six places

GYM!
The gym (ARC, whatevs) is the most strikingly and largely artificial of our six places. It’s a large boxy space we’ve carved out of the natural landscape; empty on its own, occupied only with the intangible buzz of fluorescent lights and the scents of hard plastic and grime, but its role is to be filled. At the right time, in no other place on campus will you find a thicker concentration of humanity, of humans delighting in the innate joys of competition. But for all the frenzied activity contained in the gym, there is still a lingering artificiality, ascribable to the rigidity of sports, of teams, of fatigue, and of dutied participation. I leave you with this as a final, provocative thought.

SHOE TREE!
On our return visit to the six places, we stood here longest, not because there was more to take in, but because we were searching out organic details of the scene. While I’m sure there were undiscovered empty bottles of Monster, etc. strewn around the gym’s bleachers, the hidden possibilities at the Shoe Tree are so much more intriguing. There are fallen shoes trailing off into the woods, there is a single solitary pair draped on a nearby bush, and of course the shoes themselves, up in the tree, each embody individual stories of emotion and humor and traditional obligation. The ARC shrugs off history with each new team that stamps around on its floors; the shoe tree embraces history, while subjecting it to the harshness of nature, as a sort of eternal embodiment of the struggle between present and past. We also kind of stayed around because we were trying to figure out how some people got their flip flops up there.

CAMPUS CENTER!
Similar to the ARC in its modernity, the Campus Center is even more acutely keeping up with the present moment. It is in constant motion, a celebration of consumption in all its forms. There are no long expanses of silence here. Somehow, this very fact makes it so difficult to describe; it is perhaps the most detailed of all the six places, yet its very nature is so transient. My brain almost refuses to accept it as anything besides a between-point, a place for rushing through unless you're waiting for a smoothie. It is only when we are in a place from which activity has dispersed, a place with a strong sense of detectable history like the Shoe Tree or Coffee House, that we feel an urge to ponder the place's significance. When a place is filled with bustling activity as the Center is, we are distracted by the activity and we come to ignore its containing environment. An empty place, meanwhile, can carry the memory of activity, and thus location garners meaning.

COFFEE HOUSE!
If all of these six places differ in terms of temporal roles, then this is the most ancient, and the most abandoned. It is nearly devoid of social activity and its original purpose has vanished with time, leaving behind only a quirky wooden relic. Standing in front of it feels like trespassing, as though it still belongs to the people who once used it as a place of activity and entertainment. It is strange to think that those people are still alive: their descendants have merely migrated to the Daily Grind across the street. Thus the building stays standing as a solitary reminder of the fact that the world turns.

JUSTIN BATES'S GRAVE.
The more I try to think of something to say about this site, the more I realize how similar it is to the Shoe Tree. I am ignorant of Justin Bates and his death at the Point, which inspires a sense of alienation. But, like at the Shoe Tree, students both past and present are reaching out through artistic means - shoes and shells - in a gesture that one may choose to either be a passive viewer of or an active participant in. To feel alienated is a choice. The other option is to join in the creation of the work of art - we may not know the specifics, but the death of a student and a friend is a universal to which we can all relate, and in relating mourn as well as celebrate his life. At Justin Bates' grave, as well as the Tree, boundaries of time and history are chaotically washed away in the constant hub and ebb of modern life, joining in.

ST. MARY'S HALL!
I doubt many of us have had any proper experience with this building, so I'm mostly working off what I've heard of it. The building is so reminiscent of the past, with its solemn atmosphere and its strikingly old-fashioned architecture; simultaneously, however, it houses performances, comedy, music - current outlets of human creativity. Since I've found that, in discussing these various places, I keep revisiting time and its role in the shaping of a place, it is nice to end here, where an archaic and stiff past mingles seamlessly with present life on campus. I can only imagine how quickly that intimidating and silent darkness that currently floats across the Hall stage is transformed into a more colorful and exciting air, as voices and music fly out to the audience. I'm sure I'll be returning soon.