the madison review
Michał: 703 Jack Styler
Four blocks off the central square of a post-industrial rust-dusted city stood an apartment building built mostly of concrete. Befuddled by inspiration, the architect had planned to build a brutalist structure with romantic flourishes. Three years later, a hulking, utilitarian monstrosity composed of three connected towers with a central courtyard emerged as an unwelcome addition to the city skyline. The three towers of the building made almost a complete triangle around the courtyard, which was washed in sun from the hours of roughly 11:30 am to 1 pm. At all other times, the courtyard was darkened by long, disfigured shadows. Anyone who saw the building knew that the architect must have had a lofty vision but had failed terribly in execution. Indeed, once planning and construction had finished, quiet disapproval of the building from its own residents and all city-goers weighed on the architect. Of course, no one said anything to him directly. First, a cheeky editor at the local paper made a list of the “The 10 Ugliest Buildings in the Metro Area.” After the review, the architect’s friends called less. Business slowed. His firm fell into debt and closed. Each night, he would drive downtown to the $30 million dollar piece of concrete, rethinking every decision in the design process. On a street bench across from the building’s entrance, he sat, staring up. He watched residents return to the building and sometimes even overheard their conversations about living there. “I can’t wait to move out of this shithole,” one said. “This place is literally soul-sucking,” said another. For half a year, he sat outside the building, talking to no one, approached by no one, studying his mistake and listening to complaints. It was his punishment, and he bore it alone. Thirteen months after the building’s completion, the architect drove home after an especially long night on the bench. He pulled into the driveway of his house, opened the garage, and pulled the car in. There he sat, and despite the fact that he had not gone to church in years, he whispered to himself, “God please.” Bracing, he looked down at his
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