Thirsting for God

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. - Psalm 42:2 

Recently I was asked by one of the pastors of my church in New Haven, Trinity Baptist, to design the website graphic for the upcoming summer sermon series. The series, which begins next week, will focus on selections from Book Two of the Psalms (Psalms 42-72). The title of the series is Thirsting for God.

Almost immediately I began to picture the image of a cup--a chalice--representing our "Thirst" for God. I envisioned the icon of a cup nesting within itself and tessellating across the page, functioning as a wallpaper-like background for text which would provide details about the series.

I discussed the concept and sketch with my pastor. He pointed out that, alongside the thirsting metaphor in the Psalms, was the recurring theme of God's kingship. We discussed the idea that perhaps the cup could morph into a crown to represent God as King.

In the spirit of M.C. Escher, I had hoped to transition the individual cups into individual crowns. But try as I did, I could not come up with a crown tessellation which worked well as the end point for the cup-to-crown transition, much less figure out how one would become the other!

The beauty of the cup tessellation, I felt, was that it was a single form that nested perfectly within itself. I could nest a crown with an upside down crown. Or a crown with some other shapes to make up the difference. But this did not seem as elegant as nesting the cup with itself over and over again.

As my brain still spun, hoping to work out a solution, I further developed the details of the cup pattern in AutoCAD and Illustrator. Even though I knew that I would produce the final graphic in Illustrator and InDesign, I tend to work faster in AutoCAD for vector-based line work, so that is generally where I start for producing precise geometries before importing the line work into the Adobe products.

In the mean time, I dove into the Psalms with the hope of prompting some further inspiration. Though other royal symbols are mentioned--a scepter (45:6), a throne (45:6, 47:8, 55:19), a palace (45:8,15)--they are more obscure as symbols of kingship and would be more difficult to render in a simple iconic form than the more-recognizable crown--which, incidentally, is not mentioned in Psalms 42 through 72. Creating an icon for other, but more abstract, kingly attributes mentioned in the Psalms--majesty (45:4), righteousness (45:4,7, 48:10, 50:6, 51:14)--would have been an even more obscure and daunting task.

As I read through the Psalms, however, the cup metaphor continued to hold water--if you will pardon the pun. There are numerous references to thirsting, to water, to the sea, to cleansing.


As a deer pants for flowing streams,
so pants my soul for you, O God. - Psalm 42:1

Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your waves have gone over me. - Psalm 42:7

My heart overflows with a pleasing theme. - Psalm 45:1

Grace is poured upon your lips. - Psalm 45:2

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way,
though the mountains be moved into the hear of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble at its swelling. Selah.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy habitation of the Most High. - Psalm 46:1-4

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity
and cleans me from my sin! - Psalm 51:2

O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. - Psalm 63:1

Save me, O God!

For the waters have come up to my neck.

I sink in deep mire,

where there is no foothold;

I have come into deep waters,

and the flood sweeps over me.

I am weary with my crying out;

my throat is parched.

My eyes grow dim

with waiting for my God. - Psalm 69:1-3

May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass,

like showers that water the earth! - Psalm 72:6

I went to bed with the Psalms and the cup tessellation swimming around in my head, and--I kid you not--the key to the solution to the cup/crown dilemma ultimately came to me while I was dreaming. I dreamed about the pattern transitioning across the page, with pieces of the tessellation dropping out to reveal a crown formed by turning several cups very subtly into the prongs of a crown.

As with most ideas that come in the middle of the night, there were some gaps, and the idea still took some development and editing beyond my subconscious designer. (The bright purple and green paintbrush strokes that overpowered the image, for instance, never saw the light of day.) The big break-through, however, was the idea of transitioning many cups into one crown. 

Also an overnight breakthrough was the realization that the pattern would drop away to reveal something else rather than be one consistent wallpaper across the page. The changing patterns of negative space worked to provide visual interest and slowly reveal the crown.

There are four colors used in the graphic. The three blues are from Trinity Baptist Church's logo (a riff on the traditional ecclesiastical trefoil pattern symbolizing the Trinity), and the gold is a Pantone mix I found online. Working in Illustrator, I tried a couple of patterns of blues and gold, and ultimately realized that a small white outline helped to define the cup by keeping the colors from running into each other.

Once I had the extents of the wallpaper pattern, which in the full graphic cuts off mid-cup in order to insinuate the pattern extending off the page, I started to drop away the cups to reveal negative space. To my mind, the major trick to patterns is finding some way to change them in a regular way that has enough variation to still be interesting. It is incredibly daunting to create something "random" that appears well-thought-out and visually pleasing. Defining "rules" for myself is always a good bet.

The page moves from lower left to upper right where density decreases and all that is left is the golden cups and the newly-revealed crown. The crown is set apart from the cups with a slightly larger white line than is typical, and the base of the crown provides space for the text description of the sermon series. For better or worse, there are seven prongs on the crown, seven being a significant Biblical number.

Typeface selection is always tricky and will invariably please some people while offending others. Working with a severely limited palette of decent options currently installed on my computer, I selected Trajan (1989, Carol Twombly) for the title and subtitle and Palatino Italic (1948, Hermann Zapf) for the Bible verse. Though Trajan has a reputation as an overused "movie font," its roots in the letterforms used on Roman inscriptions seemed appropriately authoritarian and royal. Palatino is a delicate font which I am usually drawn to because I love the upper case P in its Roman form. However, in Italic form it seemed to play particularly well with Trajan, which does not have lowercase letterforms (it uses small-caps instead).

Following some of the typographic conventions I learned last fall at a seminar with the University Printer of Yale University, I cleaned up the text. Some of the refinements include increased tracking for the small Italic text to aid in legibility and use of old-style numerals for the year and the Bible verse citation. The vector-based line work of the pattern was produced in Illustrator, which was then linked into InDesign for setting of the typography prior to exporting the final PDF and JPG files.

The finished graphic looks like this on the homepage. Clicking on the image takes one to the sermon list and sermon audio.

I really enjoyed this project and was honored to have been asked to work on it. Good graphic design can help draw people in to engage with deeper content, and I hope that this particular graphic serves that purpose.

However, I acknowledge that I submit this work to the public eye humbly and do not write this now as a "look at me, look at me" post. Rather, I mostly wanted to describe some of the thinking and work that went into the design process.

And it is a process. Design is at one time rewarding and frustrating; thinking and feeling; inspiration and execution. It is taking an idea far enough. It is not taking an idea too far. It is deciding when to quit because further work risks muddying the concept or the execution.

My hope is that the cup-to-crown imagery is subtle, that it may take some time to decipher, but that it is visually pleasing enough to look at long enough to think about some of this deeper symbology.

As I continue to reflect even now on the symbolism of the cup and crown in anticipation of the upcoming sermon series, I am reminded of Jesus' conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well from the Gospel of John. In the encounter, the woman has come to draw water from the well to quench a very real physical thirst. But Jesus--the King--turns that thirst into a metaphor for our spiritual thirst, as is so poetically described in the Psalms.

Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life. - John 4:13-14

RE: Finished

A few months ago, we bought a vintage dresser from one of our favorite shops in town, the English Building Market. (We shouldn't ever go in there--we always see something wonderful that fits our taste to a T! And usually, our purchases begin with a dimly-lit photo-text with the message "what do you think of this!?) It was in pretty good shape and would have done fine as-is with little cleanup, but I have been wanting to try get started refinishing some of the pieces we have gathered over the years (many from the English Building Market!), and so this seemed like a good start.

The piece is stamped "Vega in Walnut by Morris" in one of the drawers. It seems like a pretty well-built piece, but I am not sure the actual vintage. Some brief online sleuthing only suggests that the Morris company was making furniture from about WWI until the late 1980s. If I had to guess, I would think this piece is somewhere from the 1960s or 1970s.

I started out working on the drawers by sanding the inside and outside of the drawer body. I then focused my time on the walnut veneer face, using 100 grit sandpaper at first to get the old finish off. I then moved up to 220, and then 400 grit sandpaper, and finally steel wool. The wood is finished simply by wiping on teak oil with a cloth. It was an amazing transformation, which is quite evident in the before and after shot of the drawers. The grain, hidden beneath dirty and old, yellowed finish, now practically glows.

The drawers had some beautiful details. The center drawers have drawer pulls, wooden knobs with little brass hardware. I worked hard to polish up the brass until it glowed using steel wool. I think the color of the brass against the walnut is really beautiful.

The side drawers have integrated pulls. It seems almost strange, but the back of the pulls are laminate meant to look like wood. It is odd in concept, but in actuality, it was probably a smart move. In other period pieces we have with integrated drawer pulls, the wood is chewed up from many years of fingernails opening and closing the drawers. The color of the laminate is a bit off from the overall color of the piece, but it has helped keep the rest of the wood looking great.

The drawers sat finished for a few days before finally getting started on the chest, which in the end only took two days of on-and-off work to finish.

The chest itself needed a bit of work on the left side prior to finishing, where one whole edge of veneer was delaminating. Using a palette knife and two extra hands (thanks to my lovely assistant, Kim!), we inserted glue behind the veneer and then used a plywood board and a strap clamp around the whole chest to flatten out as many bubbles as possible.

Truth be told, there are still a few warped portions of veneer, but it is in much better condition than before. And we were fortunate that there were very few places where veneer had been completely lost.

Using the same technique as the drawer fronts (100, 220, 400, steel wool, teak oil), I finished the chest. Except for the top, which had some extra layers of old finish and needed a sander, the entire piece was sanded by hand in order to protect the delicate veneer. The surface now glows with beautiful book-matched veneer!

And the hardwood legs and brackets also cleaned up quite nicely.

The (re)finished piece now sits proudly in our bedroom, awaiting clothes and a long second life! It will also (hopefully this summer?) feature prominently in the new master bedroom renovation we have been planning!

(And, yes, that is the requisite Alvar Aalto vase sitting on top. It is a staple in staging photos of Modern furniture!)

Behind the Scenes of the Newberry Memorial Organ

I had the great privilege yesterday of taking a behind-the-scenes tour of one of the largest organs in the world: the Newberry Memorial Organ in Woolsey Hall at Yale University. A couple of people from my department were guided through the organ by organ curator Joe Dzeda while Tom Murray, University Organist, played.

The Newberry Memorial Organ in Woolsey Hall was built in 1903 by the Hutchings-Votey Organ Company, improved mechanically and almost doubled in size in 1915 by the J. W. Steere & Sons Organ Company, and rebuilt and enlarged in 1928 by the Skinner Organ Company of Boston. University Organist Harry Benjamin Jepson (1871-1952) was responsible for the design of the instrument, executed by Ernest M. Skinner and G. Donald Harrison of the Skinner firm. Consisting of 12,617 pipes arranged in 197 ranks and 167 speaking stops, it is one of the largest and most outstanding instruments of its period. The Newberry Organ has been kept tonally and technologically intact since its 1928/29 reconstruction, and is used throughout the academic year for teaching, concerts and gala events. It is maintained by the Associate Curators of Organs, Joseph F. Dzeda and Nicholas Thompson-Allen.

It was amazing to be among the pipes and works of such a great instrument as the sound, quite literally and forcefully, resonated within our very being!

A view from the rear of Woolsey Hall looking toward the stage. The organ console sits front and center with the facade pipes (unvoiced) hiding the great city of organ pipes beyond.

A diagram of the pipes hidden behind the facade. There are six major sections: Solo Organ, Great Organ, Swell Organ, String Organ, Orchestral Organ, and Choir Organ.

A closer look at the facade of decorative pipes.

The console comprises four manuals and 167 stops.

Another view of the manuals and stops.

A first look into the great cavity of organ pipes. Ductwork carries air from large blowers in the basement up through the works.

A dedication plaque for the Newberry Memorial Organ is located on the wall of the concert hall behind the organ pipes.

Some views of the outside of the Swell Organ, which sits behind giant louvered doors, allowing the organist to decrease (by closing) or increase (by opening) the volume of sound, causing the sound to "swell."

So that the seasonal expansion and contraction of the wood supporting structured does not tear apart the more delicate parts of the organ, wood dowels serve as wheels or bearings on which portions of the organ can slide.

These boxes serve as regulators for the air by using springs to equalize the air pressure as air blows in and is then forced out. There are many of these contraptions through the organ and they help supply a constant volume of air to different pipes.

A view of some of the smaller pipes, which this architect couldn't help imagining as little cities of skyscrapers! The little coiled caps on the wooden pipes allow tuning (metal pipes also have little coils on the sides near the top for the same purpose). It can take two people six hours to fully tune the instrument, which happens surprisingly often during the year, including "touch ups" of problem areas before events or concerts.

A view of the base of some of the largest pipes in the organ. The air coming out of these is quite a strong gust of wind.

I was excited to get a unique view of Woolsey Hall from above and behind the organ facade!

There are even more pipes in the basement, where century-old "surround sound" technology fills the concert hall through vents.

Tight spaces in the basement mean that some of the longer pipes are doubled over (some are folded even more than this). We were assured that "the pipe doesn't care" and the sound quality is not compromised.

A view of some of the wooden pipes in the basement.

There are also four practice organs in the basement, including several similar to the photos above. The manuals and pipe casework were works of art in themselves.

A more modern arrangement for one of the practice organs.

These are some views of the brains of the organ, i.e. a century-old computer. It turns electrical impulses from the console into pneumatic control of each individual organ pipe. Though the system has been digitized as well, this is one of the oldest (the oldest?) surviving, fully-functional systems.

Two huge blower turbines sit deep in the basement and supply all the air for the many organ pipes. Each blower can fully supply the organ, and redundancy allows the motors to be changed over at the flip of a switch, even mid-concert, without missing a beat!

Stepping into the organ curators' workshop is like stepping back in time.

In the workshop, there are photos of famous churches, organs, organists, and organ conservators.

And as a parting shot, a close-up view of the stage wall. I have loved this decorative pattern since the first time I stepped into Woolsey Hall.

In Memoriam: Oscar Niemeyer

Here, then, is what I wanted to tell you of my architecture. I created it with courage and idealism, but also with an awareness of the fact that what is important is life, friends and attempting to make this unjust world a better place in which to live. (Oscar Niemeyer)

Renowned Brazilian architect Oscar Niemeyer (December 15, 1907 - December 5, 2012) died yesterday in Rio de Janeiro. The last of the great Modern (with a capital "M") architects, he was just 10 days shy of his 105th birthday. He was one of my heroes.

Why such a hero to me? Honestly, I can't really even put my finger on it. Writing about his life and work a few years ago, I called both the man and his work "A Strange Paradox." He was by all accounts a visionary, an artist, a lover of life--and he defined the image of a nation quite literally with his extensive work in Brasilia, Brazil's mid-century ex nihilo capital. But he was also an atheist, communist, exile whose love for life was, it seems to me, mediated by a melancholic longing for something more.

Though I had the privilege of being around a number of "famous" architects while in grad school at Yale, I am not generally the star-struck architecture fan type. Niemeyer was different for me, though. Until learning of his death last night, I secretly held on to a long-time dream of "some day" meeting him, even if only to shake hands and say a few words. At 104 and still at work, one could imagine him living forever. The closest I came was during a trip to Rio de Janeiro in 2009. As we were working out the details of our itinerary, I corresponded via e-mail with his office trying to arrange a brief meeting, but I was not able to work anything out.

Coincidentally enough, I was actually thinking about Niemeyer yesterday. That tends to happen when early December rolls around and I remember his upcoming birthday. I walked over to the bookshelves in my office where I keep all of my architecture books. I browsed the section of Niemeyer books (I have close to a dozen) and picked up his memoir, The Curves of Time, which I read a few years ago. Crossing the line completely into star-struck-fan, I even though, "I wonder if I could mail this to him to sign for me?"

I have been fortunate to be able to see a number of Niemeyer's notable works in the past few years in Rio de Janeiro, Curitiba, and Belo Horizonte, Brazil and in Milan, Italy. Some visits were pilgrimages that my family graciously indulged me with, while other projects were simply viewed in passing. I've included some photos from these trips below.

Outside the Museum of Contemporary Art in Niteroi, across the bay from Rio de Janeiro

(December 2009).

The kiddos being cool in front of the Ministry of Education and Health in Rio de Janeiro.

(December 2009)

Heading through the 2nd floor reception room of the Ministry of Education and Health out to the lush rooftop garden.

(December 2009)

In front of the Museu Oscar Niemeyer in Curitiba, Brazil.

(July 2011)

We were looking for a grocery store in Belo Horizonte and stumbled upon this residential building by Niemeyer.

(July 2011)

The sinuous curves of the Casa do Baile (Dance Hall) on the lake in Pampulha, Belo Horizonte.

(July 2011)

Ex casino in Pampulha, now an art museum.

(July 2011)

Happy architect in front of the Chapel of St. Francis in Belo Horizonte.

(July 2011)

Brasilia from the air, with the monumental axis where may of Niemeyer's iconic government buildings are situated running from lower left to upper right in the photo. This has got to be on one of our next Brazil trips!

(July 2011)

Additional Resources:

I've written about Niemeyer on Through the Oculus (here), and I've also written some research papers about Niemeyer and his work while in graduate school (here and here).

Here are some links to recent articles in response to Niemeyer's death: ABC, Arch Daily, Arch Daily Brasil, Archinect, BBC, CNN, Fox News Latino, O Globo, O Globo (2), O Globo (3), The Guardian, Tue Guardian (2), Huffington Post, The Independent, Los Angeles Times, New York Times, NPR, The Telegraph, The Wall Street Journal, and The Washington Post.