Hundertwasser Memorial Haus
When we were in immigration, that surreal and wonderful 4 month hiatus from either real life, be it Russian or American, we ended in Vienna during the week between Christmas and New Year. It was an absolutely magical week. Vienna, to us, freshly released from the cinder block world of communism, was in and of itself magical. We arrived, we got dropped off at the pension in the middle of the night, we fell asleep - still soviet. We woke up - free! We looked out the window to see "Kindermoden" children's fashions and "Mondo" supermarket. We went outside without hats or boots because it was 15 degrees Celsius in middle of December, and the streets were squeaky clean. We purchased baking yeast because we thought it was butter, and we bought a pastry to share between three people: it was the best thing we'd ever tried...
Everything glittered. It was Christmas season, and the city was decorated, but not only that, there was also crystal everywhere. Swarovski, I gather, it's Austria after all, but we didn't know that back then, all we knew is that the store windows were gorgeously sparkling, and the air was filled with fairydust rain.
That week, the metro was free, and all the museums were free as well, and open late. And since we had absolutely nothing to do but be and immigrate, we visited every single museum we could. The Belvidere, for example, left no lasting impression compared to the Hermitage, but the modern art museum did, because it had a life size figure of a naked sleeping woman floating in the middle of a room. I was impressed.
An even bigger impression was made by this architectural landmark and attached museum. It was called Hundertwasserhaus. It is a block of buildings occupied by apartments and offices, designed and built by an architecht named Hunderwasser, and it is characterized by a seemingly haphazard and physically impossible design. I think I recall reading about the house: there are no two adjacent surfaces that are parallel, and no two windows that are on the same level. The floors are uneven and slanted. The facades don't match in either color or style, and there are random hidden gardens, niches and fountains.
It was the awesomest thing I had ever seen in my life, because despite the madness, it was a totally functional, lived in, worked in space. Architectural genius, I'd say.
So, my new hospital? Is like that. Minus the genius. Completely mismatched pieces of previous buildings joined together by slanty ramps, punctuated by elevators that go up to random floors, and stairs cases that start and end with locked doors. The only beautiful gorgeous and new thing in the whole place is the maternity ward, and I got lost there for hours today; ended up walking around and around the nursery fishbowl. Separately from me, so did my attending. He sent me pathetic pages after a while: "Lost on maternity! HELP!"
Talk about searching for patterns in your life! Talk about useless symbolism! Lost in high heels in the maternity ward and walking around someone else's baby garden? My ailing brain can't handle this much depth.
Anyway!
"It has all these 'strange wards'" someone said. Strange, definitely strange.
Everything glittered. It was Christmas season, and the city was decorated, but not only that, there was also crystal everywhere. Swarovski, I gather, it's Austria after all, but we didn't know that back then, all we knew is that the store windows were gorgeously sparkling, and the air was filled with fairydust rain.
That week, the metro was free, and all the museums were free as well, and open late. And since we had absolutely nothing to do but be and immigrate, we visited every single museum we could. The Belvidere, for example, left no lasting impression compared to the Hermitage, but the modern art museum did, because it had a life size figure of a naked sleeping woman floating in the middle of a room. I was impressed.
An even bigger impression was made by this architectural landmark and attached museum. It was called Hundertwasserhaus. It is a block of buildings occupied by apartments and offices, designed and built by an architecht named Hunderwasser, and it is characterized by a seemingly haphazard and physically impossible design. I think I recall reading about the house: there are no two adjacent surfaces that are parallel, and no two windows that are on the same level. The floors are uneven and slanted. The facades don't match in either color or style, and there are random hidden gardens, niches and fountains.
It was the awesomest thing I had ever seen in my life, because despite the madness, it was a totally functional, lived in, worked in space. Architectural genius, I'd say.
So, my new hospital? Is like that. Minus the genius. Completely mismatched pieces of previous buildings joined together by slanty ramps, punctuated by elevators that go up to random floors, and stairs cases that start and end with locked doors. The only beautiful gorgeous and new thing in the whole place is the maternity ward, and I got lost there for hours today; ended up walking around and around the nursery fishbowl. Separately from me, so did my attending. He sent me pathetic pages after a while: "Lost on maternity! HELP!"
Talk about searching for patterns in your life! Talk about useless symbolism! Lost in high heels in the maternity ward and walking around someone else's baby garden? My ailing brain can't handle this much depth.
Anyway!
"It has all these 'strange wards'" someone said. Strange, definitely strange.
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