Moving On, Kinda

I've been home for nearly two weeks already, but I'm only just ending my Jones Fellowship tenure with this, my last post.

I'm an incredibly lucky guy to have had this experience, and I hope the photos and stories I've shared here were interesting to someone. I hope to continue exploring and documenting things wherever I end up (I'm home in Massachusetts, working part time and looking for what's next). I hope more than anything to be able to merge those interests with the ones that sent me to U of M in the first place.

Obviously it's a jarring change to move back to Holliston from London, but I'm surprised by the continuity that being here has had with life in London. Looking ahead to moving there a year ago, it seemed like it could only be an interruption, but now it feels fairly natural. One quote that stuck with me from the beginning of last year was that "you can't run away from yourself by moving from one place to another." I was given a tremendous opportunity to broaden my perspective this past year, and I'd like to think that I did, but I'm still me.

-

I'd like to thank Adam Skoczylas for managing me the past year (2 if you count the application process), and the rest of the Fellowship's Selection Committee for making it all possible. I'd also like to wish the best of luck to Andrea Berkemeier, next year's Fellow.

Work

At the request of the Jones handlers, here are Google Drive links to a smattering of my essays from this year. Read on, if ye dare. Sorry for the lack of titles.


Final Essay from ENVS2034: History and Theory of Architecture about Rem Koolhaas and Frank Lloyd Wright and their opposing approaches to self-mythology. (Very nebulous).


Final Essay from HART1307: Living with Boom & Bust: Meanings and Values in London Housing c. 1840-1970 about the obscure similarities between two major postwar housing developments in London. (Fairly dry).


Essay from HART2107: Matter and Mediation: Abstraction After Warhol about structuralist and post-structuralist readings of Warhol's dalliances with gravity.


Essay from HART2002 imagining a TJ Clark-style social historical reading of Dan Flavin's Monument for V. Tatlin.


Essay from HART2236: Figuring the West 1850-1914 examining the permutations of Manifest Destiny present in the 1960s and 2000s via an episode of Mad Men.


--


I also spent the last several weeks of this summer taking part in the Bartlett Summer Foundation Course for people interested in pursuing architecture. There's tons of cool resources on the site. If you're curious about what I did, click on my author name (2014danconnors) in the list on the right to navigate to it.

Ireland

I'm verging on overstaying my welcome here at the Jones Blog, so suffice it to say that Ireland was phenomenal. I spent 2 days in Cork, 3 in Dublin, and 2 more in Belfast, with day trips to Galway/Cliffs of Moher and to Giant's Causeway. I took about 1000 photos that week, so I'll let them do the work.

--

Mill, Cork

Fr. Brown, Cork

Nosepicker, Cork

Old Men, Cork

Wall Photo, Cork

St. Fin Barre's Cathedral, Cork

Old Man, Galway

Surprise Portrait, Galway

Cliffs of Moher

O'Brien's Tower

View from Hill near Giant's Causeway

Flags, Belfast

Carrick-a-Rede

Fellow Tourists, Giant's Causeway

Summit, Giant's Causeway

Vienna

I also encountered some interesting folks on my way to Vienna. Apparently my first train was a full one, because I ended up in a compartment with a group of boys who must have been around 11. I know enough Spanish and Italian to understand that one of them could swear in more languages than the others, and was instructing the rest of them. The smallest one spent much of our time together reading a Simpsons comic in Czech, which I found hilarious. I couldn't understand it, but Crusty the Clown seemed to be central to the plot.

I wandered around most of the day, starting in the MuseumsQuartier and then heading to the MAK (contemporary design/art/architecture learning/exhibition space) once it opened for free. I still wish I'd spent all day at the latter. They had an extensive permanent collection that I barely got to see in between the exhibition on Hans Hollein ("everything is architecture") and the Design Lab's Design Labor exhibition, which considered craft and objecthood in the digital age.

The USMNT had its knockout-stage World Cup Match that night, which they successfully didn't lose for almost as long as possible before they finally lost it.

My last morning I grabbed a quick McDonald's coffee with one of my hostelmates, an Aussie named Leong who'd lived in London before his current tour, which would take him through Europe and back towards home. I ended up in a cafe most of that day, drinking more coffee and trying to write about the Biennale before catching a train to the airport, sweaty and overcaffeinated.

--

Prague

The first thing I remember encountering in Prague was these guys, who were cracking enormous whips in the oldest square in the historic district of the city. I'm not sure if it was for what they considered entertainment or if they were attempting to scare people (it didn't not work).

Staroměstské náměstí, Prague

According to my notebook, I met several people on the train there who warrant mentioning. One was an older man on his way to Cham, where he directs a choir of senior citizens. He was eager to tell me about them and to learn about what I was up to. We spoke generally about history, and I remember he opined that the US's propensity for bombing other countries stems from the its relative youth and resulting "freedom" from history. On my final train into Prague I met a guy named Marc who was a student in Prague preparing for exams. He drew me a map and recommended that I check out a favorite bar of his. The bar was more or less a living room, dark and with makeshift furniture. I drank a few pints while I took the scene in and decided to leave once three of the four couples at the adjacent tables were making out (the fourth appeared to be a guy roughly my age with his mother).

I spent the morning of my full day there walking to and taking in the DOX contemporary art centre. It was a long walk, and I listened to some podcasts from home on the way. After so long traveling alone in countries whose languages I do not know it was nice to hear familiar voices and jokes. Later on I splurged for a McDonald's cheeseburger for more familiarity. The galleries were interesting; the exhibit that stands out to me now presented works from recent Master's graduates from area art schools, one that they considered a failure and a later edition that they found more successful. The works were provided without explanation, leaving the viewer to determine which was which.

That night I went to a bar that had been described in a New York Times article by a local as "offbeat" because I was curious to get a bit further off the tourist track of the old city. I went in to a small living room-cum-bike repair shop, and the eyes of all 6 people already there were on me immediately. Nobody told me to leave, but nobody tried to hide their confusion (annoyance?) at how and why I had ended up there. I drank my beer and walked home.

--

Night Gym

Duky Douky

Graffiti, Prague

No Idea What This Was 

Grand Hotel Europa, Prague

Munich

I got to Munich just in time for the USMNT's final group-stage match against the Germans. I'd been tipped by a good friend from UCL who had gone to uni in Munich that the place to be was the Hirschgarten, an enormous beer garden on the west side of the city. I walked there in time to find that almost all the seats were filled. I wandered through the picnic tables until I found one occupied by Americans, asked if they had room for an extra ex-pat, which they did, and I grabbed a liter mug of weissbier and sat with them. They were from Connecticut and Ohio, had just graduated, and were traveling through central Europe together before starting work. Over the course of the game we accumulated more Americans (from New Jersey and Michigan), and had a great group going. Sometime after the sun set I realized that I had drunk three liters of beer on an empty stomach and needed to head home. Being the expert explorer I am, I decided to take a different and more scenic (a great idea late at night) route home. Eventually I wanted to make sure I was heading in the right direction, but found that I was off the map the hostel had given me. A kind man in the lobby of a hotel informed me that indeed I was walking in the right direction, and eventually I made it back to the hostel to sleep.

The next morning I went right out to the Maxvorstadt, where the museums are located. First up was the cavernous Pinakothek der Moderne, which was awesome. On display downstairs was an impressive array of design objects from the past several centuries, including a number of cars. Above was a quasi-chronological survey of 20th century art, bookended by solo exhibitions of Ernst Ludwig Kirchner and Joseph Kosuth. My two favorite bits were a collection of photos by August Sander, from his "epochal cycle" People of the 20th Century, which I learned about in one of my courses, and a plethora of drawings by David Shrigley, which were at times poignant but mostly hilarious:

My day ended in the English Gardens in the north of the city. I lounged and continued Portrait, hanging my sore feet into the refreshingly chilly river running through the park. A pair of children who sounded American jumped in to my left, let the (surprisingly brisk) current carry them past me, and run back to do it again. Across from me was a naked man reading his iPad. I finished with dinner at one of the beer gardens nearby and walked back amid a throng of older people exiting what seemed to be the theatre.

--

Yeah

No Argument Here

English Gardens

Basketball

Zurich

The first thing I noticed upon arriving in Zurich was how quiet it was. All of my Italy destinations were swarming with street vendors and beggars, and not to have them everywhere was a nice change of pace.

I spent the first morning drinking coffee and reading Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Joyce worked in Zurich throughout his career, I have struggled to finish that book since I bought it several years ago, so it all worked out) at a cafe near my hostel, and eventually began wandering. I was fairly museum'd out, so I didn't do much other than wander.

I had scheduled my trip to coincide with Switzerland's World Cup match against Honduras, which they won. I spent the majority of the match with a Swiss-born Canadian who moved there after college, whose name I don't recall. We cheered their three goals, drank some beer, and afterwards I retired to the roof terrace atop my hostel, where I chatted with an Aussie on a long tour of Europe whose next stop was Ibiza.

--

DeskVan

Zurich Skyline

Venice

I was in Venice the week my family usually goes to the beach, so it was really refreshing to be able to be on the water so much; my hostel was on Giudecca, which required a taxi-boat to get to most of the attractions of the city.

I was there primarily for the Architecture Biennale, directed this year by Rem Koolhaas, friend of the blog, which was fascinating and overwhelming. I spent approximately 12 hours there over the course of two days and didn't manage to see everything. The exhibition reduced architecture to a seried of 15 elements chronicling their acquisition of "degree[s] of consciousness" via the incorporation of digital technology. I felt more hopeful about the developments showcased there than the apocalyptic tone of the exhibition catalog indicated Mr. Koolhaas did. 

Apart from the Biennale was a lot of wandering. I got lost a few times, but was lucky enough to find out that my phone was able to track my location despite my not having access to mobile data, so I was rarely out of danger.

I left at about 4 am on the third morning with a bag bulging with books and pamphlets from the Biennale, excited for my train ride into the Alps, which did not disappoint.

--

Oh No

Heinz Mack Installation, San Giorgio Maggiore

Roof Room, Venice Architecture Biennale

Gotcha

Outskirts

Santa Maria della Salute

Florence

The first thing I have written down from Florence is that I saw a guy whose shirt simply said "WINNING TEAM" and a restaurant called "Bakery's Pizza." Up next: "Italy is a world leader in old men on bikes." If those aren't great ads for Italian tourism I don't know what is.

I spent my first morning waiting to get into the Accademia to see the David. I was stuck behind an 11-year-old Yankees fan who wasn't afraid to badmouth my World Series Champion Red Sox, but we managed to get along fine after he found out I'd gone to Michigan (he got that one right, at least). The David was huge - it's ironic that after slaying a giant he became one himself. I then ventured over to the Medici Palace to see their chapel, which I wrote about for one of my first term courses, and which was incredible. Neither place had much going on except for the main events, but both were spectacular.

David 1

David 2

That night I spent at the hostel, drinking cheap supermarket beer and watching soccer with some new friends, both Englishmen. I'd met them just hours before but we'd somehow gotten to a point where we were discussing our futures with each other. Even correcting for the beer, it was refreshingly honest and I appreciated it in the midst of hostel small-talk. I passed out fairly early, rose fairly early, and went to the Duomo on a cappuccino/croissant buzz right around opening time. I hadn't realized beforehand that visitors were allowed to climb to the top, and I was ecstatic to be able to see the entire city from up there -  it's a shame that's not allowed at St. Paul's back here in London. In addition to that view, I also accidentally saw a woman's breast - I glanced down to look at her baby (who'd waved to me during our ascent) without realizing she'd been breastfeeding and my timing was wrong. Another rosary, I guess?

Top of Duomo from Bell Tower

Bell Tower from top of Duomo

Duomo fresco

My final night in Florence was spent in the Piazza della Repubblica, eating a panini and drinking wine (recommendations from friends from Italy and Michigan, respectively). I met a friendly Dutchman who worked for Bose, who showed me some photos he'd taken of a strange team wrestling sport that we'd seen being played in front of Santa Croce but didn't understand at all. I had a few pints, watched England lose, and went to bed ready to move on to Venice and the Biennale.

--

I Forget What This Was

Zits

Duomo, interior

Santa Croce 

C'mon Man

Rome

It's been a month and a half since I overslept and missed my flight to Rome, since I nearly got sick in the van on the way to Gatwick, since I ran frantically through the streets of a new city in a new country searching for an ATM that would work so I could pay the cash-only hostel for my bed. Suffice it to say the time has flown.

By the time I finally got settled I was eating a cheap calzone by the Coliseum, which I hadn't expected to see so quickly. I wandered home, sent my dad a Father's Day text, and passed out.

My first morning I waded through the eddies of overbearing "Fast Track" tour guides and over-bored tourists to the end of the line for the Vatican Museum. We shuffled our way along the bottom of a steep embankment, turned a corner, and saw the rain clouds advancing. Within minutes of the first drop the guides produced umbrellas and ponchos, which most people needed. It was a wet and chilly wait the rest of the way, but I was lucky enough to be allowed to hold the umbrella for an older couple and their son who only spoke German. We attempted to comment on the weather intermittently and I lost them once we made it inside.

I squelched my way across various papal marbles, enjoying the frescoes but ultimately only really thinking about the Sistine Chapel, which was far darker than I had expected but nonetheless worth the morning's drenching. Not unlike the scene at the Mona Lisa, the people watching here was pretty choice, especially when the guards caught someone taking photos. The next thing I remember is drying my feet and body in St. Peter's Square before wandering across the river into Trastevere, and eventually back to the Piazza Venezia to catch some of Germany-Portugal.

Piazza Venezia

The next day I walked all the way to the MAXXI museum (farther than I realized, well worth it) to see my second Zaha Hadid building in person, as well as my first Ed Ruscha painting. Other highlights included a primer on Piero Sartogo, "Roma Interruta" (Rome-centric architectural theorizing), Sol Lewitt, and catching a photos of these guys on my way home:

Beard Twins

The best phenomenon I encountered in Rome (which sadly went unphotographed) was what I dubbed the "Part-time Priest." As one might expect, there is an abundance of clerics in Rome, and it being July it was rather hot, particularly (I assume) under the clerical collars. Which meant that plenty of them were undone. Which gave me the distinct impression of there being legions of priests, fresh off double shifts, just ready to let loose. Which made me laugh. Which isn't what you're supposed to do at priests that aren't recycling homily jokes. (I think I got away with it. I'll say a rosary for good measure.)

My time in Rome ended back at the Piazza, with pizza and beer, watching the World Cup as the sun went down.

--