Architecture is the thoughtful making of space.
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, till the Devil whispered behind the leaves “It’s pretty, but is it Art?”
If some great catastrophe is not announced every morning, we feel a certain void. Nothing in the paper today, we sigh.
What I’m fighting for now in my work… for an expression relevant to all manner of blacks, poems I could take into a tavern, into the street, into the halls of a housing project.
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