The roof
A couple of days ago, I found out that there was a roof access on my building. The last ladder that brings you to the roof.
I love to explore roofs. Always have. In France, I spent a lot of summer nights lying up there, watching the sky. And the shooting stars in August.
When I was a kid, every time my parents brought me with them to visit friends or family, I was always on the lookout for an easy way to get on their roof. Everything looks different up there. And even if what you see when you're up there (I mean the gravel on the roof, or the tar, or the tiles, the antennas or the chimney) is nothing new to mankind, it's an unusual place for someone to be. I have the same feeling every time I climb up to the Empire State Building observatory. While queuing to enter the last elevator for the last ride up, you're in a large open room with many windows. Some of them are open. I know the view. I like to go there often. What I like most is that those windows let you see all the little details of the building. Little things that you cannot see from the ground or from the observatory. Little details, really, because, anyway, that's the building's style. But I like that. One time I stretched out my arm out the window to touch one of the tile. You wonder when was the last time a human hand touched it. You wonder what the guy who installed it was thinking about while doing his job. What his life was.
The same feeling you have when you work on an old house. You tear down a wall and something that must have been hidden for dozen of years appears. Letters. Carving. Whatever.
Two years ago, I participated in the building of a house. I hid a few signs here & there. Something carved on a beam. Drawn in the cement before it hardens. Always I would leave a date. Sometimes I would add something else. Sometimes being voluntarily cryptic.
So the other day, the sky was clear of clouds. I climbed up there with the camera. The last ladder has no protection. You're five stories high and if you fall, there's nothing to stop you but the narrow last fire escape platform below. The view is alright up there. Even in the distance, the Empire still looks big. You can see some of the steeples of Brooklyn churches and the massive figures of projects standing out against the cold blue sky.
I love to explore roofs. Always have. In France, I spent a lot of summer nights lying up there, watching the sky. And the shooting stars in August.
When I was a kid, every time my parents brought me with them to visit friends or family, I was always on the lookout for an easy way to get on their roof. Everything looks different up there. And even if what you see when you're up there (I mean the gravel on the roof, or the tar, or the tiles, the antennas or the chimney) is nothing new to mankind, it's an unusual place for someone to be. I have the same feeling every time I climb up to the Empire State Building observatory. While queuing to enter the last elevator for the last ride up, you're in a large open room with many windows. Some of them are open. I know the view. I like to go there often. What I like most is that those windows let you see all the little details of the building. Little things that you cannot see from the ground or from the observatory. Little details, really, because, anyway, that's the building's style. But I like that. One time I stretched out my arm out the window to touch one of the tile. You wonder when was the last time a human hand touched it. You wonder what the guy who installed it was thinking about while doing his job. What his life was.
The same feeling you have when you work on an old house. You tear down a wall and something that must have been hidden for dozen of years appears. Letters. Carving. Whatever.
Two years ago, I participated in the building of a house. I hid a few signs here & there. Something carved on a beam. Drawn in the cement before it hardens. Always I would leave a date. Sometimes I would add something else. Sometimes being voluntarily cryptic.
So the other day, the sky was clear of clouds. I climbed up there with the camera. The last ladder has no protection. You're five stories high and if you fall, there's nothing to stop you but the narrow last fire escape platform below. The view is alright up there. Even in the distance, the Empire still looks big. You can see some of the steeples of Brooklyn churches and the massive figures of projects standing out against the cold blue sky.
posted by Cecyl at 11:27 PM
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