I'm too sensitive for historic preservation. It is a brutal bit of business. People assemble and gather for a withering building- usually a beautiful one. Town boards smash hopes and burly developers move in; making something so loved, gone for good.

Bring me a sidewalk.

There is no end of good that a sidewalk brings. It brings safety, it brings emotional connection, it bridges communities.

And yet, in so many towns, flung across this huge country, sidewalks are hard to come by. Their benefits are without measure. Yet, town after town, builds without them. The quick fix, the template development has little use for the sidewalk. Unless the municipal arena is innovative, and the appointed boards educated, the sidewalk walks right out of the picture.

No words needed.

And now Rizzoli.

Historic treasures vanish in upstate New York at a steady clip, now NYC faces the loss of Rizzoli.

https://saverizzoli.wordpress.com/petition-to-save-rizzoli/

Nestled in the Hudson Valley of New York, one question looms for a town's Rev-War lands. Blacktop or honor?

A scene along these graceful lines could be part of the visual future of the Revolutionary War Fishkill Encampment and Supply Depot, its history not blacktopped, its fragile stories protected, its archaeological narrative recorded.

Where are the sacred lands?

Such a bland diet

I think a great deal about the bland visual landscape of our young century. Although in American cities, new and exciting designs are being explored and utilized -- from the ordinary bike rail as sculpture, to the growing cultus of temporal, public art pieces - and importantly, clever, green architecture edging away from the constraints of past and poor templates, elsewhere, we are stuck in somewhat of a time warp.

The pre-green era blandscape continues to carry the cache of aggrandizement - living on with no twist of genius. This is vividly apparent when one drives up the commercial highways of rural/suburban America. Personally, I'm intrigued by these commercial roads - the Route 9s, Route 300s, Route whatsovevers that shoulder the big box economy. They continue to power up and define our public spaces.

In this new age of C21, progressive change is painfully slow to arrive on these commercial highways. Case in point -- new construction in the city of Newburgh, along the Hudson River. Its major commercial throughfare is Route 300, soon to be a new home to a Staples Super Store. A fragment of an apple orchard sits on this still undeveloped land. But, as soon as the construction project rolls out, this sweet orchard will be vanquished - swiftly. Rigid town planning, copycat developers and unimaginative municipal boards keep things this way. They work in perfect harmony to keep the visual status quo on these roads. The orchard could be an added perk for the harried Staples customer. Saved, its solid boughs could bear ruby reds for decades to come, providing a welcome depth of shade from hot summer sun, and hopefully a berth for a song bird et famille.

Considering that apples are the New York State royalty of the vegetative world, such a deviation from the Staples template to accomodate this coterie of fruit trees, would be reasonable and modern in thought. It would express compassion towards the assets of this Earth( thus backing away from the tenets of municipal environmental and visual amorality). And yes, would spice up the bland daily diet of big shop boxiness and black top.

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