.
The article had a number of pictures and this particular one that captured my interest.
.
These are essentially uniform cardboard models of submarines, one for each submarine built by the United States until it was completed (1987). Nice.
.
But more than the piece, I was struck by the stark beauty of the concrete. It isn't a uniform grey, but the shades are muted.
.
And I realized, for the millionth time, I love the aesthetic of concrete. I notice this looking at "modern" homes back east as well.
.
.
Now I know part of my aesthetic here is cultural. Wooden houses, in my mind, are associated with old tymee; passed down along with shawls, afghans and the odd quilt - along with generations of family history.
.
I don't want a house with generations of family history. Family history tries to define and constrain you. Concrete offers a neutral palette for you to dream on.
.
And, of course, even without my emotional baggage, wood burns. How many times do you watch wooden houses go up in flames before you associate them with danger. I can tell you - in Los Angeles, about a half-dozen times a year for 41 years (given 5 years I was too young to watch, 6 years in New York and 2 fire seasons in San Francisco or London) so let's say 246 times I have watched multiple wooden houses go up in flames on television.
.
You know what you never see? A concrete house going up in flames.
.
And floors.
.
I love concrete floors. I'm not even talking beautifully cone concrete floors, even basic grey concrete gives me that spartan warmth feeling which wood floors give off to most people.
.
My aesthetic isn't found back here, and I understand that. I don't even really mind - Ed and I are embracing the culture we see. But I do miss it sometimes.