woodwards: a vancouver landmark

pre-sale

to the visitor

Please pass through door # 5. Beyond is a stairwell. Descending you will end up in a city. A city small, a city smog, a city provincial, a city deep in a tradition of rioting, when the mood is ugly and a sports team wins (or loses). Be careful of the streets below. Water refugees have come to purchase expensive taps. The taps are presently open but on their way to being privatized, along with the rivers, the trees, the seeds. The genetic code of impulsive consumerism is amply visible - large bags block the sidewalks . Civilization here is two meals away from dissatisfaction. The side show Olympic circus is coming to town. Beware of copyright infringements. leave all rings behind. Enter door number five at your own risk.

chained on main

Gunter's chain has been used as the standard dimension to determine survey markings for the parceling of acreage throughout the United States and Canada. The chain is equal to 4 rods, 22 yards, 66 feet, 1/80 of a mile or 20.1168 metres. The standard lot size in Vancouver is 33 feet wide and 122 feet long- in other words, half a chain wide on the street side and two chains in length. The still film consists of 805 still pictures taken in 33 foot intervals along the eastern side of Main St from the Fraser River to Burrard Inlet.

caesarean architecture

Donald luxton, a local heritage preservationist, has referred to the facadist gutting of historical buildings as "taxidermy" while art historian John Stuart warns that if we destroy everything but the exterior not only is there a disconnection between it and the new interior, we also lose any link to or further insight into the past. While a case can be made for the value of authenticity and the need for prudence when guiding the financial whimsy of profiteering developers and bland revitalization schemes there is a need to explore what exactly is meant by "the past". Vancouver, it would seem, has always had a soft spot for facadism and it's moral twin, deception. From it's nascent years as a frontier outpost the city has embraced the dream of perpetuated prosperity while striving to establish a sense of permanence, to have an identity that reaches beyond the picaresque mill town to civilized respectability. And so, not unlike any other city asserting itself in the colonial shadow of the western empire we have banks dressed as Greek temples flanked by Corinthian columns, hip roofed houses kneeling behind false storefronts and an endless array of apartments tarted up as artist's lofts. The preservation of the facade, which in the case of historic temple style banks represents the nexus of classicism and financial power, is equally suited to enclosing galleries, cafes, social housing and safe injection sites as it is to reinforcing the illusion that banks are invulnerable shrines. By extension the street is not merely a space that is inhabited but a deeply saturated site of theatrical potential. As I walked past city hall the other day I imagined rooms filled with industrious puppets and circus animals. The politicians, you see, had been moved to the PNE where they were holding office at Playland; and the snakeoil salesmen and roller coaster mechanics were now living in top floor of the Shangri-La where they were planning a new attraction and native chiefs had moved back to the west-end, each clan residing in a totem faced hi-rise. And what impressed me most was how perfectly the gleaming glass reflected the whites of the creatures eyes as they looked skyward above the mid-day traffic jam below. It was apparent that these were not merely stuffed heads, but playful reminders that the real face of urban revitalization embraces overlapping and often contradictory narratives. (rb)