The news on CCTV’s fire, the current reflections on how the party may be over for starchitects and everybody else, unrelated personal events, and even a new architectural magazine popping out in the newsstands, have all prompted me to slowly change my stand vis-à-vis the current crisis.
Not that I didn’t welcome the crisis earlier. I did. I always thought crises not only provide an unexpected hair of the dog sort of effect, but they also have a weird capacity to redistribute a commodity that is normally very unevenly allocated to different peoples and geographies: time. Now we all have more time. (Even if that doesn’t come to much more of anything.)
But besides the well-known effects, lately I find myself so energized by the dark dynamics of the current near-catastrophe, that I am even starting to worry about my balance. If you see me on the street carrying a strange, perverse smile, you’ll know what I mean.
This crisis suddenly appears to me as a filter that came again to life in an overused, badly run public swimming pool. For so long the pool accumulated fallen leaves, organic and inorganic dirt, plastic wrappings and pieces of broken toys, leftovers and old firecrackers, and even large blots of grease left floating around by well-tanned, lubricated bodies. Now, the pool is been cleansed of its innumerous impurities.
For the time being, the workings of this particular filter are somewhat bloody and fierce, like those of an old meat-mincing machine.
But we will soon get used to that.
In between the debris, the downfalls, the downsizings, and the eventual body removal, one may only moralistically hope that the pool waters will again recover their transparency.
Until the next party takes over.