Here is the link to my video presentation.
Research Portfolio Post #8
I am proposing to research the meaning behind the use of postmodern architectural materials when crafting globally visible buildings because I want to find out how countries’ motivations for using the postmodern style align or differ. This will help my reader understand how architecture is harnessed to evoke a particular identity or message on the world stage. For my interpretive research design, my question is: how was it made possible for people to understand the cultural symbolism of postmodern architecture as progressive in the early 2000’s in China? The specific discourse I will hone in on will be the discourse that primarily surrounded the construction of the Beijing National Stadium (the Bird’s Nest) from 2003 to 2008, as it was constructed in the postmodern style and was widely discussed by architects, artists, politicians, and public figures alike. One way I could accomplish this, as noted below in my first primary source text, will be to analyze the discourse of the entire team, composed of thousands of people, in charge of operating the 2008 Summer Olympics—logistical reports, interviews, meeting minutes, and planning documents. I will do this because this staff geared the construction of the Bird’s Nest entirely towards that singular event, knowing it would attract international attention and had the potential to shift the world’s view of China. They controlled media reports, news articles, and any other press that had to do with the Bird’s Nest; I will also evaluate these publications, but first, I will go straight to the source—the conversations and ideas between the staff members themselves.
One primary source text that has helped me understand that there is a discourse at stake is the Official Report of the 2008 Olympic Games, Volume III, composed by the team in Beijing responsible for erecting an entire Olympic stadium and officiating the Games. This source was compiled for the staff to put together a cohesive plan for the Olympics and its goals, explicitly stating that “the high-tech architecture of the stadium will showcase the city’s improved innovative capacity and its solid progress on its way to modernization.” Thus, it is evident here that the postmodern style equates, unequivocally, with modernization in these staffers’ minds; therefore, this dominant discourse does, in fact, exist. The section of the document written by the architects involved with the construction of the Bird’s Nest also says “the graceful curves of the building symbolize the vitality of the Chinese nation… [they] welcome the participants from all over the world in celebrating peace and the progress of China.” This text is seminal for understanding how postmodernism was connected to progressiveness—the Bird’s Nest was the first globally visible example of postmodernism on a massive scale in China, and the actors in this discourse are the Olympic team—its architects, its press liaisons, its political coordinators—who had complete control over how this architectural phenomenon was to be packaged and presented to the public.
Another primary source text that represents my object of inquiry (postmodern architecture, specifically the Beijing National Stadium) as progressive is a speech given by the president of the Beijing Organizing Committee of the Olympic Games (BOCOG), Liu Qi. He said, when selecting the winning design for the stadium from a competition between six architects, “We must try to host the Olympics well, in order to enhance the confidence and the spirit of striving, and to fight together to realize the great progress and revival of the Chinese nation.” The word ‘progress’ appears once again in reference to the building itself, showing the discourse that postmodernism was seen as progressive. The actor this time is slightly different—someone who actually had the power to choose the design of the stadium. His goal was to showcase the ‘progress and revival’ of China, and he deliberately chose the postmodern design to do so. This speech is connected to other practices and discourses in that it was public—he made this announcement when he was presenting the winning design to the public. Before the stadium was created, postmodernism was not a prominent art form in China, so there were not many existing discourses outside of those discussed by niche scholars and artists. This speech, then, brought postmodernism into the public eye and stamped it with the label of ‘progressive.’
Liu Qi, “Address to the Olympic Committee,” Olympic Charter.
“Summer Games Olympic Report, Beijing 2008.” Information Management Manual, Olympic Charter.
 “Summer Games Olympic Report, Beijing 2008.” Information Management Manual, Olympic Charter.
 Ibid, 19.
 Ibid, 265.
 Liu Qi, “Address to the Olympic Committee,” Olympic Charter.
 Ibid, 2.
As previously noted, I am proposing to research the reasons behind the deliberate selection of postmodern architectural materials when crafting globally visible buildings because I want to find out how countries’ motivations for using the postmodern style align or differ. This will help my reader understand how architecture is harnessed to evoke a particular identity or message on the world stage. For small-n research design, I have chosen to compare two cases: the Bird’s Nest Olympic Stadium in China and the San Cataldo National Cemetery in Italy. Thus, my research question is: what explains the similarity of the designs of the Bird’s Nest Stadium and the San Cataldo Cemetery? Exploring the causal mechanisms for these striking parallels between the visually similar buildings—in entirely different countries, constructed in entirely different decades—will help me to conclude the similar reasons, employed by both countries, that postmodernism is used. (I have used Kurt Weyland’s research on the Arab Spring and the revolutions of 1848 as a model for this comparison.)
I have modified the dependent variable for qualitative research. The dependent variable is now the outcome, or the presence, or selection, of postmodernism as the style for the globally visible landmark. The other outcome, or potential value the dependent variable could take, would be the absence of postmodernism, or the selection of another style. Thus, for these two particular cases, the outcome is the same, and in my research, other variables and their indicators will help me to figure out why.
There are existing bodies of scholarship that have determined what makes a building postmodern, thus leading to the outcome of “present” postmodern style. It is important to note that not all of the features of postmodernism identified are necessary for a building to be considered postmodern, so I have selected the three most distinctive features from scholarship as indicators, which are bulleted below. The existing body of scholarship I have used that has helped me to determine the key features of postmodernism is Robert Venturi’s book Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture, published in 1996. (The publishing year is important because it demonstrates that postmodernism had already gained traction as an architectural movement throughout the 1970s, and this book was a compilation of its most prominent features not in its conception and nascence but in its peak, after it had already been around for two decades.) In this book, Venturi identifies “the manipulation of beams, mostly steel… twisted and contorted,” “odd silhouettes or ground plans straying from the traditional….” and “a noted tension between, and somehow a seamless blending of, a country’s past and present” as the most important features of postmodernism.
I have used the primary source of the images and architectural plans of the Bird’s Nest stadium and San Cataldo cemetery that have been made available since the buildings have finished construction. This primary source helps me to determine whether the following features of postmodernism are present, as operationalized by the existing research I will cover below:
- The presence or absence of steel cantilevered beams
- The presence or absence of an asymmetrical silhouette (no clean, square lines; instead, oddly-shaped ceilings and walls to create a whimsical exterior profile)
- At least one architectural element from the historical period (the element is specific to, and varies depending on, that country—China’s historical architecture does not have the same elements as Italy’s) integrated into the postmodern design
For reference, here is one image of the architectural plan for the San Cataldo cemetery, which helps me to see that there was, indeed, the presence of an asymmetrical and unusual silhouette (a conical, triangular tower surrounded and offset by a cube-shaped ossuary).
“Beijing National Stadium, The Bird’s Nest.” DesignBuild Network, Projects, Plans. https://www.designbuild-network.com/projects/national_stadium/
Kurt Weyland, “The Arab Spring: Why the Surprising Similarities with the Revolutionary Wave of 1848?” Perspectives on Politics 10, no. 4 (December 2012): 917–34.
“San Cataldo Cemetery / Aldo Rossi for ArchEyes.” ArchEyes Architectural Plans, December 21, 2016. http://archeyes.com/san-cataldo-cemetery-aldo-rossi/#targetText=The San Cataldo Metropolitan Cemetery.
Venturi, Robert, and Vincent Scully. Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture. London: Butterworth Architecture, 1996.
 Kurt Weyland, “The Arab Spring: Why the Surprising Similarities with the Revolutionary Wave of 1848?” Perspectives on Politics 10, no. 4 (December 2012): 917–34.
 Venturi, Robert, and Vincent Scully. Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture. London: Butterworth Architecture, 1996.
 Venturi, Robert, and Vincent Scully. Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture. London: Butterworth Architecture, 1996, 45-46.
 “Beijing National Stadium, The Bird’s Nest.” DesignBuild Network, Projects, Plans. https://www.designbuild-network.com/projects/national_stadium/
 “San Cataldo Cemetery / Aldo Rossi for ArchEyes.” ArchEyes Architectural Plans, December 21, 2016. http://archeyes.com/san-cataldo-cemetery-aldo-rossi/#targetText=The San Cataldo Metropolitan Cemetery.
I am proposing to research the reasons behind the deliberate selection of postmodern architectural materials when crafting cultural landmarks because I want to find out how they are used as a diplomatic tool of soft power. This will help my reader understand how architecture is harnessed to evoke a national identity on the world stage. Thus, my research question is: what explains variation in the use of postmodern architectural materials when crafting globally visible buildings?
It would be most useful to create my own dataset for this research question. The dependent variable is architectural material, which would be operationalized as the frequency with which the material appears in a large number of buildings. The buildings are the cases. One option is to measure how much of the building is composed of a particular postmodern material (buildings that are 95% steel, an industrial material, and 5% colored glass, a postmodern material, for example, probably wouldn’t tell us much about postmodern influence, so it may be prudent to make the distinction), but because data of this sort is scarce, it makes more sense to simply measure how often these materials appear across many architectural structures. The dependent variable could take the form of stone, colored glass, ceramics, or cantilevered beams, and the level of measurement would be the percent of buildings composed partially or fully of this material–thus, the level of measurement would be nominal. I could also–I believe–group certain buildings into categories of percentages (0-25% postmodern material, 26-50%, etc.), to make it an interval level of measurement.
What I am hoping to do is consider all of these materials- glass, ceramics, etcetera- as mere variations on one dependent variable (postmodern material), rather than multiple dependent variables, although I am unsure if this is possible.
One existing dataset I would use to compile this information would be the Historic American Buildings Landscape dataset, which I accessed through ICPSR, which gathered information from blueprints, photographs, and written descriptions of American architectural spaces to evaluate the color choice and material choice used in each. This would not be sufficient on its own, of course—I would, ideally, like to find similar data sets for multiple regions of the world.
The dataset uses 40,000 buildings and structures, and, among other information, lists the materials of which they are composed, measured qualitatively in large groupings like “glass,” “concrete,” “steel,” and “wood.” I would operationalize these by measuring, once again, the frequency with which the materials—specifically the materials identified by scholars as postmodern—appear, and then transform those into percentages. For example, I would determine a way to measure all of the times that “glass” appears as a material, and begin to ask questions such as, “Glass appears 40% of the time in American postmodern spaces. What is alike or different about those spaces (independent variables) that may have caused this choice to be made?”
The dataset is limited both temporally and geographically: it doesn’t cover anything after the year 2000, and although it covers many buildings from the 1500s and onwards, I cannot use most of these, as they would not be classified as ‘postmodern.’ Thus, I am limited to using the data from 1960-2000, which, although still a wealth of data, is not nearly as rich as the 40,000 potential structures covered by the entire data set. The dataset also focuses specifically on American postmodern spaces, and while I may recognize later on that I need to confine my statistical research design to a particular region of the world, I have not settled on one yet, and therefore, I would need more datasets to compile this information. If postmodernism is especially rich in Western Europe, for example, I would rather pivot to that region and search for data collected on postmodern materials there (although I struggled to find this data for this particular post, which tells me it may not be out there). Finally, as aforementioned, the dataset is limited in that it doesn’t provide any information on how much of the building is composed of that particular material, which I would find more helpful and thorough than just knowing that the material is present.
 “Historic American Buildings Survey/Historic American Engineering Record.” Washington, D.C., U.S. Dept. of the Interior, National Park Service, Cultural Resources, 1994. 5, 45.
 Ibid, 5.
Research Portfolio Post #5: Research Puzzle Proposal
I am proposing to research the reasons behind the deliberate selection of postmodern architectural materials when crafting cultural landmarks because I want to find out how they are used as a diplomatic tool of soft power. This will help my reader understand how architecture is harnessed to evoke a national identity on the world stage.
Puzzles, Schools of Thought, and Scholarly Debates
Postmodernism is a school of architecture that began to blossom in the 1980s as a reaction to the sleek austerity of modernism; its hallmark elements include the utilization of classical motifs and unusual combinations of asymmetrical shapes—put simply, modernism thrives on simplicity, while postmodernism emphasizes originality and the blending of historical and contemporary flavors. Scholars tend to agree on the value of postmodernism insofar as that it has successfully countered and infiltrated the previous hegemony of modern design, allowing for more incorporation of cultural elements rather than aiming for black-and-white, angular high-tech design.
There is far less consensus, however, about which factors drive a nation to choose postmodernism versus other architectural styles for cultural landmark buildings. There are those scholars such as Charles Jencks who believe postmodernism is a tool used by a nation to impose cultural conformity, forcing its citizens and the rest of the world to recognize the elements that make up the nation’s urban fabric. Scholars in Jencks’ camp diverge even further on whether this cultural continuity is a good thing—some, like Robert Venturi, argue that it allows generation after generation to acknowledge and respect the old while making space for the new; others, such as Sarfatti Larson, say this forced obligation to historical elements is a façade, manipulated by the most powerful political actors in a society who choose which parts of history to highlight and which to erase.
Those diametrically opposed from Jencks’ camp altogether believe that postmodernism is used as a tool of rectification—nations use it to display an ironic acknowledgment of its historical shortcomings, using whimsical interplay of color and structure to fuse old and new. It is the work of these scholars, such as Jayne Merkel, wherein the puzzle lies: can nations truly recognize their historical failures—and rectify them—through architecture, and will other nations properly receive and translate this message?
Why This Matters
The current state of affairs where this topic can be identified most prominently is in China, where the Beijing National Stadium (known as the Bird’s Nest), built in the postmodern style, will house the 2022 Winter Olympics. In arts research, Booth says the best primary source is the work of art itself. Thus, one primary source I will find useful is the actual architectural plan submitted for the Beijing National Stadium (as well as the images of the finished product). Using these, I can see how the scalar measurements, human flow, environmental concerns, and security requirements were taken into consideration and how they conform to, or diverge from, typical stadium design, and then begin to evaluate why those divergences might have been instrumental for the stadium’s particular cultural message. Another useful primary source are the wealth of news articles written in real time describing first impressions around the world of the Bird’s Nest upon construction. Some of these impressions are sharply contrasting: the LA Times wrote that “the stadium clearly represents China’s vast economic growth and status as a new world power,” while Beijing artist Ai Weiwei told a local Chinese newspaper that the stadium was “a public relations sham attempting to cover up the true political nature of China.” These visceral, in-the-moment reactions contribute to the puzzling nature of the topic even more: they show that no matter the intended message, people around the world will have vastly differing reactions and interpretations to what they think the message is.
The United States and China are engaged in increasingly tense competition, and this event—and the media, money, and praise it will attract to China—will only amplify these tensions. It is essential that we inquire about the significance of postmodernism so that global communicators, world leaders, and diplomats may understand the exact message a country may be trying to send with their use of this architectural style. Armed with this newfound understanding, these leaders will have a better idea of what their global counterparts seek to accomplish, and understanding the motives behind a nation’s particular behavior helps to de-escalate conflict and increase communication, which is imperative for our interconnected, interdependent world.
Generally, the question I seek to research is: what explains the popular choice of postmodern architectural materials and spatial configurations in the creation of buildings for global purposes? This is to say, what is it about postmodern design, specifically, that sends such a particular, coveted message to the rest of the world that countries around the globe are adopting it at such high rates? Why postmodern instead of modern, neoclassical, or revivalist?
If I were to research this question using a particular case as an example, my question would be: what explains the Chinese government’s choice to craft the Beijing National Stadium (Bird’s Nest) in a postmodern architectural style rather than Chinese traditionalist? This may seem like a fact-finding question with a concrete answer, but indeed, it is far more complex than that: the global visibility of the Bird’s Nest is widespread on an almost unmatchable scale. What message, then, does China seek to send by selecting postmodernism—from a wide range of potential architectural design submissions—for its most globally visible building?
 Amiri, Niki. “Modernism and Postmodernism in Architecture: an Emphasis on Characteristics, Similarities, and Differences .” The Turkish Journal of Design, Art, and Communications 6 (August 2016): 1626–34. https://doi.org/ 10.7456/1060AGSE/044.
 Cowie, Hazel. “The Contemporary Relevance of Postmodernism.” Postmodernism Now: Politics, Culture, and Context 22, no. 3 (2018): 256–59. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1359135518000647.
 Jencks, Charles. “Contextual Counterpoint.” Architectural Design (2011): 62-68.
 Venturi, Robert. “The Difficult Whole: The Politics of Postmodernist Architecture.” Sculpture Journal 25, no. 3 (2016): 381-400. doi:10.3828/sj.2016.25.3.7.
 Larson, Magali Sarfatti. Behind the Postmodern Facade. University of California Press, 1993, 23.
 Merkel, Jayne. “Not So Radical: An American Perspective.” Architectural Design 81, no. 5 (September 2011): 128–34. doi:10.1002/ad.1303.
 “2022 Olympics: Beijing.” Olympics. Accessed September 28, 2019. https://www.olympic.org/beijing-2022.
 Wayne C. Booth, Gregory G. Colomb, and Joseph M. Williams, The Craft of Research (4th ed.), Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016, 66.
 “Beijing National Stadium, ‘The Bird’s Nest.’” Design-Build Network. Verdict GlobalData. Accessed September 27, 2019. https://www.designbuild-network.org/projects/national_stadium/.
 Kuo, Lily. “Beijing’s National Stadium Is on Thin Ice.” The Los Angeles Times, February 15, 2010. https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-2010-feb-15-la-fg-china-birds-nest15-2010feb15-story.html.
 “China Artist Ai Weiwei Says He Regrets Designing Beijing Olympics Bird’s Nest.” Yomiuri Shimbun, March 5, 2012. https://www.yomiuri.co.jp/aiweiwei.
Within the field of architectural design, there are several theories about how architecture and design should, optimally, be implemented; two of these are the adaptive reuse theory and provisional composition theory. Adaptive reuse posits that out-of-use or non-functioning buildings can be best optimized by repurposing them for uses other than those for which they were originally constructed, thus reinventing them into entirely new spaces. Provisional composition, on the other hand, suggests that space and time are pre-existing entities and should be worked within, rather than re-manipulated and re-designed.
Francesca Lanz is a proponent of adaptive reuse; her main analytical claim is that the art of interior design has a greater purpose than merely working inside of an architectural space. Her question, put simply, is “Why do some European countries feel more autobiographical affinities to their built environment than others?” She makes use of the neo-positivist small-n design by analyzing two specific cases, and she collects qualitative data on whether the spaces are ‘incident places,’ ‘identity places,’ and/or locations of vast socio-historical change, to show that uncertainty of identity in a built environment can be best rectified by re-imagining the use for historical buildings.
In contrast, proponents of provisional composition, such as Warakanyaka, aim to make the claim that temporal boundaries should be deeply respected, not reworked. Warakanyaka also uses the small-n design, evaluating a single case: the redesign of waste distribution in the Jakarta neighborhood of Lokasari, using data such as geospatial and behavioral mapping to show how using existing gutter systems and neighborhood layouts could easily transform the area into a hub of urban glory.
These two schools of thought, and authors, are not in direct contradistinction to each other. While they disagree on the limitations of time and space in architectural design, they agree that urban spaces have the potential, and the responsibility, to be tremendously transformed for the better of a community, and that this is best studied through specific examples of public urban spaces. Lanz’s dichotomy of ‘incident vs. identity places’ may be a useful tool I can use to classify architectural spaces in my own research, while Warakanyaka’s contrasting opinion has shown me that I can build on this key debate between the two opposing theories—and perhaps find harmony between them.
 Lanz, Francesca. “Re-Inhabiting- Thoughts on the Contribution of Interior Architecture to Adaptive Intervention: People, Places and Identities.” Journal of Interior Design 43, no. 2 (June 1, 2018): 1–10. https://doi.org/ 10.1111/joid.12121.
 Warakanyaka, Agung Ayu Suci, and Andri Yatmo. “Understanding the Importance of Time in Interior Architectural Design and Method.” Sciences Humaines Et Sociales Web of Conferences Journal 41 (2018). https://doi.org/http://dx.doi.org/10.1051/shsconf/20184104009.
Inherent philosophical commitments, as we have learned, are not necessarily bad things to have. Although no one methodology or theory is the ‘right’ one, it can surely be right for us, for a particular project. In order to understand and then properly employ these methodologies, we must have a firm grasp on what it is we want to explore—what do we know, what don’t we know, and how? This is where ontology enters. Put simply, ontology is the study of being, but also the examination of our beliefs about the nature of reality. Ontology is far more metacognitive than epistemology, its existential cousin, which asks how we come to have those ontological conceptualizations about the nature of reality.
Methodology, on the other hand, is a systematic collection of decisions about how research will be conducted and analyzed. A method is one choice; the methodology is the bundle of choices tied together. Within the schools of ontology and epistemology lie several different approaches to research—at times, vastly differing, at others, nearly indistinguishable—each of which has a range of methodologies emblematic of those approaches. For example, underneath the thought school of epistemology lies the neo-positivist approach to research, whose methodologies typically entail statistical analysis and large sets of data.
I in no way can be an objective observer of the social world. Humans tend to believe they are exceptionally good at self-removal and critical observation; this is merely self-deceiving. The opinions we are inclined to form, the observations we make (versus those which go entirely unnoticed), and perhaps even the reason for selecting the methodology at large are all results of our particular enculturation, largely immutable and often invisible to the self. This has reverberating effects on social science research, which is why it is particularly valuable to employ a large range of diverse pre-existing scholarship when crafting original research. These previous opinions—each of them a result of that particular researcher’s environment, historical moment, and inherent assumptions—can provide a sort of buffer to my own opinions and assumptions, creating a smorgasbord of different backgrounds to draw from. It is not a perfect approach—using a wide range of others’ study to make my own less personal and subjective—but it is certainly a reasonable one.
Jonathan Fox did just this. He did not seek to build his own tools of measurement based on what he thought would be adequate; he instead employed the already-existing Hafner-Burton scale. Whether or not this was the best scale for measuring the extent of state repression is another matter altogether—what matters here is that he buffered his own biases and assumptions by using another researcher’s tools.
David Edelstein, on the other hand, is an example of inherent political assumption as a driver of research. It is implicit that his work is driven by his hesitation towards US policy in Iraq at the time, and that his ulterior goals was to motivate others to heed similar caution. To be certain, his work is plenty buffered by objective historical facts (he spends the first several pages providing exposition for why this research is important regardless of the contemporary situation abroad), but here it is clear that sometimes what motivates us to undertake such projects in the first place are our own opinions.
The list of things we can make valid knowledge claims about is comically short. Even when presenting heavily-researched social phenomena, researchers are required to make all sorts of qualifications and caveats, because they recognize that their work is narrowed by the limits of time and space (although this, in itself, is another one of my fundamental assumptions—that not all knowledge can transcend time). Even when we see things with our own eyes, we see them as we are, not as they are. It is, to be sure, still worth it to make these knowledge claims, because hearing them from other people enables us to examine what might be missing from our own.
Cyber capabilities, weapons of war, and economic horsepower are often studied as tools used by countries vying for influence, strength, and power on the world stage. Ignored, however, are the many forms of soft power used skillfully by leaders, diplomats, and artists alike to project a particular image to the rest of the world. This is certainly worth researching, as how other countries perceive us—and how we perceive them—is essential to how we communicate and negotiate the challenges ahead.
The form of soft power I will focus on has not yet been decided—in fact, it shifts quite often. Currently, I am fascinated by how architecture shapes national identity; how everything from the scale to the colors to the building materials reflect a rich history. For some countries, the legacy of colonialism remains, with buildings for distinct social castes; for others, attempts at modernization and technological development are apparent in sleek, minimalist designs. Whatever the narrative, one thing is for certain: architecture is a visible, tangible projection of a country’s past, present, and future. For now, my research question shall be: how have, and how can, nations use architecture to define their narrative and national identity?
Puzzles abound with this research question. First, the concept of a national identity must be defined; some scholars even argue that the idea of a cohesive identity is merely imagined and impossible to define in areas with vast linguistic, ethnic, and cultural diversity. Which of these histories should architecture choose to reflect? The second puzzle is the trade-off of historical identity and modernity: in the pursuit of sustainability, efficacy, and technological capability, many buildings must be reconstructed or redesigned entirely. How, then, can that happen without erasing the history of the original structure? Finally, how can architecture—or the destruction of it—be used as a weapon in times of political turmoil or war? What do the materials, layouts, light sources, color palettes, and silhouettes communicate? Do architects and artists have a responsibility to adhere to a community’s identity and preference when crafting these structures? Do architects who begin projects in developing countries have an ethical responsibility to strengthen the technological capacity and sustainability of their buildings, and if they do, might it create a form of architectural imperialism in doing so?
These questions are inextricable from the transcendental-situated knowledge debate that Abbott has presented to us. Because architecture is perhaps one of the most resilient art forms we have, and because by nature, it is designed to last throughout decades and centuries, it is critical that I consider whether the historical meaning of these creations still remains throughout time, or whether it changes with new political and social eras.
I first began thinking about architecture and its relationship to identity as I moved up here, to Washington, D.C., from the South. The difference in residential areas was striking: in the South, houses are wide, white, and columned, with huge grassy lawns—not unlike the images of the plantation era. Here, I saw brick, multilevel houses that seemed narrow and industrial—I wondered how much that might have to do with the constraints that crowded-city living places on individuals. Then, I read a piece in Architectural Review about how to destroy architecture is to destroy a community, which referenced a Syrian monument destroyed in a terrorist attack. I realized that residential, commercial, and religious structures alike are inherent to the way we perceive ourselves and our communities, and that the issue transcends geographic boundaries—so it may be worth researching.
 Mogliozzi, Zaira. “To Destroy Architecture Is to Attack the Cultural Identity of a Nation.” Architectural Review, February 13, 2016. https://www.architectural-review.com/essays/reviews/to-destroy-architecture-is-to-attack-the-cultural-identity-of-a-nation/10002660.article.