As architects, we dedicate ourselves to observing events that have not yet occurred but have already been repeated many times. Originally, ‘dwelling’ (habitare) means ‘repetition’. In the words of the sculptor Chillida “Everything that the eye already carries inside is what we see.”
Rather than focusing on forms, we must carefully observe these repeated actions: how a body tilts when sitting, how to frame a view, walking barefoot, the entry of light throughout the day, the way a body leans against a wall, and so on.
Space is a mould for life, but the gaze must also wander, moving from one side to another, allowing itself to get lost without a specific purpose. This is a liberated gaze that transcends utility, reaching beyond the present and encompassing both the past and the future in a single moment.
The lines of a sketch move in this in-between time, where form has yet to take shape but is already filled with time. At times, one must squint to see better, even close their eyes completely and let silence and darkness engulf everything. Perhaps that is the most challenging gaze. It is in this subterranean, full and empty gaze at the same time where architecture can be most fertile.