Falling in Love with Architecture

My recent postings on the Biltmore Estate, and an Internet conversation on children's building blocks, got me to thinking about my own set of childhood building blocks.

When I was about seven, I bought a very colorful set of wooden building blocks that came from Japan. That was back in the days before Japan had geared up to become an industrial and technological giant, and when most of their exports were to be found in dime stores. I did in fact purchase the building blocks with my own savings at a dime store.

For me, the deciding factor in making the purchase was that the set had windows through which one could actually see. The frames were made of wood, and the glass was a ruby red acetate that backed onto orange paper panes. I thought the effect was stunning, and I still do.

It didn't hurt that the set included turned wooden columns, painted a shiny red suited for Pompeii or the Forbidden City.

Very soon one set wasn't enough, and I supplemented the original blocks with additional sets. And suddenly, like George Washington Vanderbilt, I imagined great buildings.

And now I want to make an observation about the value of such simple "building blocks" in today's digital world.

When I see young children and even toddlers consumed by digital games and digital imagery, I really believe that they're being shortchanged by not being encouraged to create with their own hands, and in three dimensions.

There is an interesting challenge and benefit in playing with simpler toys, which is that more imagination is then required. Fantasizing with simple 3-dimensional materials is a valuable process that engages multiple senses while also often teaching the rewards of delayed gratification. That in turn teaches us to be aware of the here and now, where we often miss beauty, inspiration and solutions.

Mark D. Ruffner   |   bootsandpaws.co.uk

Where do small flights of fancy end up?

You can also read my posting
on Anchor Building Blocks, here.

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