my architects

The Stratton Residence, Long Beach Island NJ, architect: Mike Ryan

For those seeking judgment or those wishing to judge, the common element of mortality, is something we all share. We have a life, and it will end. We ponder about things like posterity. What is it about what we do, that affects others even after we depart? Architects, crafts people, builders leave things, works, bridges, paintings, books, and buildings.

People are complex. A few years ago, Nathaniel Kahn made a documentary about his father, the architect Louis Kahn, called “My Architect”. Lou designed many great buildings, some of which were never built, like his design for the Kennedy Library. His competitor, I.M. Pei, won the competition. Pei commented in the film about the essence of great architecture. It should stand the test of time.

Nathaniel’s film taught me about complexity, made me ponder the connection between the art and the artist. Is art affected by the behavior of the artist?

While some may not consider this Kennedy an artist, many will think of him in that way. Many of the writings about him, like “The Last Lion” by Peter Canellos, discuss his complexities of the personal, the public, the friendships, the allies, the opponents. But complexity is not just the domain of the seemingly great and grand. You will probably meet someone just as complex, just as interesting today in your daily travels and routine.

Or maybe like Nathaniel, your “architect” is someone who’s no longer here. Perhaps their memory, their posterity, their painted picture on the wall, their recipe, their letter or picture fuels you. And it’s probable that their complexity, their many sides, still has you stymied, wondering about who they really were, what they thought when they did (or did not) what they did, said what they said, or sculpted the stone they selected.

I have two architects. My brother designs beautiful buildings and spaces. His work makes me smile and he creates things for posterity that in addition to being beautiful, serve a wonderful purpose for the people who inhabit them. My other “architect” is my son, Sean, who died in 2006 at the age of 20. His memory, his humor, his favorite foods like “cheesy eggs and spam”, the books he loved, and the boom of his laugh still shape and design, like an architect, my days. Despite his youth, he was a complex, multi-faceted, talented, flawed, and strong person.

The Kennedy family, like all families, begins a process of memory assembly. They will assemble physically as a group with friends, too. And then the real assembly begins. The sharing of stories, comparison of perspectives, the old sharing with the young, the pictures, moving pictures, recordings, the stitching together via people of all of that memory, that complex quilt of thoughts, that effort to maintain the essence of someone.

I believe that the essence of spirit is the collective memory of a person. Sometimes, a person’s collection is physically collected in a library or a museum. But with most of us, that collected essence is scattered in the intellects of the people who knew us. Spirit is all around us in that way.

Who is your architect?