I lived in the Belltown neighborhood of Seattle for many years, and, while I do not miss the traffic since moving to the hinterlands, I do miss living in the city. I was quite happy in the protean realm of the urban street, where between the dry cleaner and the hardware store one might pause in the public market to listen to a busker spruik the next performance; spend a moment daydreaming by the waterfall in the garden at the original UPS building; listen to the rain drip from the 80–foot sequoia in the street at the side of the Nordstrom store; or ask a tourist from Ballard whether lutefisk is a toxic substance. Among favored activities, I may have most enjoyed clinging to chain link fences erected around construction sites, watching as some new building was raised up from the bare soil. Between burning to the ground in 1889 and the completion of the Amazon Spheres in 2018, the city changed without surcease, so I never lacked opportunity. Tunnels have been bored by pick, wheelbarrow, and machine. Entire hills have been sluiced into Elliott Bay. The skyline dominates the Rider Levett Bucknall survey of United States crane installations. On a visit many years ago, the New York humorist Fran Lebowitz was asked what she thought of the city. It’s cute, she replied. Why are they tearing it down?

Though watching as piles of dirt are moved by the ton is deeply satisfying to the puddle‐stomping boy who dwells within me, the erection of a new structure is what impels my interest in joining the fellowship of observers whose meetings are called to order at almost every construction site. It is the design of the architect and its reification that pique my notice. What is the site plan? What exterior materials are to be used? The landscape? Will the illumination scheme be a success? Will the building work? My curiosity is fueled by a lifetime of contemplating how humans manipulate their surroundings, and no amount of study given to the results is likely to quell my enthusiasm. So it was that a visit to the Seattle Architecture Foundation’s annual model exhibit at the Center for Architecture & Design was in order. Its theme this year was Symbiosis: forging a deeper understanding of the design process and the built environment of Seattle.

Walking to the venue, I could not help but admire a new building at 1201 2nd Avenue as crews titivated the plaza and lobby, and thought it was a handsome addition to the neighborhood. Moments later, I was delighted to find a model of the ground plane of that same building on display at the Center and marveled at the curation that depended profoundly on the convergence of artifact, circumstance, and observer to produce an exquisitely fine thematic constituent. The entire collection was provocative and absorbing, but this was the apical model, which galvanized thought and fortified the imagination. I have been unable to stop wondering at its effectiveness as a pedagogical device, and trust that someone at the Foundation has received the kudos warranted by success at having produced the intended result through the juxtaposition of model and realized structure.

There is a fresh hole in the ground not far from my home. I had to stop my car in the adjoining street last week to wait as a section of crane was hoisted into place overhead. I believe I will take a walk this afternoon to go make sure their fence is sturdy and think about what is to replace the void in the Earth.