|
As
I was strolling down
the main street near my
house, I found myself
memorizing all the
buildings along the
way. It felt like
walking through an art
museum because some
structures reminded me
of the great architects.
The first was all
silver with thin blue
stripes, and its forms
were folded like a
writer's paper
thrown off the table. I
nicknamed it the Frank
Gehry building.
The second was a
strange place, without
color – or with
an unidentified color
– with a big tree
in front. The building
seemed to keep a
dialogue with the tree.
I had no doubt and
named it Frank Lloyd
Wright.
The third was all Art
Deco, worn by time, but
it revealed a glamorous
past. I thought little
and gave this building
the name Raymond Hood,
who served as the lead
architect for the
massive Rockefeller
Center project in New
York.
While I was walking,
there was a local café
where artists and
intellectuals met to
share critiques and
discuss the eternal
search for the meaning
of life. The place had
a resemblance to the
Neo-Italian
Renaissance, with
symmetrical façades
and rusticated stone. I
had no doubt. I
immediately called it
Stanford White.
On the other side of
the street, there was
an old hotel whose
facade had a dark
granite-clad tower, an
almost Brutalist
appearance, and strong
vertical lines. Eero
Saarinen came to my
mind, and soon I began
surfing in a nostalgia
for the time I had
flown with TWA.
Going ahead, I would
stop in front of an old
building where a movie
theater named Opera
House operated. There I
stumbled upon films
like Planet of the Apes
(1968), The Godfather,
Star Wars, Jaws, Taxi
Driver, and fell in
love with Raquel Welch.
Looking at the facade,
two architects came to
mind: Le Corbusier and
Oscar Niemeyer. Maybe
it was because of the
geometric nuances, with
their curvatures
exploring beauty with a
lot of modernism.
The truth is, these
walks no longer exist.
I’ve gone out
every day and
haven’t seen my
buildings, the ones I
had named after the
architects. I
couldn't see them
anymore, and that hurt
my mind, which was
beginning to erase
everything my eyes
could still
reach.
Suddenly, a voice I
didn’t recognize
entered my head, saying
something like,
“What we’re
seeing could be the
beginning of
Alzheimer’s.”
Whose voice was that?
Who said it? Was
someone speaking to me,
or was I just hearing a
voice meant for someone
else? I don’t
know.
It seems that all my
knowledge has been cast
aside, because no one
asks me relevant
questions anymore. Only
trivial things, like:
"Are you
cold?", "Do
you want more
milk?", "Do
you want salad?",
"Are you
sleepy?" Sometimes
people look familiar to
me; other times, I
can’t recognize
them. What kind of
world is this? Where is
my town? My architects?
Where has my life gone?
Lately, I stay inside a
house I can no longer
remember. I just sit on
an old sofa. In front
of me, a TV stays on,
but it never shows
anything familiar. In
another corner of the
room, an old woman,
someone I don’t
know, keeps watching
me. Sometimes, she
hands me a glass of
milk with biscuits.
I can still recall
sounds and a flood of
images I can no longer
name, even though
I’m alive and far
from dying.
End
|
