (much like Detroit) because in a way the hard times actually persevered the buildings (albeit – vacant and falling in) because with no one tenants there to say “hey we are a prosperous business, let tear down to build new” the buildings lasted through the fury of the 70’s and 80’s when urban renewal tore through the country to reinvigorate the urban cores in an attempt to pull businesses back into the downtown areas.  So in a way, poverty helped prevent the demolition of these fantastic urban buildings.

Our walks though Baltimore focus around the Mount Vernon area of downtown.  In the months spanning the fall and winter of 1995 -1996 (roughly Sept – Feb) I lived in an efficiency apt in the area, this was just before the real gentrification that has the neighborhood hopping these days.  I worked as a doorman and night desk clerk in a condominium in the Inner Harbor area which was about 1 ½ down the road from my apartment.  I worked the late night shift and would always scurry to work at 10pm so I never really saw the neighborhood I lived in, so these visits to Baltimore reconnect me with a part of my past I really didn’t have a time to get to know.  Baltimore is filled with some of the most amazing architectural details old and new.  And walk just a few short blocks in and around the Mount Vernon neighborhood and you can watch the history unfold.  From the big picture urban fabric or the minute detail of a bracket, architectural history abounds.

 

 

The other night in a late night flurry of tweet post and responses I came across this blog post (by the fabulous and often tipsy blogger ModernSauce).  Hot off the presses came an alcohol induced blog about Brutalist architecture and her strong affinity for the style.  We sparked up a conversation discussing the other brutal buildings, alcohol laden field trips to Boston (which has a great collection of brutalist buildings) when I told them that I had met one of the most famous of American brutalist architects, Paul Rudolph, promising to write down  my recollections of that meeting, so here I go.

In 1995, just before I dropped out of Auburn University (well let’s call it a “student sabbatical” because I did go back to finish) I was the president of the AIAS and I was responsible for arranging events that kept the young architectural mind fed.  We had a lot of fun arranging movie nights, dog days (our weekly grill out in the courtyard) and even the Beaux Arts Ball.  But just by chance I was able to arrange a low key event with the most famous Auburn architectural graduate Paul Rudolph.  Paul graduated from what then was known as Alabama Polytechnic Institute in 1940 and later went on to Harvard, but that isn’t the story I want to tell.  Growing up on the Gulf coast of Florida (and knowing I would one day be an architect) I was very aware of the Sarasota School of Architecture.  This was a movement that comprised of a partnership between Ralph Twitchell and Paul Rudolph, a partnership that would create its own brand of “Florida Modern” open and airy architecture that to me just screamed “Florida”. So my affinity for Paul and the group of architects in Florida was just a natural connection.   Paul Rudolph lore at Auburn was a haze of speculation and fact, I know what I was told, I just don’t know if any of it is true. What we did know is he had designed several small projects locally around campus, and one of those  was the Applebee House, a rectangular shaped elevated box with a simple cantilever volume that creates (what is now) used as a car port.  I lived in the neighborhood where the Applebee house was built and jogged past it every day so I felt I knew it well.  What was more speculation, we heard was that he was feuding with the university because of rejection.  The school of architecture was designing a new building.  As the story goes, he offered his services to the university free of charge to design the new school building.  What he had proposed was a glass box, a black glass box in fact; one that looked as if it were shrouded in mystery by day and when the light came on at night would reveal the scurry of scholarly pursuit.  The glass box offered the outsider a look into what is means to become an architect – as if it offered a peak into the belly of the beast.   So the story goes he presented this  idea to the university and they rejected it, they  felt as if it wasn’t in keeping with the nature of a southern university building.  Makes for a great story and great legacy to the myth of a graduate that I feel many have forgotten. 

So, flash forward to 1995 when a bright eyed architecture student was looking at the upcoming lectures that the university was sponsoring, which were to be held at the conference center.  There was Paul Rudolph coming back to Auburn, I wondered why he wasn’t speaking to the School of Architecture?   This was where I heard again the story of his feud with the university and I suppose now with the school of architecture.  Why speak at a reminder of this feud? Why speak at what seemingly to him, was a far inferior building to one that he would have created for him.  So, I hopped on the phone to the event organizers to ask about the likelihood that he would speak to the school; they said it was an event that was publicized statewide and would be difficult to move.  OK, I suppose that I will have to just go to the event see if I can ask a question or two to the creator of some of my favorite Florida modernism.   I didn’t want to accept defeat though, so I asked the event coordinator if Paul would be up for a small sit down gathering with the AIAS off campus?  I suggested we could have a small intimate gathering for about 20 architecture students at the local coffee shop Bodega.  He graciously said yes, but only to a small gathering of students for an hour to have a Q&A with our famous alum. 

The day of the lecture and our small event I was told to go by the hotel to pick Paul up an hour or so early so that he can get a bite to eat before his busy day.  We set off to pick him up, the AIAS vice president and myself.  We couldn’t have been more opposite.  Here he was in a suit and tie, looking all spit and polished.  And then me, a pair of frayed khakis, an un-tucked flannel shirt (over my customary t-shirt) and to top it off a pair of beat up Teva’s.   As I rapped on the door to announce our arrival I glanced quickly at the motley crew here to escort a famous architect, as the door opened he stood an older man, frail but not weak.  He took one look at us and without a chance for introduction he quickly pointed at my suit and tie clad friend and barked “You go the fuck away” and pointed at me “You let’s go”.  A bit taken aback by my first encounter with our famous alumni, but ok.  What happened next was totally unexpected, I (an unassuming 3^rd year student) was ushered away on tour of Auburn I’d never forget.  The hotel was across the street from Hargis Hall (the start of my tour), and where he took his architecture classes in the late 30’s, now used as offices for the administration.   He walked us around the older part of campus near Samford Hall and reminisced about the time in school, what the campus looked like during his time at school, and what stood in the place where the new library now stands.  I remember that when we walked up to the library he mumbled “what the hell were they thinking?” and I thought that he sounded just like me when I complain about bad architecture.  Or is it just something inherent in the type of person that becomes an architect that it is in our nature to be critical of the built environment?  Probably. 

We continued our walk over to the project he did which as I said earlier was the Applebee house, it is set in off the road like many of the traditional houses that made up wonderful tree lined street, but unlike the others there was no doubt which one was Paul’s design: 

As he stood there refusing to go up to the door (and I tell you I kept prodding him to go up there).  He simply told me that “It’s their house” it was interesting to hear his perspective on one of his early projects.  I asked him if he would do anything different.  He said that if he were doing that new today it would be completely different, but he said since he was inexperience and had no real idea what he was doing he feels it turned out pretty good, and has held up over time.  What I was interested in seeing was what his impressions were of the house after 40 years, but we never even stepped foot on the property.  He never expanded on why he didn’t want to go up to the door and any thoughts of mine would be purely speculation, I am always excited to see my built work, see how it has stood up, what I would do differently and also how it has aged.  But this was his project and his moment and I knew not to push it.

As we walked through the neighborhood on our way to the coffee house he cut off my constant barrage of questions and asked some of his own.  He began to inquire about what I was learning in school, what type of classes today’s architecture the program teaches.  As I explained to him what we are learning he started to described how his classes where (from what I could gather) more of an apprentice style school, it was one that taught them the profession of architecture.  The way he switched from asking me questions about school to reminiscing about his school time felt to me that he was disapproving of the course in which architecture school was taking, and I can’t blame him.

Recalling back those many years ago (wow was it really 16 years ago?) I couldn’t help but reflect in the fact that in just two short years Paul Rudolph would have passed away from his long battle with cancer.  And how he must have been in pain on our walk, and that a young kid badgering him questions was probably even more pain.  But from that I learned of a very proud man that didn’t let the pain of his illness overshadow the love he had for architecture.  I was thankful that this man took just 90 minutes of his hectic and painful life to walk with me through his memories and share just a few of them with me.  Just simple conversations during that walk showed me that no matter how “famous” or how much of a “starchitect” that when it comes to the profession we all love that there is still a kid inside all of us, we still feel that giddiness when we start and finish projects, when we realize that dream of the sketch as it takes shape to the bricks and mortar.

As a side note: I am not a big fan of most brutalism buildings, they heavy handed attack on the landscape and city scape are too much, their constant shifting of geometric forms are to me amateurish, but there are a few that even with the massive hulkiness of the concrete still manage to have a delicate touch.  But those are few and far between.  In the case of Paul Rudolph he is no different when it comes to the brutalist form.  And to me I feel he may have been one of the most brutal.  BUT, looking back on his career from his early work in Auburn and Florida you can see a modernist that understood the landscape of his clients and gave them a unique solution to a unique climate.  This is something rare in modernism today, in that you look at a contemporary solution and it feels as if you could pick it up and place it almost anywhere.  Not the early work Paul’s and his contemporaries (the Neutra’s of the world) that understood the site, and knew that the solution was to be found in working in harmony with the site not against it.  In travelling around the Gulf coast area where I was raised and Paul practiced you can see that sensitivity of site responsive architecture in his works like the Revere Quality House, the Cocoon House and the Umbrella House (and many more).  And what has always enamored me most about Paul is that fact that he had one of the most amazing and unique drawing style, it was both expressive and detailed and had a modern flair to it that was very different from the exquisite Beaux Arts style but was as equal in its artistic charm. 

Visit the Paul Rudolph Foundation site to learn more about the architect and his works: http://paulrudolph.blogspot.com/

I have always intended my "archy_type" blog to be a quote or criticism of the built environment, and I thought this post would be the exception.  However, the built environment is made and shaped on the memories of those that experience it.  And so this is my out, I can write about my joy of baseball and specifically Tampa Bay Rays baseball.   The stages for these memories are set on two stages separated by just over 1000 miles.  Stage 1 – Tropicana Field, St. Petersburg, FL (my hometown) where at 7:05pm the Rays are taking the field against the storied New York Yankees.  Stage 2 – Camden Yards, Baltimore, MD (just up the road from where I live for the last 3 years) where at the same time the Boston Red Sox are taking the field against the much maligned Baltimore Orioles.  Both stages are hosting the hopes of the post season, the hopes that something amazing would happen and those hopes were realized for some and dashed for others.

We can fast forward through most of the game, both of them for that matter.  The Red Sox v. O’s game was a reasonably good game with the Red Sox holding onto a one run lead into a rain delay (and if it is the one that just came over my house it is quite a storm).  At the same time down in St. Petersburg the Rays are entering the 8^th inning down 7-0 and all of the hopes of the Rays were illustrated by the fans leaving the stadium in droves, hopes gone.  Now, HOPE, could only come in the form of a Red Sox loss that would force a 1 game playoff in St. Pete.  And as they storm pushed through central Maryland an even greater storm would push through Tropicana Field.

Enter to our stage the players.  On stage one the haggard Rays, down, hopes seemingly dashed.  The Yankees (already clinched the AL East champion spot weeks earlier) the villain playing the spoiler ready to pull out the still beating heart of every Rays fan.  On stage two we wait, rain pouring hopes high for the Red Sox clinging to that one run lead, waiting for the rain to pass with larger than life smiles on their faces watching the Rays all but hand the Red Sox a trip to the post season.  So the stages are set, I won’t recap the entire moments yet those are engrained into my head.  Fast forward to the bottom of the 8th the Tampa Bay Rays are depressingly down 7-0. Yanks load the bases loaded, a few walks start to give us Rays fans hope. Still the 8th, and Rays still at bat, Evan Longoria steps to the plate and with a 3 run homer, we all now believe we could win this.

Hope has all but faded (but fingers are crossed so tightly they have lost feeling) it's 7-6 Rays down in the bottom of the 9th, 2 outs, pinch hitter is called to the plate, it’s Dan Johnson (who has hit a homer in 6 months and is sporting a  dismal .108 ba), 2 strikes down to the final pitch of the Rays season, SMACK a Homerun, Rays fans across the country scream in Joy and disbelief.  We enter into the extra innings when the act finally resumes on stage two, 3-2 lead intact the Red Sox are hoping to make quick work of the O’s and ready themselves for the post season.  But the rain delay has caused some rust to form on the Red Sox hopes, with a few miscues and bobbled balls the O’s start to claw back into it, TIED, 3-3, it’s getting late, nearing midnight and in their own developing story the O’s mount a last minute comeback that had not only the fans in Baltimore on the feet screaming but the fans in St. Petersburg (and all of Rays fandom) clinging to the hope that maybe, JUST maybe there won’t be a playoff game.  Maybe we just might get into the playoffs tonight.

Midnight approaches, exhaustion is setting in, well sure for the players but I can hardly stand it, I am fading fast.  Moaning about sleep deprivation and having to work in the morning I soldier on the bottom of the 12th both teams trying to stay in it, bull pens are all but exhausted (Rays fans still screaming over the posted score of the Red Sox loss) it is 12:05 EST - and I am all but a zombie - Again the hero of the 8th Evan Longoria steps to the plate, for what I am hoping is the midnight miracle I have been hoping for.  As he settles in I notice the same look and stance he had in the 8^th.  That look of comfort as though he will end it a hero.  The pitch, the swing - Homerun – AHHH, JOY, EXHAUSTION, SCREAMS AND CHEERS.  I can’t believe what I just witnessed, an amazing comeback, and a storybook ending to the season of two teams, fighting for the same hopes of the final spot in the playoffs.  And for us, the fans of our team and the game this was a night that memories are made of.

photo credit: St. Petersburg Times

It goes without saying that architects, designers and artist have a love affair with pens, or is it just me? I have TONS of pens of every shape and sizes, every cost cheap to uber expensive.   I even have a passion for antique fountain pens (and have many stained shirts to prove it).  But this entry isn’t about my facination with fountain pens (I’ll bore you with that post later).  No, this post is about my need to find a proper pigment pen AKA: Micron, which is one of the pigment pens of choice for architects (and a very, very good pen).  Wanting to "try before you buy" means you are typically limited to where we can buy these types of pens, and I buy mine at the local Michaels craft store, they carry several different types of pen brands of all shapes and prices.  Having purchased all of the different brands they sell, I would like to offer my take on which pen is my pen of choice.  Bare in mind I am a very picky pen buyer, what I am trying to find a pen that is an affordable but also a pen that lays down a good “true black” line not a watered down line, but a nice deep black line that holds well to various papers (though I mostly draw in the obligatory “Moleskine” sketchbook).  The following suspects are five different brands I have purchased over the last year from Michaels (and their approx cost).

The Pigment Pens:

Faber-Castell – Pitt Artist Pen (4 pack – 14.00)

Staedtler – Pigment Liner (4 pack – 15.00)

Micron Pigma All Black Ink - Collection Cube (4 Pack – 44.50) to be fair the lesser Microns are 16.00.

Helix – Fine Liner Pen (4 pack 6.00)

And on to my purchase of the day:

“Artist Loft” Michaels brand (looks like a discount Staedtler) – Illustration Pen (5 pack 9.99)

So these are the multitude of pigment liner pens I own and I judge pens in by the ink color, bleed free factor, comfort and as trivial as this sounds but how that cap is held on the pen.  By looking at the pens it’s obvious that the Helix it fails on the “cap hold” test, because there is no real area to clip the cap to so   where do you put the cap while drawing? Set it aside? Drop it? Forget where you put it and watch your investment (albeit the lesser of investments) dry up and end up throwing them out. 

Color of the ink is the most important gage to me, with any good pigment pen most people are looking for, BLACK, needs to be black, true and deep black that lays down clean bleed free black lines.  All of the pens are good for the bleed free factor however; the Helix pens are a bit gray, nothing in the rich black range so the pens that haven’t dried out don’t give you the rich black lines you look for in a pigment pen. 

Comfort is important in any writing utensil and in a pigment pen for me it is really important because the way I hold the pen is close to the nib and most drawings pens are squared off (in a round sort of way) so when its squared off it drives into my fingers and makes for an uncomfortable and very short sketching session.  So in this category the Faber-Castell and the bargain Artist’s Loft pens were far better for a comfortable drawing experience with the edge going to bargain pen “Artist’ s Loft”. 

So, lining the pens up based on cost, ink color, bleed free factor and even cap hold the edge goes to the more expensive pens, they are made to hit most of these categories very well, edge going to the Faber – Castell pens for the comfort, but since I have bought all of these pens and will eventually need to buy another pen set once I exhaust the previous purchases and even the new one.  SO, which pen set will I buy next? Easy I’m cheap and since the $6.00 set is complete rubbish, bad ink, bad comfort and the lost caps are enough to drive me crazy it is simple the $9.99 set of “Artist’s Loft” pens from Michaels is a nice little set that has good strong ink, you get an extra pen (5 versus 4 in the typical set) and a nice comfortable hold (and the nibs are made in Japan which produces the VERY good Micron nibs) AND it even hold onto it cap better than the most expensive of the pens.  

Oh, I noticed on the way out that they started carrying the "PrismaColor" pigment sketching pens that come with a mechanical pencil, I'll report back on those pens once I buy them without my wife knowing about it.

 

It can be said that our family is a bunch of “Sunday Drivers”; we love our weekend excursions and always look for the road less traveled (well at least by us).  We never start off the journey knowing exactly where we are going but always end up somewhere.  Today, we knew we wanted to head North, so inevitably we ended up West, same thing right? 

 As we sat in the Urbana, MD Dunkin' Donuts (sorry shameless plug) we decided we wanted to head towards to Antietam National Battlefield (so North it was, via West).  We have been to Antietam a few times before so I knew exactly where I was going, and of course knowing where is was going I inevitably drove right past where I needed to turn and ended up in West Virginia.  This was the most fortuitous mistake we have made because when we pulled off on the side of the road to double check where the missed turn was we discovered that there was a seemingly great little road that paralleled the Potomac River all the way north to Sharpsburg Maryland (where the Antietam Battlefield is) called Harpers Ferry Road.  Now sometimes a road is just a road, it is a point "A" to point "B" but then there are those "event" roads, such as the PCH, that is an "event" road.  30A in north Florida (a road that strings together Seaside, Rosemary Beach and Alys Beach) that is an event road.  Harpers Ferry Road is just such a road, sure it doesn't have grand vistas of the Pacific Ocean, doesn't have winding dune clad roads that wind through wonderful little seaside towns like 30A.  No, Harpers Ferry Road is a roads ROAD, not only does it twist and turn through the mountain towns that string along the Potomac but it also strings through time winding you from modernity through the Civil War to pre-Revolutionary days.  As we finally headed north the road bumps and bends, narrows and necks into some of the most wonderful driving I have experienced since being stationed in Germany, and with all of the giggling and shouts of WEEEEEeeeee, we dubbed it "Rollercoaster Road".  

The screams and giggles were enough for me to know the kids enjoyed every second of it, and asked if I could speed up, or shouts of "DO IT AGAIN" over and over again as we caught a bit of air under the ol' Isuzu.  If you ask my wife the draw for me would be to use my camera iPhone new app - "Pinhole Camera" which so far everyone complains that the images are too dark (and I have to agree - but isn't always a bad thing).  But no, as exciting as the drive was (and trust me it was very exciting) it was the road side artifacts that had me captivated.  Artifacts like the ruins of an old Ironwork, train tunnels and their tracks that straddles the track side towns, overlooks the Potomac and winds their way up to Sharpsburg, MD.  The road (at least for us) sadly came to an end at Antietam National Battlefield just outside of Sharpsburg, we won't re-live that initial excitement of the discovery and of the first twist and turns of the road, but if you find yourself on the western side of Maryland near Harpers Ferry, WVA you should find yourself strapped behind the wheel of your favorite car and hit the road.  Such excitement will be had, and if you are looking for a true driver’s experience Harpers Ferry Road is and event road (one that is my Mercedes will need to get a piece of).