• Rendering for I-75 + I-285 North Intersection Proposal, Atlanta, GA, 2014

  • Ruins of the Temple of EnkiEridu, Iraq, c. 2010

  • Walter Pichler, Entrance to an Underground City, 1963

  • John Hejduk, Towers at the City of Culture, Santiago de Compostela, Spain, c. 1992 (via coffee)

    If El Lissitzky's proun is “the waystation between painting and architecture,” architects like John Hejduk and artists like Dan Graham, Jaume Plensa, Olafur Eliasson, James TurrellDonald Judd, and numerous others engaged the waystation between sculpture and architecture first identified by Rosalind Krauss in her seminal “Sculpture in the Expanded Field.”

  • Eduardo Srur, Mannequin Over Pinheiros River, Sao Paulo, Brazil, 2014

  • Édouard Manet, A View of the Exposition Universelle, Paris, France,1867 (via grupaok)

  • Aldo Rossi and Donatella Mazzoleni, Materiel Habitable, 1970 (via archiveofaffinities)

  • Auguste Perret, Ville-Tours, 1922 (via archiveofaffinities)

  • Bene Rohlmann, Untitled Collage, 2014

  • Given birth by the flowing water …
    tenderly cared for by Ninhursaja!
    Ninkasi, given birth by the flowing water …
    tenderly cared for by Ninhursaja!

    Having founded your town upon wax,
    she completed its great walls for you.
    Ninkasi, having founded your town upon wax,
    she completed its great walls for you.

    Your father is Enki, the lord Nudimmud,
    and your mother is Ninti, the queen of the abzu.
    Ninkasi, your father is Enki, the lord Nudimmud,
    and your mother is Ninti, the queen of the abzu.

    It is you who handle the … and dough with a big shovel,
    mixing, in a pit, the beerbread with sweet aromatics.
    Ninkasi, it is you who handle the … and dough with a big shovel,
    mixing, in a pit, the beerbread with sweet aromatics.

    It is you who bake the beerbread in the big oven,
    and put in order the piles of hulled grain.
    Ninkasi, it is you who bake the beerbread in the big oven,
    and put in order the piles of hulled grain.

    It is you who water the earth-covered malt;
    the noble dogs guard it even from the potentates.
    Ninkasi, it is you who water the earth-covered malt;
    the noble dogs guard it even from the potentates.

    It is you who soak the malt in a jar;
    the waves rise, the waves fall.
    Ninkasi, it is you who soak the malt in a jar;
    the waves rise, the waves fall.

    It is you who spread the cooked mash on large reed mats;
    coolness overcomes …
    Ninkasi, it is you who spread the cooked mash on large reed mats; coolness overcomes …

    It is you who hold with both hands the great sweetwort,
    brewing it with honey and wine.
    Ninkasi, it is you who hold with both hands the great sweetwort,
    brewing it with honey and wine.

    You …
    the sweetwort to the vessel.
    Ninkasi, … You …
    the sweetwort to the vessel.

    You place the fermenting vat, which makes a pleasant sound,
    appropriately on top of a large collector vat.
    Ninkasi, you place the fermenting vat, which makes a pleasant sound,
    appropriately on top of a large collector vat.

    It is you who pour out the filtered beer of the collector vat;
    it is like the onrush of the Tigris and the Euphrates.
    Ninkasi, it is you who pour out the filtered beer of the collector vat;
    it is like the onrush of the Tigris and the Euphrates.

    —  A Hymn to Ninkasi, c. 1800 BCE (via oxford)

  • Cities have often been compared to language: you can read a city, it’s said, as you read a book. But the metaphor can be inverted. The journeys we make during the reading of a book trace out, in some way, the private spaces we inhabit. There are texts that will always be our dead-end streets; fragments that will be bridges; words that will be like the scaffolding that protects fragile constructions. T.S. Eliot: a plant growing in the debris of a ruined building; Salvador Novo: a tree-lined street transformed into an expressway; Tomas Segovia: a boulevard, a breath of air; Roberto Bolano: a rooftop terrace; Isabel Allende: a (magically real) shopping mall; Gilles Deleuze: a summit; and Jacques Derrida: a pothole. Robert Walser: a chink in the wall, for looking through to the other side; Charles Baudelaire: a waiting room; Hannah Arendt: a tower, an Archimedean point; Martin Heidegger: a cul-de-sac; Walter Benjamin: a one-way street walked down against the flow.

    —  Valeria Luiselli, “Relingos: The Cartography of Empty Spaces,” 2014 (via invisiblestories)

    (via mythologyofblue)

  • The city is never completed. It has a beginning but it has no end. It’s a work in progress, always waiting for new scenes to be added and new characters to move in.

    —  Bjarke IngelsWorldcraft, 2014

  • Christian de Portzamparc, Philharmonie, Luxembourg, 1997-2005

  • Legorreta + Legorreta and Vicente Rojo Almazán, Plaza Juarez and Towers, Mexico City, Mexico, 2003-5

  • Claude-Nicolas LedouxBarrière de Bonhommes / Passy, Paris, France, 1783 (via archiveofaffinities)