The Grand Lobby
My favorite part was the lighting. The "windows" in the lobby maybe not be real but recreates the light of a golden hour that will last forever. Underneath the balcony seating is incredible fixtures that remind me of giant glowing space flowers. And the ceilings, they were one of my favorite parts, vast back-lit lace. Our knowledgeable tour guide Ken told us that it's possible to walk on these ceiling sections, although we the public don't have access. It would be incredible one day to see the theater from a different perspective.
The ceiling inside the theater.
This one got confusing so it's not the best,
but the ceilings were one of my favorite parts.
Ken gave a us light show, click the link and
see the whole ceiling change color.
Always the best show in town
It was weird to walk around the theater and think about the Paramount sitting in disuse for so many years, slowly falling to the wear of time. It's a space where all the details were considered important and were carefully crafted, and after only a short time in the sunshine so to speak, they were locked up and ignored.
My last trip to Peru, I walked with some friends to the ruins of Pumamarka, an unrestored Incan site above the town of Ollantaytambo where we were living. It's a long hike but there are two ways to get there, you can walk a path through the forest or alongside the winding road. We chose the path, it's longer but far more adventurous, a well worn trail for the first couple hours, then a bit more intuitive for the next. There's not much back there, some houses, farms, gated yards, but the forest become denser as you retreat from town. And then suddenly a white-walled complex of large empty rooms, no glass panes in the windows that overlooked an overgrown courtyard, ready and wired for electricity but connected to nothing, an unfinished space that nobody was trying to complete so instead the forest had started its reclamation. Before the recession, when people still were traveling there had been the reason and means to create what I heard was suppose to be a luxury hotel, the largest in town, but then tourism slowed and construction halted. It sits in wait, decaying and more than a little creepy.
An easily imagined timeline of a building's life might go something like: plan building, build it, occupy it (different groups may come and go), fix it occasionally, and when it's too old, tear it down and repeat. But architecture seems to reach for new heights and superlatives in times of building booms, attempting to create the most modern, or most lavish, or the greatest engineering feats. When the bubble bursts, mass abandonment. The Paramount was completed almost within the first year of the depression and stayed open only 6 months, that to me seems like barely making it. In this recession we experience the same phenomenon, except maybe worse. The entry Ruins of the Present from Bruce Sterling's blog (he is also the author of the Shaping Things book from History of ID) touches upon the lack of a word for uncompleted abandoned building projects that are the new trademark of the places that just a few years ago would see the same building as a symbol of progress and growth. They aren't ruins, but what exactly do you call a building that never gets used? Sculpture? The Wapato Jail in Portland, Oregon never accepted a single inmateafter completion, so is it still a jail? And what do we do with these creations?
When the Oakland Symphony bought the building in the 70s, they had to do a major restoration to bring the theater up to snuff, but it was given a second life. Now owned by the city, it is the home of the East Bay Symphony and is "one of San Francisco Bay's premiere performing arts facilities" -Paramount. We are lucky to have the Paramount around and today we can look at it as a beautiful example of American art deco, but I'm sure it wasn't looking so rosy the day they shut the doors in 1932. Things aren't looking great now for our "squelettes" but perhaps like the Oakland Symphony, it's artists that can save them.
An easily imagined timeline of a building's life might go something like: plan building, build it, occupy it (different groups may come and go), fix it occasionally, and when it's too old, tear it down and repeat. But architecture seems to reach for new heights and superlatives in times of building booms, attempting to create the most modern, or most lavish, or the greatest engineering feats. When the bubble bursts, mass abandonment. The Paramount was completed almost within the first year of the depression and stayed open only 6 months, that to me seems like barely making it. In this recession we experience the same phenomenon, except maybe worse. The entry Ruins of the Present from Bruce Sterling's blog (he is also the author of the Shaping Things book from History of ID) touches upon the lack of a word for uncompleted abandoned building projects that are the new trademark of the places that just a few years ago would see the same building as a symbol of progress and growth. They aren't ruins, but what exactly do you call a building that never gets used? Sculpture? The Wapato Jail in Portland, Oregon never accepted a single inmateafter completion, so is it still a jail? And what do we do with these creations?
When the Oakland Symphony bought the building in the 70s, they had to do a major restoration to bring the theater up to snuff, but it was given a second life. Now owned by the city, it is the home of the East Bay Symphony and is "one of San Francisco Bay's premiere performing arts facilities" -Paramount. We are lucky to have the Paramount around and today we can look at it as a beautiful example of American art deco, but I'm sure it wasn't looking so rosy the day they shut the doors in 1932. Things aren't looking great now for our "squelettes" but perhaps like the Oakland Symphony, it's artists that can save them.
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