Some ideas appear so straightforward that we simply take them for granted and rarely, if ever, question them. The existence of - and difference between - here and there, and the related terms of now and then, are just a few of those concepts that most of us likely never think about in depth.

You're sitting at your desk on a rainy Tuesday morning when all of a sudden everything goes black. The voice of your roommate just starting to ask you if you want a cup of coffee starts to fade away as you're sucked into a dark void. A numbness starts to creep up your legs, starting at your toes and slowly making its way upwards. As it approaches your torso you think "this is it, it's really happening". A burst of memories shoot into your head as you reflect on the life you've had; "It's been nice," you think to yourself, "I've had a good life, I'm content with the things I’ve done and who I was as a person."

Hello world, we are approaching March of 2022, and looking over the Dutch horizon, wildflowers are blooming, the wind is gusting through these frail tree branches. Pondering on these thoughts, what were you doing last December? Where were you in February 2021? Do you remember the last time you made a goal?  As we roll into the year of 2022, with most having aged two whole COVID years, a lot of people dread the question - So… what is your new year resolution?

Urban cinematic realism is a phenomenon that we share globally. This is because all cities, in different ways, have experienced the same processes of expansion and sprawling, offering a chance for filmmakers around the world to portray the romantic, traumatic and dramatic conditions of the urban periphery.

Starting with the modernist movement, the idea of architectural identity as seen in the local values of vernacularity went into processes of deconstruction, and turning into international style. This transition created a range of buildings that would be adaptable within numerous urban contexts in terms of their independent position within that same urban surrounding. Not always can these buildings adapt to the way the contextual interaction develops though – the context itself might either accept the new-built intruder or reject it over time. 

Perhaps you already know this part of the country, perhaps you don't; The South of Limburg. In 2016 rewarded with the best touristic destination in the world by the World Travel & Tourism Council. Also, the region which earned about 80% of the GNP in parts of the 20th century. It happens to be the place I grew up in and where I walked, cycled and enjoyed myself many times. So with today's theme "where?", I decided to take you to this unique place.

As we were invited to write for Bnieuws, at the TU Delft on the topic of Where, as a collective we found ourselves speculating on the situational qualities of questions of where. Where provides the possibility to question a specific site or geography whether physical or metaphysical, both important for architecture and its makers. Where, unlike the questions of who and what, begin to situate us on the continuum of history and the future. It allows us to self-position ourselves and ask where we stand as an individual and as an industry, and clear the fields of vision that are intentionally blocked out. Where, engages us in a critical self-positioning, asking where do we stand in current times as the world is in constant shift, with the pandemic, excessive environmental damage, and political conflicts. Below you will read some takes that depart from the questions of Where is.. and speculate the essential questions of CARE, COLLECTIVE, and BEAUTY.

We are currently living, working, eating, sleeping, yawning, crying in an enclosed space. Every single built space we have is operated or inhabited by humans. Heck, you are probably reading this comfortably inside a well-lit building. Thinking further into this, before the brick and mortar phase of this very space you’re sitting in, through the expertise of architects and engineers, we can rely on computer renderings and the scale figures plotted in the scene to be convinced that “yes, this space looks comfortable and meaningful to future users.” This article is here to contribute some awareness to the underlying bias we have for the polished world of architecture rendering. It is impossible to represent architecture without representing the human, yet, in present day, adding people into an architecture render is the last thing on an architect’s task list. 

Ron Barten’s photographs are part of his personal research for the Interiors Building Cities graduation studio at TU Delft.  They portray the streetscape of Rotterdam with a careful eye, looking at how the city indirectly converses with its citizens, either through text, signs, graffiti, labels, and symbols. Such a diversity of languages often occurs in the space of two metres, on the buildings’ plinth. Here, the formal language of the landlord intersects with the informal response of who dwells in the city. A discussion that changes over time; a confrontation, questioning to whom the street really belongs.