Disability in part results when the shape of the world—buildings and streets but also institutions, cultural organizations, centers of power—operates rigidly, with a brittle and scripted sense of what a body does or does not do, how it moves and organizes its world.

If you had told me four years ago today that someone would eventually get a Blackbox tattoo I never would have believed you…

He talk about the deaths of his wife and daughter, and how “the best move on the board” is often figuring out how to spend more time with those you love and finding the balance between work and the life you want to live. I’m getting choked up just writing about it.

The depth of architectural thinking at work here makes a kiddie-pool seem oceanic. ​ It really is the perfect name, however, not least because it implies a certain emptiness. ​ It is a Vessel for a so-called neighborhood that poorly masks its intention to build luxury assets for the criminally wealthy under the guise of investing in the city and “public space.” ​ Unlike a real neighborhood, which implies some kind of social collaboration or collective expression of belonging, Hudson Yards is a contrived place that was never meant for us. ​ The presence of the elevator implies a pressure for the abled-bodied to not use it, since by doing so one bypasses “the experience” of the Vessel, an experience of menial physical labor that aims to achieve the nebulous goal of attaining slightly different views of the city.