travaux-en-cours

This summer I will travel to Paris and other cities to work on three projects: an internship at kilo architectures, thesis research in the Paris suburbs, and an architecture travel drawing project funded by the Shellman Prize at Princeton's School of Architecture.

Here is the link to my blog called works-in-progress, which is a personal record of my adventures.

Six seniors and two juniors won the Spirit of Princeton award. I was one of the juniors. It's in the Daily Princetonian as well as the Princeton website!

Finally, finally, good weather has returned to Princeton. In its honour, I am uploading an image of a strangely beautiful face carved on one of the entrances of McCosh Hall. Notice the weird smirk/smile. Princeton is full of these faces - each with its own secret, it's own joke - but we get very little time to stop and notice them.

It was ironic that I read the two readings from No One is Illegal (for my class on Cities in the 21st Century) on the plane back to New York last Monday morning.

Immediately upon landing I literally came across some of the challenges that Chacon and Davis talk about. Just like everyone else I got in line for visitors, and the immigration officer checked my passport, I-20, etc. But unlike most people, all my stuff was put into an orange folder and I was asked to go "register" myself in a small room at the end of the hallway.

I entered a small waiting room with broken desks, grumpy immigration officers, and a large group of hispanic and south asian people - men, women and children. It bothered me that I had been singled out based on either my nationality or my race. It seemed wrong but I understood why it had to be done: to catch potential terrorists and prevent another 9-11. I would almost have liked to see some arabs in the room, too (after all we had flown out from Dubai)!

What was not okay, however, was the inefficiency with which the officers dealt with each case. The various colored folders lay around for hours, and there was no real order in which people were interviewed. There was a hint of what Guantanamo must be like: we were not allowed to make phone calls and were asked to sit in the seats provided. The officers were suspicious and watchful. They even brought in a convict for whom there was a warrant and asked him to wait with us until they had time to process him.

In the end, after two hours of waiting, I asked to see a supervisor and quoted to him the "pledge" that was written in the main hall of the airport: a promise that the customs officers would respect visitors, smile, etc. He was actually very nice. It could have been that I told him I go to Princeton and had to get back in time for class, or the fact that I spoke any English at all, but immediately I was taken more seriously and helped out.

But the overall ambiguity of my status in that room still confuses me, and I wonder how effective this system is in protecting America from terrorists.

Photo from naamtobatao.wordpress.com.

As part of the larger project emPOWER, which is a student-led initiative to develop a sustainable power station for the landfill (and surrounding communities) in Karachi, I volunteered to organize an art project for the children in one of the schools there. The idea was to get a better picture of the people who would directly benefit from the project. Since I was in Karachi for the week, it seemed perfect.

On Friday Momin, Muneeb, Anum, Amna, Hiba, Urooj and I went to the north of Karachi to visit the landfill and the schools there that offer free education to the kids from the surrounding slums. We had organized a painting workshop for about 60 kids, an opportunity for them to express themselves through art and tell others their story and the story of their community.

What we saw shocked us, but equally amazing was the energy, joy and creativity that each kid had. Amidst the burning garbage there was hope.

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

Photo by Momin Zafar

I had told myself I would not notice the taking off and landing of the plane, nor the announcements and security checks at the airports. This wasn't a week-long trip across the planet but a continuous living of life in a global village, where no connections are severed by a mere geographical displacement. Dubia airport had been impressive but my progress on Giedion's Space, Time and Architecture had been more impressive. I had slept and eaten, and was fully awake as we approached Karachi. And then as the landing gear clicked and the plane dipped, my heart skipped. I could no longer resist the little blinking lights of what was once the city of lights. Now they seemed watchful and tired.

Was it strange that I felt love and yearning for a city? Perhaps the city symbolizes a memorable childhood, and encapsulates the spirit of all its inhabitants whom I love.

Karachi has no skyscrapers, no Times Square, no architectural monuments to put on postcards (not since 1947 anyway). It is a blank slate. It's burning history, traditions, and energy are waiting to be articulated in concrete. It's fledgling spirit needs architectural columns to rest on.

What kind of monument, I thought, would be impervious to terrorist bombing or graffiti? What kind of monument would counter the extremist brainwashing of people by providing an alternative avenue for religious discourse? Karachi needs a Hagia Sophia! Will I design it some day?

The plane touches down and I snap my book shut, waiting to get out. Very soon it would be dawn. That, at least, was inevitable.

Goodbye CNN

I love watching the news. It gives me a feeling of being abreast with the rest of the world, even in this small college town. And while I would often watch Fox News for entertainment, I would of course turn to a more reliable and trusted source for real news, CNN. Until today.

Turns out that there is a special CNN and even a special BBC for America. In the true spirit of the market economy, Americans get exactly the news they want to hear. So in the same bulletin you have 700 Palestinians (or Hamas or whatever, who cares) being bombed (Anderson Cooper has flown to Israel to report on this)... but wait Anderson wants to talk about Obama's new dog, and then Scientology, and then the Porn Industry asking for a bailout (oh, just kidding). Let's discuss Casey Anthony's expressionless face but, wait, Suzie Orman wants to tell me to start saving money. The strangest thing is that no one will find this strange at all, because no one has seen real news for a long time. So while the world anxiously watches a crisis get worse (breaking news, minute-by-minute updates), Bush relaxes in Texas and America watches football, unaware of its power to sway things one way or another. Now I understand why many years ago as I sat on the ground in front of the TV very late at night watching tanks entering Iraq, horrified, Americans didn't use their power to question and change things. They just went with the flow. For once, I agree with Sarah Palin.

The sad thing about the current crisis is that there is no mention of the thousands of rockets fired by Hamas into Israel over a long period of time (oh they must not have killed a lot of people at once, and so it's not newsworthy), and there is no mention of extreme human rights abuses in a war that may threaten the future of the world. People on opposite sides have selective knowledge of the issue and that is why it is so polarizing. It's reading period in America's #1 University (it's still #1 in my eyes okay!) and the overwhelming attitude about the Middle East: don't know, don't care.

Some of the countless great things about America are the freedom of speech, respect, and the peaceful coexistence of diverse peoples. It is important that America reach elsewhere for its news and get rid of false advertising and misleading (alternately euphemistic or overly dramatic) news/entertainment. The internet may be the answer. Those who seek the truth shall find it.

I really should be writing that paper about the art/architecture of Gordon Matta-Clark and Vitto Acconci, and another one about the confrontational art of Andrea Fraser.

Today my photograph from last summer's project was featured on the main Princeton website! Here's the link to the article: http://www.princeton.edu/main/news/archive/S23/11/71A09/index.xml?section=featured.

In other news, I started a new Twitter account: http://www.twitter.com/waqasjawaid

Latest Twitter post: "We learned to precipitate mass death before we grew out of the neurological disorder of wishing for it." -Bill Maher in Religulous

With 70 miles of shelving and over 6 million volumes, Firestone is Princeton's largest library. When it opened it was the largest open-stack library in the world: unlike many large libraries you can actually go down and explore the shelves in Firestone. The quest for a book leads to a shelf full of related books or books by the same author.

This picture was taken on a cold winter evening on one of the last days in December 2008. I think it captures well the warmth of the interior of Firestone library.

These pictures were taken from inside Robert Venturi's Frist Campus Center, just before I left for Harvard and Mount Holyoke College. Now I am back in snowy Princeton and am pretty much here and in New York for the break. I work (sort of) on my portfolio and other random things in my warm room in Forbes and of course at my desk in the Architecture building. It's quite strange how much I love my desk and how irresistibly I am drawn to it. At other times I educate myself by watching movies, Youtube, and CNN.

It's winter break... and I just realized I actually have this blog. I had forgotten all about it.

I will be writing about and putting up pictures from my summer project at http://summersketchbook.blogspot.com

"Time doesn't change things. Doing things changes things. Not doing things leaves things exactly as they were."

Dr. Gregory House

Read my mind

This song, like Mr Brightside, is not only powerful because it evokes a strong sense of transience, a sort of yearning, hopeful and resigned at the same time, existential... but also in how it's sung. The video seems to have nothing to do with the song, which of course, is really cool!

News from the Battlefield

The uncertainty of the visa process is unbearable. To remain positive I have to keep acting. I went to the France consulate in Karachi today. It was very different from the nightmares I had had of me trying to explain my plea, trembling and incoherent, to a harsh faceless entity.

The whole street was blocked off by police barriers. There was barbed wire on the boundary wall and a small but clearly distinguishable French flag. The guards outside were friendly. I asked to meet with someone and strategically handed them my Princeton ID and three letters to take inside: the email from Dr Caddeau at Princeton, Luis' letter (Luis Simon-Perez is a Princeton alum, a professor at the Sorbonne, and a very generous and friendly man), and Mrs Caseau's letter in french (also a Princeton alum). It worked. Later the guards congratulated me for getting permission to enter - many before me, including messengers from courier companies, had been denied entrance.

I was searched with a metal detector, asked to leave my bag outside, and led in through a very heavy metal door with an electronic lock and an intercom. And now I'm wondering if this might be considered unsafe to put on a blog, so I won't describe anything else I saw.

I could not meet today with the Consul General, Pierre Seillan, but at least they heard me out, advised me to send letters to some people in Islamabad, and said I might be able to meet M. Seillan tomorrow. So tomorrow I shall call and see.

There was a tall, young French security person, who looked like he could be a super hero in some children's movie. He was dressed in a smart, crisp uniform. Though I didn't really talk to him, his intent look, sincere tone, and friendly (but broken) English really made me feel welcome at the place.

Meanwhile I got email replies from Princeton officials - it seems a lot of people there know about this and are trying to brainstorm how they can help. I also found the address of Mrs Phoebe Beliard who I have been meaning to write to about this. I sent four A-4 sized envelopes marked URGENT through courier: to M. Seillan, to the ambassador, to Sylvia Fernandez, and to M. Brocard. I met with the director of the Alliance Francais. He was very friendly and empathetic, but told me he could not interfere in the process. He was very welcoming of the idea of exhibiting my work at my return to Karachi, at the AF.

A week to go till July 1st 2008.

Have you ever felt, when you listened to a song, that, though the words don't even make sense precisely, it captures exactly how you feel? And then have you kept listening to it again and again until it made you really, really, happy (or sad)?

Dear customer, your visa application is under process at the embassy....

When Uday didn't get his Pakistan visa in the winter of 2004, I wrote to the papers, to government officials, made phone calls to important people, friends, relatives - I think it's called pulling strings - and lo and behold, he got it just in time!

Now I am hanging in the air, with a prestigious award from Princeton (to fund an independent panting project in Paris and Delhi), with airline bookings and room reservations paid for, on the brink of departure, with no France visa. It's a small battle of its own kind. I wrote to Princeton. I wrote to all my French friends and professors. I searched Tigernet for French Princeton alumni and emailed them. Several people have written requests to expedite the visa process. I keep sending explanations and request letters to the embassy in Islamabad. I wrote to the editor of Dawn again. I keep calling to track my passport and every time I hear the same thing "Dear customer, your visa application is under process at the embassy...." My flight leaves on July 1st.

I have the worst kind of creative block and all I can think about is my non-existent visa. I jump to answer phone calls.

I am reading The Brothers Karamazov. We walked into a movie store and the guy there asked me what it was and was horrified when I said it was a novel. He said his parents have forbidden him to read novels because "you get lost in them." This guy watches Indian movies every day and fears he may get lost in a novel.

One day, walking into the Fitzrandolph Gate - according to legend you can only walk in through the gate and not back out, or else you put your graduation at risk - I told Andy about something that had been bothering me. It wasn't a great philosophical idea, just a more vivid realization of a great tragedy. There are so many people in this world who don't have the things we do, and that's sad, but the saddest thing is that we have those things and how can we be happy knowing that others don't. Does that make sense?