Observations
There was a time when I experienced architecture without
thinking about it. Sometimes I can almost feel a particular
door handle in my hand, a piece of metal shaped like the
back of a spoon. I used to take hold of it when I went into
my aunt's garden. That door handle still seems to me like a
special sign of entry into a world of different moods and
smells. I remember the sound of the gravel under my feet,
the soft gleam of the waxed oak staircase, I can hear the
heavy front door closing behind me as I walk along the dark
corridor and enter the kitchen, the only really brightly lit
room in the house.
-Peter Zumthor