Overcoming the Obduracy of the Status Quo

Route 20 was widened and Interstate 64 was built to help people get around, yet they make it difficult and unsafe for pedestrians and cyclists to get to Monticello. Bridging that barrier poses difficulties that are physical, psychological and bureaucratic.

This essay warns that plans to mitigate obdurate and problematic infrastructure can themselves become resistant to input and improvement. Yet, a visioning process that truly listens has the potential create positive change.

Anique Hommels illuminates a fundamental question facing planners who wish to change the world: the built environment—especially infrastructure—has a powerful incumbency that makes it very challenging to displace or modify. Aside from the broader truth that the status quo always has home-field advantage, one must reckon with issues of cost, interdependency with other systems, inconvenience and disruption but also the idea that physical forms shape human processes and thinking.

In my Monticello project, I am trying to find a way to get pedestrians safely past an interstate in general and a cloverleaf interchange in particular. That highway is a powerful fact-on-the ground that cannot be ignored: it is the prevailing reality. There will be costs and perhaps inconvenience associated with rejiggering the ramps to make them safe. However, I foresee a trickier social process problem in convincing the state’s highway engineers to modify their traditional approach—for example by substituting a right-angle turn for a cloverleaf or even adding a new light, crosswalk or stop sign. That’s not how they do things; it’s not in their protocols.

Fundraising Successful

We set an ambitious goal and there were some doubters. I have to admit that in my fearful moments I was among them. But we did it! We eclipsed our $4000 target by a nose. It was a total team effort with contributions from many, many generous supporters.

Monticello Road is not finished yet. There will be more projects in the neighborhood and we'll have information about those soon.

For now, huge thanks to all of you!

Getting Steamed and Cooling Off

I guess I've grown too accustomed to my serene Virginia meditation spots.

The autumn is always a stressful time for me. Many deadlines in the Art World, ungodly amounts of travel and, of course, there’s the beast of November: the Marathon. I thought it would be a good idea to head down to the 10th Street Baths for a relaxing steam.

It was a cold and damp Monday and many others must have had the same idea. In fact, it was packed—not enough room to stretch and very claustrophobic. Sweaty, damp tiles, hot, with many people, and no room on the benches: it turns out that there’s a very fine line between a relaxing spa and a bad subway commute. I was starting to get steamed alright. Really stressed out, the opposite of why I go there.

Finally, I snapped at a guy. He was telling me not to steal his friend’s seat when I was actually just reaching for my water bottle; and I let him know that with a very sharp rebuke. He was rightly shocked and I apologized right away. He didn’t deserve my venom and I told him so.

Then I slinked off and found a quiet corner and forced myself to take a deep breath and accept my surroundings and enjoy the company of so many interesting and obviously healthy people. It was what I should have done right from the start.

As time went on, it started to seem less crowded. Either people left to go have dinner or something inside me changed. In any case, I had a very relaxing visit with plenty of deep breathing, good stretching, and healing dips in the cold bath.

I can still feel the benefit a week later.

Open for Business?

I recently attended a seminar at McGuffey for artists about connecting to the outside world. The speaker placed much emphasis on the notion of being ”open for business.” By that she meant being easy to find and employing transparent and consistent business practices. These themes echoed much of what was said in my “artworld as high school” session, so they have been at the front of my mind of late. During my most recent scouting trip to DC, I witnessed two very good examples: one positive and one negative.

The first place I visited was undergoing installation, which usually means a sign in the window and a locked door. Not here: they had propped the art so to be easily visible and I was welcome—specifically invited—to look around. One of the gallery’s co-owners gave me a quick tour and answered my several questions. Although I didn’t know much about the place before, I left the gallery quite impressed and I would be glad to be a part of what they do in the future.

I knew about the second place from multiple encounters at art fairs and I had long admired their program and their unique approach. Despite the obvious handicap of an off-the-beaten-track location in Anacostia, I was intrigued to see their home base, but would end up flummoxed by horrible customer service.

Two red flags that had me leery should have made me think better. First of all, their web site, which is otherwise quite good, includes only driving directions, even though they are a short walk from the Metro. Of course, it’s not in one of the city’s finest neighborhoods, but to outright discourage pedestrian visitors seems foolish. I was wise enough to call before schlepping out there, but not wise enough realize that the answering machine is never a welcoming receptionist—even if it does say that the gallery is open.

Always a glutton for punishment, I made the trip anyway, and it took about two hours from downtown due to a “medical emergency” in the metro system. It was a long journey and I was pretty cranky when I finally got there and found the place dark. There was a sign on the window that said the gallery was open (oh, really?), with a phone number for admittance, which I called. A woman said she would be right down to let me in, I figured she must have been upstairs or something.

Seriously ten minutes passed before someone who looked to be the super from the building next door took pity on me and called her again and received instruction to let me in. The space—and the art—inside was OK, but nothing too special; certainly not worth the hassle. On the way out, two police men who had seen me waiting asked jokingly if I had figured out the magic word.

Apparently, it was not “Open.”

Written April 6, 2010.