How dare I turn my back to the sea and take a picture of this building?
Well, I mean, fucking look at that. This is the stucco-island, remember-those-Spartans, WE ARE CHILDREN EXCITED CONFIDENT ABOUT THE FUTURE because we can speak its language type of building.
When I was in high school I presented the era of Art Deco to my sociology class, had lugged a tome full of Deco furniture, wine glasses, trains, artists, swimming pools, mosaics. Mr. H. remained silent throughout my presentation (which concluded with some virgin mint juleps) just until a page near the end of the book displaying a formidable telephone. I really liked the telephone. It was shaped like a bridge and brushed in platinum. The piece embodied transportation, brushed so fine you could see your own eyes in the dial as you talked to god-knows-who, that stayed cool no matter how heated the conversation was getting. It was, yes, just a telephone, but it would only be our jaded asses who would sneer “just a telephone” as if the devise deserved no chance at artistry. It was here that Mr. H. said, “I can’t imagine having a house full of this. All of it is really cold.”
But look again! This moment was a generation that still believed in permanence, in fabricating items that would out-live their owners, that things are meant to be displayed and never thrown away. AND YET had thrown themselves headlong in dreams of speed, of chutes and silver springs propelling them to the next country over.
Today, however, I had to make a choice. I didn’t have time for both the aquarium and the sea. I choose the sea.