Borromini-Bernini

The Site of Four Fountains Borromini

The glorious white dome

Baroque in flavor

A cloister for good sake

A lovely wood office

A passage into light

Music Hall

Museum

Crypt

Site of Bernini

Oval Space Arcade

Golden Arch

Golden Ceiling

Golden Alter&Baroque Marble

Arch and Statue

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With an accidental discovery and once more another, the original rivals found solace in my joyous heart.  Feigning broken banks and lack of clients, few architects try desperately to design away the other. Arch Enemies are expensive. Bernini had the loot though. Marble flourished within his gold-covered sanctuaries. Borromini relished much less in materials though. But his architecture was imbued with Gold as well--in spirit. Challenging to design without funds tends to craft intriguing architecture.

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A Living Painting

To step before a Grand Majesty

and a Living Will

To paint such a Omnipotent space

Languishes all before it

And the breath of light

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Gazing wide-eyed and deep into the chasm of an omnivorous structure shall send the classic shiver rupturing down the spine of any deponent. The Pantheon--a rather ancient building--is an paradigm of a Living Painting. A building that exemplifies the true beauty in design in which every angle becomes another frame. In some blunderbuss fashion, photographing any movement shall provide a lovely canvas.
There are few true designs that provide this means of photography.

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Tubes, Cables and Colours

Front?

Levitating Tube

Structural Detail

Top Tube and Roof Structure

The Mighty Handle

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The Pompado center in Paris shows off a unique and obtuse look. The structure emphatically poors its heart into the project. With geared arms and tubular wires the building drags the husk out of the ground. The rising Escalater, stair and vent tube runs alongside the buildings giving interesting lighting at night. 

The Monumental piece gave new meaning to this area and saved it from impoverishment. For the Center is a center for Art, art and people. Animated crowds gather to play their tunes and dance their jigs daily without recall. It is a unique experience.

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Stencils...Art or Graffiti?

Caen

Brussels "Space Invader"

Vienna - Beethoven's House

Paris

Paris

Paris

Marseille

Montpelier Tiling

Rabeux

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A filth has slowly covered the entity of architecture. It is a form of expression and rebellion. It is indeed relentless. But from the filth comes a bit of beauty and intrigue. Graffiti is a problem we shall face once day--to live with it or destroy it. Stencils on the other hand have caught my attention. They are rather crafting beauty than defiling a surface. Can it be called art?

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New Price Tag

A fourty-five minute walk in twenty,

Up the steep hill to the castle in scaffolding

To see inside a monument

Which broke the Bavarian bank three times

But made King Ludwig II happy

With joys of Medieval Pleasures

And built his Castle upon a mountain

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A Castle from the Middle ages built in the 18th Century houses a collection of over sized and fantasized prices. This is a castle of dreams. A castle that Disney took. A castle that should not exist but surely does. It is a gem among gems; aside from the scaffolding. It seems to be a season of repairs.

--This is Neu Schwanstein Schloss--

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Catalonia Music House

Sun drips like water upon the crowd

For one so calmly stands so proud

Of the Catalonian house

For music lives within

And detail upon detail screams aloud

Filling each space like a cloud

Down to the size of a mouse

 For Gaudi is a Catalonian

The Music House of Catalonia crafted by Antoni Gaudi is sensational. It speaks volumes of skill in craft and design. The music runs through its veins. Within the audience, a sun made from glass drips. It brings light onto the stage and illuminates the music. To hear a performance was exasperating and ultimately lively. It is another work from a genius, but also illegal to photograph.

Egypt in Paris

Fortified and Still Alive

The placid soil of time,

Stand Still to allow quicksand to engulf horses,

and Castles alike.

For all who look into the souls of men,

are trapped by the Birds that fly above,

and lay waist the city before them.

To the last feather soaked in oil and pitch.

To the Last Feather Soaked in water and blood.

All stand firm and clasp their ground,

to hold the giant Sky from collapsing.

To the Mossy Stones unturned,

All is silent.

All is not lost.

--

Out from my medieval dreams comes a city so lovely it flattens my ever grasping hands. I stood before it in awe, bewilderment, confusion, astonishment, perturbation, admiration, astonishment, esteem and reverence. An obtuse monastery built upon an Island in Normandy. It is Mont St Michel. The tide which rides in for nine miles speedily delivers in nine minutes. Quicksand covers the area for any who try to enter. 

The city is a dream. It is from myth and legend. I could not believe I was at a place so congruent with my childhood desires. I was floating amid the clouds that surround the Island. The fog rolls from the shores and builds a blanket comforting the rocks beneath the castle walls.

The tower Abbey like a dagger in the sky pulls the spiraling road to its forefront. It clasps your breadth. It squeezes you empty. For it is minimal and calm like the monks within. The stone is harmonious with the movements of the people. All sit and wait for action to occur but nothing does. It is silent. The Mont is but a dream unable to be touched and moved by mere mortals.

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