Of course, how naive of me. Studying architecture to answer a question. Yes, I wanted to know what living was all about. Learning the meaning of existence through primordial questions doesn’t seem like a good idea for what to do with your time. I mean, working, paying bills, shopping, living, in short, leaves no time to question the whys of life. In short, you never know why you make the decisions that affect your life except by looking back. From being a happy pilot to an architecture student, drawing plans, staying up all night while models were being made, learning about structure, materials, and construction management didn’t sound like a course to understand human living. For whatever reason, while my days were creative, my questions faded into studying a professional career.
But hey, the universality of university isn’t all bad. I also had history classes that told me about the past. About the origins of architecture. And it was through these classes that, over time, I understood the magnitude of my adventure. Immersing myself in the myths of origin, in the founding of Rome, in Laugier’s engravings, I gradually came to understand that making shoeboxes out of cedars isn’t what architecture intended. Market norms transformed the trade into a kind of expert in the spatial and ergonomic understanding of the minimum acceptable conditions for a human being to live. Square meters, minimal floor plans, Nuefert’s manual. How did the market end up turning the world and cities into those small boxes with bathrooms and kitchens?
Back then, 1997, my studio work was to design a house for myself on a small lot. An architect’s task was to geometrically resolve the difficulties of a narrow lot in the city. But not only that, it had to be the house of my dreams. As was my home spoke of how my living was. It was close to my purpose. But it was not only a matter of designing, of projecting a house for me, for today (in the year 1997) but it was a question about the world. Around that year I was reading the Novel Correction by Thomas Bernhard. I found myself obsessed with reading the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, because it was that moment in life when you confront your own history, which in my case were the teachings of Sigmund Freud, which my mother, a dedicated psychoanalyst, had planted in my thinking, which I obviously rejected.
Si quieres saber sobre la casa que hizo Wittgenstein en Viena pasa al siguiente link.
Si quieres ver el diseño de la casa ideal pasa al siguiente link.
Si quieres saber sobre la novela Corrección pasa al siguiente link.
