As if it were just like yesterday, I can remember touching down, while looking through sleep-filled eyes, and feeling as though I was home.  Then, I understood a plethora of conversations- both spoken and through letters- with a really close college friend of mine.  He was home in the shallow, gondola-filled waterways of Venice, Italy.  

During my time at the University of Kentucky, which is where I met said friend, I heard how architecture students (soon to be future architects) should at some point in their lives, plan to go abroad.  Italy- Ciao!  France- Ooh la la!  Spain- Salud!  Greece- Chaire! London- Cheers!  These were just a few of the places that I imagined I would visit when the opportunity arose.

When the time did come, where did I choose?  

aurora borealis.

Reykjavik.  In Iceland.  My very first trip overseas was to the northernmost capital in all of Europe.  What little I had seen of the city sounded great, though it was the few photos I could find of the landscape that intrigued me, and like the hardefisk hanging to dry in the open markets of the town, I was hooked, lined, and sinker-ed.

The black lava sand in sublime contrast to the layers of verdant moss fascinated me.  Fog rising above the water to give the city its descriptive name.  Deep, indescribably blue skies meeting the clearest ice that I’ve ever seen are something to behold.  

2005 was the first time that I visited and there was not much to speak of by way of architecture.  My search for a bit of history on this small island led me to the National Museum of Iceland where I heard (one of many) stories about the residential vernacular in Iceland.  The turf covered wood structures with typical four-pane windows were something out of a Peter Jackson movie.  They were completely beautiful and contextually apropos to me.  And for a time, apparently, they were the usual proud abodes of Icelanders.  

Until some Icelanders took a trip to mainland Europe.  

The Museum guide related the tale of how the Icelanders were so impressed and seduced by the cosmopolitan architectural evident in the major cities that they felt ashamed of their grassy, mossy, earth-built ‘huts’.  Upon returning to Iceland, they did (to me) the unthinkable- they began destroying their houses in an effort to be more European.  

Upon hearing this story, I was struck by how… unnecessary it was.  I wanted to protect these little houses, the home(s) that I have now adopted.  It is fortunate for us that some these turf houses have been preserved.  

Over the past 15 years, I have had the privilege and pleasure to teach Residential Design.  One of the first assignments that I typically give is for the students to define home- in whatever form they can describe.  Samuel Mockbee and the Rural Studio has been the foundation of the course through the years.  Lecturing about the Rural Studio has led me to relive, and even revise my thoughts about home.

What I realize now is that home is not only a noun (and should not be seen only as that) but home is also a verb.  

Let me put on my best Charles Bronson for this post.

Not only is the movie a classic- I mean, who doesn’t love that mustache- but I also love the coffee. Given to me by my sister as a birthday present, along with a super cool t-shirt and Assassin’s Creed Valhalla, Death Wish Coffee sounded to me like it could be a gimmick. But… it is not. Not in the least.

After a large mug of the stuff a few days ago, with my brain buzzing from the elevated levels of caffeine, I was sitting in front of my computer thinking, “could I do my job without modern technology?”. The answer is, “of course”, but it would mean going ‘analog’ to a great extent, or using different tools. When I think further on it, though, I still use said analog tools- pencils, trace and cold press watercolor paper, parallel bar, triangles, and, and, and… though I use them in conjunction with apps and software- AutoCAD, Revit, Rhino, PhotoShop, and, and, and… to which I’ve become accustomed over the years.

There is so much to learn about architectural representation, including production and visualization, that sometimes I think that I do have a death wish for wanting to learn so much about so much in such a short period of time. Will my brain- even with its happy status from the Scandinavia-themed black gold of Valhalla Java- explode from my pursuit of knowledge and training myself continuously on how to use not only old but emerging technology?

Probably not.

Using the proper materials, or, knowing which tools to use more importantly, is essential for me whether I am designing a project, taking a photo, baking a loaf of bread, watching a(n action) movie, or drinking a cup of coffee. (Ha!)

*SPOILER ALERT- Bronson plays an architect in the movie.

My camera mug. Now solo.

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November 24, 2020 was a rough day. It marked the one year anniversary of the death of my former partner in photography- and partner in life for a time.

We were still pretty close, he and I. Graciously, he made time to meet me on occasion after we parted ways. Whether it was a lunch, a drink- coffee for me, tea for him, or costume karaoke, it was typically on the subdued side of fun.

A memory, one of many, is indelibly etched into my brain, though. On one of my frequent day trips to D.C. to bid farewell to a friend that was moving back overseas, my pit stop was to meet for one of the aforementioned lunches.

The Greene Turtle. Columbia, MD.

Having spent many years ribbing each other about our different eating habits, we had fallen into a comfortable routine of expecting what the other person was likely to order. This time, however, he was taking longer to scrutinize the menu, which was odd since we were both familiar with the GT menu.

“So, whatcha gonna get? The Chesapeake Burger is decadent, but…”

“I’m searching for something that will help me with my new diet. Keto.”

I smirk.

“Keto? Really?”

A definitive pause from him. “Yes, I have cancer.”

Silence. The tears made their descent down my cheeks- immediately and unchecked. He looked at me with those familiar hazel eyes, which were slightly moistened as they examined me for my reaction.

“Well, at least you’ll be able to lose some weight with that meal plan. Ha ha ha!”

“Heh, heh, heh.”

The other familiar thing that I miss about him, that distinctive laugh.

Then, the tears gave way to hearty laughter, as we enjoyed the remainder of our lunch together. Afterward, he went back to work, and I, feeling as if my heart was going to beat a hole through my chest, went home. My grief at the news was overriding my plan to see my D.C. friend off. It took me three hours to get back to Delaware that day, which is three times longer than it typically takes me to make the drive.

He started treatment, and kept me informed about how he, his wife Jackie- whom I had yet to meet, and his twin boys were doing. We didn’t talk as frequently, but we did still meet throughout next few years for lunch and coffee|tea. It was in 2016, during one of our phone calls that he asked a favor of me.

“Sheena, will you take photos of me, Jackie and the boys? We have this pretty nice place in Virginia that has a big backyard…”

Anger warred with anguish within me at the question. How could he ask this of me? Sure, I’d taken plenty of photos of him before- fun, candid shots, capturing him capturing others during some of the weddings and events that we had photographed together, even portraits of him near the U.S. Capitol for him to use in his run for Congress. Photography, comprised of the ‘voice’ and methodology that I practiced and employed for years, was almost second nature to me. He’d taught me a lot, and with my graduate degree classes, I was fairly solid in my photography education and ability. Of course I could do it, but…

“No.”

“Well, think about it. I’m looking at some dates in the coming months, when the weather is a bit cooler and…”

“Why? Surely some of your Burning Man compatriots or fellow photographers are more technically capable and will do a better job for you than I will.”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“No. You should not ask me to do this.”

“Just think about it, please.”

After an hour or two of pouting, and feeling sorry for myself, I spoke with my best friend, Mark, about it. Mark gently reminded me that I needed to put aside my selfishness and do it, because, after all, there was probably no one else that knew him the way that I did, and to remember that I could record that esoteric quality in the images.

Taking pictures is probably the ‘easy’ part of photography. Using a camera body with either a wide, telephoto, or fixed-focal length lens, along with the right angles and the relationship of the subjects to the natural light is, as I mentioned previously, almost second nature to me now. It is thrilling to see the world and people through a camera lens.

It was clear, but cool on the day that I headed to the big backyard in Virginia. I met Jackie- trim, pretty, and still getting ready for the photo session. The twins, Harper and Guy, were running around rambunctiously, so I decided to start the session there, which gave Jackie a bit more time to prepare, and gave me time to see ‘Dad with the boys’. No chance to dwell in pity or sorrow for this young family, so I went to work. Soon after, some friends of theirs showed up with their two young children, and the session took on a life of its own. Spending time photographing them was the highlight of the day. But I knew when it came to an end, the emotion would begin in full force.

Part of the ‘easy’ part was now done. It was time to cull, edit, and process the images. This part of photography is also ‘easy’ in some respects. Download. Rename. Crop. Adjust. These are just a few of the methods that I have used for years. It is ‘easy’.

But this time, it was not ‘easy’. It was hard. Images of a fairly young man (looking very avuncular in his sweater, with his longish hair and burgeoning beard), with his wife and sons that I had taken, were difficult to edit. It was hard not to think of the day when he would be gone from future photos. Jackie would eventually lose a husband, Harper and Guy would eventually lose a dad. It was hard to edit every single image.

Realizing that I was not living in the now (Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now was a book that we’d read together), I finished the photos and delivered them. He was happy to post them to his social media accounts, and I reminded myself not to be so selfish.

He and I seemed to understand one another better over the next three years, perhaps better than at any other time in our friendship. And I was optimistic.

---

It is early November, 2019. It is with happiness that I am meeting some dear friends at the Newseum, for a final visit before it closed. My plan was to make a quick stop in College Park, MD to see him before heading back home that day, since we’d texted earlier in the week about it. While visiting the gift shop, I saw something that I thought he’d enjoy. To my mind, it was perfect! A coffee mug that looked like a Canon camera lens. My purchase included the long telephoto for him in iconic cream, and the short telephoto for me in black.

The visit with him was filled with my jocularity, and with his extreme fatigue, though I didn’t realize it as such at the time. He seemed pretty pleased with the gift, and I was happy. We spoke with one another for about an hour until, in his stalwartly abrupt manner, he said,

“I’m tired.”

“And I still have the Epson for you.”

“Silly rabbit, save it. You can use it to print photos of the boys.”

And those hazel eyes just looked at me.

A few weeks later, my phone buzzed with the dreaded news from Jackie. The hole in my heart opened up and I was devastated. I immediately went to my computer and looked at the two images from the photo session that I keep on my desktop.

It was easy to smile, through tears, at the happy face of Thibeaux Bowman Lincecum, with his family.

*For those that know me pretty well- especially those who took my Advanced Corporate Design course (remember all the fun of FiG², y’all)- this is not going to be anything new. For those who do not, SURPRISE!

Last week to my utter delight and with a welcome end to my vexing anticipation, Ubisoft released the next in its wildly popular series- Valhalla. Yes, I do play video games. Questionably violent, RPG, open world, parkour-intense video games. Specifically, Assassin’s Creed.

STILL working my way through this BEHEMOTH of a game

No, I am not a psychotic serial murderer in the making. No, I do not spend inordinate amounts of time playing. At least I do not think so. Yes, I know that video games are not real, though I believe PS5 is going to make that distinction harder. Playstation haters- you XBoxers and PCers- keep your comments to yourself.

From the moment I saw my niece playing Black Flag years ago, I was enraptured. As Edward Kenway, she was jumping around landscapes, climbing buildings, sailing the high seas, and yes, um, she was an Assassin.

What fascinates me about the franchise is how architectonic and bucolically immersive it is. The architect in me loves travelling through buildings, seeing the virtual textures of the worlds. Being able to ‘experience’ the Bastille, 18th century Boston, ancient (and scary) tombs of Egypt, including how the Sphinx may have looked is thrilling. Currently, I am working my way through Greece. It is massive. Viewing the Parthenon from pedestrian angles is now a possibility because of the gaming architecture. No longer am I Sheena Felece, but I ‘am’ Kassandra or Alexios, scaling the marble laden territory (avoiding wild boars and bears) to see how I will accomplish my next quest. Oh, what fun!

With Valhalla, Ubisoft has combined two of my favorite elements: Assassin’s Creed and Scandinavia. My excitement is high and my curiosity is piqued. How will the 9th century English and Scandinavian terrains and vernacular architecture look? Will there be tidbits of cultural history included along with identification of important landmarks?

OK, if I am being really honest, the teenager in me just loves playing games where I am able to jump from a building with a sword, spear, hammer, or axe to lower the BOOM on a bad guy. Or sparring with a group of soldiers while leaping from roof to eave to column. Plus, levelling up to beat the baddies easily is always worthy.

So grab your controller, a healthy dose of aquavit, yell Skål! and channel your inner Viking to become an architectural Assassin. Just make sure that you follow the Creed. (If you have to ask, then…)