If I were a tree hugger, I might gush over a particularly fine specimen of pine or, watching someone toss their Starbucks cup in the trash, shed a tear for the poor forest that was obliterated so that we might not burn our fingers on a steaming caramel macchiato. Alas, I am not a tree hugger, but a building hugger. I see a cool building ("cool" being a totally subjective and probably worthless term, of course) and I immediately want to know when it was built, what it was used for, what it's used for now, when those additions were put on, and whether that siding is original. My knowledge of historic architecture is rudimentary at best, but that doesn't stop me. If you want to avoid being recognized as a tourist, you probably don't want to bring me on vacation, because I will be the girl gaping at the monuments, squealing "OH MY GOD THOSE MURALS ON THE CEILING ARE SO AWESOME AND HOLY CRAP CHECK OUT THAT STAIRCASE!"
So I connected with something George McDaniel said in his essay, "At Historic Houses and Buildings: Connecting Past, Present, and Future." He starts telling this little sentimental story about a mother explaining God's love to a little girl and just when I'm thinking "Okay, where is he going with this?" he says:
"Belief in abstractions, of course, is necessary to guide and inspire
our work, but finally we need something tangible. In the case of
history, many people have loved the subject, the story of the past;
historic houses and buildings make it tangible. They put "skin" on the
abstraction of time past."
We can read about history until the cows come home, but just as photographs put a face on the past, historic houses provide its skin. Who hasn't toured an historic house or museum and reveled in the feeling of safety, of being tucked away from the present and all its uncertainties? (Sure, not everything about the past was good. A considerable amount of it was really terrible.) But I think interpreting the past through historic buildings allows for a level of immersion and connection that just cannot be beat. Something about being inside the same garishly floral papered walls, of walking the same wide-planked oak floors as people of the past, encourages reflection and contemplation. Historic buildings provide a strong sense of place: in space, in time, and in the world. (Why hello, Mr. Glassberg.)
Not to get all New Agey but when you know the history of a place, know the people who were their and their hopes and dreams, when you've dreamed about a place, being there in person connects you to the energy that remains there. Facts aren't enough, there is an emotional reality that comes through in personn. It's the difference between reading a biography and meeting a person, in person. Between reading a love poem and being kissed by your love. Reality is awesome.
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