by Jayne Joso
Gaia took her time in deciding the final two candidates to invite to the competition. As Charles’ widow, she had more than a keen knowledge of the major players’ work, but more new names were emerging, and these were responsible both for phenomenal moves in the design of the more modest and medium-sized projects such as schools, galleries, bridges and the like, as well as the ever higher and more spectacular visions that were raising the stakes on the skyscraper front. They all demanded serious consideration. It was a time of unparalleled architectural talent, previously unimaginable feats of engineering, and ingenious technological breakthrough. There was no dismissing the mise en place achieved in Spain, Italy, Norway and Switzerland; and no ignoring what was going up in Saudi Arabia, Indiana, Malaysia, Japan and Singapore. Skylines shifted ever upwards, nudging moon and stars, splicing up the air-space like sabres, pushing ordinary aircraft into outer space, frightening the wind out of weather fronts. Well… almost. Truly, as Coover put it, things are getting wild!
The more Gaia investigated, the harder she found it to decide. Just when she thought she had settled on three architects and almost a fourth, a fifth would seem to elbow their way in. And then a sixth. What to do? Replace the third architect with another? Include one more? Have five contenders? Six? – What certainly wasn’t up for debate was the degree of vigour with which Gaia took on this challenge. The more she researched, the more intense her excitement, the more impassioned she became, the more revitalised.
But one thing was as true as it had always been, that an architect’s prime goal was to design the private house, a wonderful private house, usually their own, and winning a commission such as this, from the widow of one of the world’s greatest, just upped the ante that little bit further.
A few more anxious and excited days would follow before Gaia made her final selection, four world class architects, all with different philosophical leanings, arguably disparate tastes, but with an equal measure of architectural passion and creative verve, and all capable of innovative genius. And so, the final list emerged. The competition would be open to: Theoretical Architect, Edwin Ray; Alessandro Cannizzaro, the Italian, famous for dictating the Perfect Site; Sensual Builder, Carlos Santillana; and Bigger and Better, Ralph Coover of Ideal Context infamy.
Letter: Decided!
Gaia to Selené
Dear Selené,
I am sorry I have only written brief notes these past months, but as you rightly suggested, there has been much work to do. Now I have plenty to share with you, and I can’t begin to tell you what a transformation I have just undergone. Inspirational! I’ve attended lectures, visited sites, offices and openings, it has been a kind of madness, almost. But finally I have worked out the final four to invite to the competition. You cannot say I ignore your advice, nay bossiness!
Don’t follow, lead!
And lead, I jolly well will.
I have perfected the art of the ‘list’, and believe I have included four architects of diverse taste and inclination, and most importantly, of the highest possible calibre. They do however have certain things in common, and these are prerequisites of mine, the most important being their commitment to, and understanding of, what is required for true quality of life… for each in their own ways appreciates balance; each looks for simplicity and clarity… and it seems to me… they do so… with heart.
As proof of my leadership, I have already written the letters of invitation requesting their design proposals – at last, a house for myself! Of the four letters there is only one variation, in that addressed to Alessandro Cannizzaro, as I have finally accepted his invitation to visit. Don’t misunderstand me, I will not develop any favouritism, and intend to judge the proposals fairly.
I am so excited now, I can barely wait to see what they come up with! Heavens, look at me, so seduced and preoccupied by this venture, I am almost forgetting to list the architects for you. They will be:
America’s Ralph Coover
Italy’s Alessandro Cannizzaro
Spain’s Carlos Santillana
United Kingdom’s Edwin Ray
An impressive list I think you’ll have to agree, and hardly the work of a ninny!
The architects will all be informed of the names of the other contenders, and I will ask that each provide a model of their design. I will allow ten weeks as the deadline. I think you’ll agree that seems reasonable. I know the models take time, but I also want to inject a sense of tension, positive tension, and urgency, into the work. I know that Charles always worked best and produced his most impressive work with his back against the wall.
I want to offer them as open a remit as possible, I want them to feel a sense of adventure and freedom in this endeavour, but it is important to me that the dwelling is of modest proportions, I am so weary of this huge lonesome Construct and its sterile air.
I am dying to hear what has become of the horseman, please tell.
I hope this finds you well, dear Selené.
My sincere love to you
Gaia
Letter: Carlos Santillana
Selené to Gaia
Dear Gaia,
Look at you madam! Practically risen from the ashes, if that isn’t too insensitive a thing to say? Gosh, moves, yes, and what moves you make! Marvellous, you could not have made me happier, my dear. Very good choices you have made. Charles would be proud, and I am delighted, though I continue to stress that this whole endeavour must be with you at the helm and at its centre, it is after all, for your home. Everyone has their ‘time’ in life, we know quite well that Charles, and rightly so, had his. You my dear, have been overlooked it seems, perhaps now, is your chance. This time, my sweet, is for you.
The ‘horseman’, golly what to tell. A consummate and passionate lover, but alas, somewhat… clingy, yes, that’s the word. I have had to dispense with his talents. It’s simply no good when my lovers become silly. It was short and desperately sweet, but there we are, it is over.
My love to you
Selené
Gaia was pleased at Selené’s approval, she lit a cigarette in satisfaction and looked over her list.
house
lover
Italy
Designs for the ‘house’ would soon be under way; Gaia was about to visit Italy; ‘lover’ she pondered. Why did I leave ‘lover’ there? She was about to strike it out with her pen – it was just a word – she relented and left it untouched. She left her desk, and packed. In her luggage, she included a few of Selené’s letters, it seemed they had assumed the level of protective talisman, and it was also a means of taking Selené with her in spirit since all else was out of the question. From her store of correspondence she selected particular letters, landmarks so to say, and these included the inimitable ‘final three’ from Selené to Charles, for these had been her first introduction to Selené, and they reminded Gaia of how easy it was to get things wrong, how awry things go when too much is imagined, and how necessary it was to retain the skill of laughing at her own temporary madness, lest it take up more permanent residence.
Without thought, the rosy-jamas found their way into the nightwear section of her very ordered packing, and soon things were set. She would travel in casual clothes: jeans, T-shirt and hiking boots – the leather boots had softened up nicely as testament to their lengthy service. All packed, and Italy was finally to become a reality!
Chapter Twenty
Italy
Alessandro received his invitation to the competition, and as if that wasn’t sufficiently pleasing, the widow had accepted his offer of hospitality – OK, so it had taken longer than he’d hoped, but now, finally, she was on her way! Well, of course! His pride never far from the surface. And suddenly he could indulge in an everything’s going my way, kind of feeling. It wasn’t quite “Bravo! Oh Mama!” – not quite yet, but he felt sure that it was gett
ing that way.
Having let fantasy get the better of him – ‘Gaia’, a svelte curly-haired Marilyn, stylishly attired, perhaps Prada, Gucci, a stunning suit at least, gorgeous shirt, shoes… perhaps by Jimmy Choo, a sexy, quietly confident look – imagine his distress at the dishevelled reality.
Worst of all, my God! – What has she on her feet? Is that possible? My little angel in rock-climbing-carcasses! He realised that for the magazine pictures, of course, the stylists had taken care of everything. Could her own sense truly be quite so off, even the jeans were not stylish, it’s quite difficult to get even jeans wrong! But then again, she was in a state of grief, she had let things go, let ‘practical’ run roughshod over the ‘aesthetic’, but really, honestly speaking, what had her delicate little feet been – captured by? He blamed her late husband entirely, for loving her so little! Really, this was a crime. He had a lot of work to do. He scoffed now as he thought of Charles. He couldn’t help himself and hugged Gaia tightly, almost forgetting to let go. What an extraordinary woman, reduced to… to ordinary! It was criminal! The tragedy of being loved so little – but the contrast would be to his credit. And he was determined to do some good.
Just think, soon, in my hands, she will be a goddess, she will be as beautiful as nature and fashion intended, as loved as no other, and as happy, well, perhaps only she can measure that part, but at any rate, I will make her much happier than she has been with that neglectful husband! But really, you cannot blame, there are some things for which certain men have no talent. Charles! That’s just how it is.
Alessandro was flattered to be included in the competition, though he secretly wished she would just forget it and commission him directly, or better still, just plain move in with him. Why not? His place was palatial, and some day, when all other architectural challenges had been met, he would design something in the manner of a new home that was both palatial and paradisiacal, what else?!
He escorted his guest around the rooms he’d had prepared for her, each decorated in a very simple manner, light block colour, plenty of natural light coming in, she liked it. And the atmosphere? One of tenderness and ease.
Vast windows opened out to distant views… a surge of rock, seemingly frozen, white at the top; a middle distance of town life, church spires and rooftops; and close by… bold lines of trees, green and grey.
Standing in the warmth… spots of colour danced in the sun, sand and ochre yellow, bright blues, red; the air… light and fresh. The dwelling and its owner delivering a mood of quiet serenity and seemingly without effort.
Outside, pathways meandered easily around fertile gardens. Inside, the morning light held a gentle quality, drops of gold and red wine sunlight hung in Gaia’s bedroom, and in a blink were gone. They might come again tomorrow…
Here she could relax. Here she could breathe. – By her bed… a small square table. On the table was a house built of bread. A small wooden figure stood at its door. The figure was a penguin. Gaia smiled. A small bread house. A small wooden penguin.
She slept.
After a few restful days, Alessandro began his campaign, not only to cheer Gaia, but to woo her. He would leave the re-attiring until later, some things require a sense of right timing and subtlety, Gaia would not too easily be won, and for the world he would not be heavy-handed in this matter. Oh, the boots would have to go, yes, but this would have to be played out tenderly – in any case those rock-climbing-carcasses were practically the living dead, he fantasised that they might just up and leave of their own accord. Re-cladding those delicate feet would mark his coming in for the passionate kill, and that could only happen when the time was right. For the moment, he must content himself with preparing the ground, and he pursued this wisely and gently, with care, with tenderness; the finest
restaurants – and a natural charisma.
“Alessandro, you have the reputation of an almost maverick architect!” Gaia broke off, and for a brief moment she was somewhere else, she returned to the present near to laughing, “And certainly among other leading architects, you are talked about incessantly! I have even heard of you spoken of as a heretic! What do you make of that?”
“To be honest, I think that is exactly what is in my favour. Those architects with a rather more conservative outlook, perhaps they are also those who are a little bit afraid, and so they call my architecture novelty architecture, inconsequential architecture and so on, ‘inconsequential’ – why such a big word to say nothing? I have read such things in magazines, in the papers. It’s funny for me, that these others who are world class architects in their own right would use up time in an interview of their own to talk so much about me! Wow! That feels so good! You can’t imagine just how
good. – More wine?” A divine wine was poured and savoured.
Gaia was intrigued. Alessandro’s vitality was potent, but she, not easily seduced. “Anyway Gaia, for me, these architects are afraid. I always divide people into those who are afraid, and those who are not. I’ve done that since I was fifteen years old and it works. Me, I’m not afraid of anything, if you like you can call it being brave. The thing is, you need some talent, but actually, more than that, it is about stamina, and hard work. It’s that simple. And come on now, all those who have gone before us, they helped make it easy for the next generations. What have we to be afraid of? Adolf Loos introduced great functional, un-messy, unadorned architecture for us, so you got the fundamentals of the modern age from him pretty much. And also you have Gropius, Le Corbusier, some others.” Tactically, he steered clear of mentioning more contemporary architects by name, almost as though they didn’t exist, that the landscape was now almost entirely his to design. Privately he admired many, but he would rarely give breath to their names.
“That wonderful English woman, Eileen Gray, she did some brave work in the 1920s, of course you know, I’m sure. She said… she said… that… To create, one must first question everything, and she was quite correct.” He knocked the ash from his cigarette. “I really admire
her – Corbusier, he was a cheeky guy, once he painted some kind of mural on the walls of her home, without asking! He is someone I admire for sure, but that was too much! He was a bit of a dog sometimes. She said he was a vandal. That’s not a good way to be with a woman. No no no. I learned that story as a little boy from my father, and my father called our dog after him because it always pissed up the
walls – Anyway, Eileen Gray, she really had vision – because, Gaia, women can do it too! But most of you still don’t realise it. – And now world, you got ME! How lucky you are. I don’t claim to have so much in common with that Austrian, Loos, but really, you have to admit, he must have been a great guy. And sticking up his two fingers at all that fussy ornamentation, well for that, we have to thank him. Anyway, all these architects today, well, there’s so much great work about, but for me, when it’s me who will be interviewed, I’m telling you, I just talk about me, me, me, me, me! And I savour ev-er-y word.” And with that he kissed his fingers in the manner of a large contented chef, “Sat-is-fac-tion, yes!”
Gaia remained silent, he wondered what she might be thinking? The wine was taking effect on both, and Alessandro felt further challenged, to enchant, “In life, it is possible to be many things, and of course that depends on your background, your chances, choices, but it is only possible to be truly excellent at one thing. That is what I believe. To excel at one thing, that is a possibility for everyone, re-garrrrd-less of anything. If you want it, bad enough, for sure, you will get it. Nothing as certain as that, and those who don’t get it, who whinge and whine: oh but I was born into the wrong family; my brother got all the chances; no one guided me when I was young; the politics of my country prevented it; I was born into the wrong class; I had a bad mother, oh I’ve heard it all, and I tell you, none of these is a reason for not succeeding, not a one, ultimately. There are ways around every problem. Look back through history and you see it e
verywhere. The important thing to realise is that the only thing that can really hold you back is your-self. Those who don’t get where they want, or what they want, simply didn’t want it bad enough!”
“You really believe that?”
“It’s not a matter of belief, I know it! I am the proof of it, but enough of this subject eh? We are getting too serious, paddling in murky waters. – Another drink? Here, let’s dip our feet in something closer to champagne? – In fact, let’s do it. I will order some! Excuse me, waiter!”
A youthful chubby waiter gazed back over his shoulder and blushed as his eyes met Alessandro’s, then the curly-haired cherub distantly mouthed that he would be over directly to take the order. Gaia is less easily won than this innocent male, and Alessandro knows it. She picks up the conversation, “If you could have been anything, why did you settle on architect?”
“Settle! That’s a funny word, you think there might be something better? No there is not! I clearly chose architecture. You want to know why? That’s quite fascinating to me, indulge me, it’s sexy.” He was in his element now, “Yes architecture is so very sexy to me. Please, excuse me just a moment. – Yes waiter, champagne, Veuve Clicquot. Thank you.” He smiled but briefly, he must not lose Gaia’s attention, “That great photographer, Cartier… Bresson, he captured what they all famously quote as ‘the decisive moment’, a great achievement. In its way. The singular, short-lived, genius, the ‘moment’. But for the architect these moments are many, continuous, extended if you like.” Was he losing her? He was conscious of trying too hard. He would say something gauche, crude even, just to draw her back, to see her pupils dilate, put some colour in those too white cheeks. OK, so it was rather childish, boyish, but only tongue-in-cheek, and it might work! So why not? – “In so many professions – how shall I say? Well… let’s just say that they finish short, while the architect’s orgasm… this really fulfils, really travels, and first class too!” His words culminating in an efflorescence of self-satisfied charismatic laughter and followed up as though he were Mozart in composition of flight, by a flurry of flirtatious expressions, blossoming cheekily into, “Oh! I can hardly believe I said that, but actually I mean it. Implicitly. So don’t waste your time with men in other professions – when it comes to lovers, you can’t beat architects, and certainly not THE ITALIAN ARCHITECT!”