Essay #1 on City Questioning
The stop sign at an intersection
How much did it cost to produce this single sign?
How many stop signs are in a city?
Does the city know where every sign is placed?
What standards need to be met for traffic signs?
The sewer drainage cap in the street
How much iron was needed to make all of them in the city?
Who pays for replacement caps?
Is there a mould at the ready in case new caps need to be made?
Is there a set distance each cap needs to be from one another?
The traffic lights at a four way intersection
How much electricity is needed to power the lights 24/7?
How much does it cost to power the lights?
Is it environmentally sustainable to power the traffic lights at odd hours of the night?
Who owns the traffic lights?
As I traverse the city silently, I analyse what I see like a silly “I spy” game. The ordinary and mundane are hidden gems, detailing the landscape of our cities. I ask these questions as a way of engaging with the world around me as well as being an outlet for my wonder and curiosity of life. I stop for a while with the signs, the skinny trees that dot the sidewalk, the reflective windows of shops closed for the night, and my mind expands beyond.
Why is it important to have greenery in cities?
Is it some psychological trick we play on ourselves?
What purposes do green spaces have in city life? What do we gain and what do we lose?
Do we value certain city plants more than others? We kill and remove the weeds that grow through the sidewalk cracks yet protect the human shaped shrubbery of large glass buildings and thin thin trees that are domesticated in a place where they don’t belong.
Who maintains these plants?
I continue along my path through the heart of the city. It’s deep in the night at this point and there isn’t a soul in sight, just myself and my thoughts. I think to myself about the people who make up a city and if this hollow glass and steel shell could even be considered a city once everyone was done playing for the day. It’s terribly windy, my fingertips grow numb as I continue to traverse with all my gear. I stop again at an exit gate from a train stop. The rusty and worn metal of the turn gate has endured the elements for decades, unchanged from the wear and tear of storms and thousands upon thousands of hands. Those hands are the same as my own, freezing during a 22º night and crawling out towards the warm light.
Why are public indoor spaces necessary for a city?
What kind of public spaces are available for free?
What value do public libraries have? (Answer to that obviously is access to reading, shelter from the elements with heating/air conditioning, free computer usage, entertainment, public restrooms, space to study, learning opportunities for public schools, quiet place to rest, comfortable seating).
Are churches considered a public space? How connected is organised religion to city workings?
Could train stations be considered a public space? If transportation is free for everyone, how could that improve homelessness in cities?
There are lights around but there’s no warmth, the traffic lights blink infinitely in their colourful cycle. The street lights illuminate the cold road. I think about traffic structure as I move. I think about the organisation and planning that went into every decision. I think about the difficulty to change the structure that’s currently in place. At this point I find myself at a train station.
What goes into planning public transportation?
What’s the passenger capacity of a standard city train such as the city of Boston’s Green Line?
How does funding affect the betterment of these systems?
Where does the money come from?
How many moving parts are involved with the Massachusetts Department of Transportation? Public works, the fleet of trucks to plough snow, moving equipment around, who keeps track of it all?
The doors to the station are closed. Public transportation isn’t a 24/7 service afterall, unlike the traffic lights that illuminate the night. An hour and a half later I make it back to my apartment. The distance shortens in my mind, I’m lost in my head and don’t notice how close I am home. I notice how Boston is such a small city. The streets and districts blend into one another. It’s romantic how the roads are endless, connecting place to place, people to people, asking nothing in return. As I drift off to sleep, I see the city in my dreams. The roads bleed together, the lights dot the darkness, and I long to be in the wonder once more.
