My Game of two Halves Ch. 01

My Game of Two halves

My career has been a game of two halves. You know that old rugby cliché in which the game in the first half goes one way then in the second half goes the other. Well my career has done that. I am an architect and a reasonably well known one at that with a minor international reputation. Well, good enough to have a monograph published on my work. When I sit here leafing through the monograph, it becomes pretty apparent to me this could have been about two different Architects. Now, why is that?

Actually I know the reason and it is Women.

What do women have to do with a man's architectural expression? Well I think of that famous American Architect Ed Durrell Stone. I read somewhere that in the thirties he was the king of austere modernism. He meets a rather attractive South American Lady on a plane and suddenly in the 1950's he is the king of glitz. Well, in my case there are two women involved.

In my first half I was designing sculptures for aliens and in my second half designing for real people. When I read the critiques of my work I see that stuck up elitist posers love my earlier work and decry the selling out and debasement of a highly intellectual, philosophical questioning of the meaning of architecture. And in the second half I find that the people who actually benefit from these second half edifices genuinely like them. But it's not really all about the architecture.

Just as an author might write into his novels his life story in fragments, his private sorrows and disappointments as well as his joy and satisfaction, all hidden there in a text that otherwise seems to describe another world, I guess the Architect does the same. His architecture becomes monuments to his life path and education; the physical manifestation of his private world view.

The involvement of Women in all this will need some explaining and the following will never be found in any academic paper. Academics will be too far up their own fundamental orifices to see the daylight that illuminates the real behavior and motivation of the creator they arrogantly assume to commentate on.

Beyond his architecture, women can drive the architect into the unthinkable. I know through my arrogance and my naivety, I believed my architecture would earn me an immortal place on this planet; but in my blind pursuit of the perfect edifice my women not only infected my architecture but drove me to the brink of the abyss. This is my story.

In the beginning it began when I commenced fucking Georgia.

Now Georgia was the exceptionally beautiful and pampered only daughter of extremely wealthy (At least by New Zealand standards) parents, James and Felicity. She lived in a 22^nd floor apartment in the central city provided by her parents with two flat mates. She had a Porsche, for god's sake, parked in the basement. (Also provided by her parents) She rarely drove it because everything she normally needed was in the central city and otherwise she'd probably be too pissed or hungover to drive it. If she wanted to go to the beach she could just as easily go to Tahiti, Hawaii, Cancun or the Greek Islands, if you get my drift.

Don't get me wrong this girl was no lay about sloth. This lady was driven with energy to burn. She already had a Masters in Journalism and was finishing an Interior Architecture degree when I met her. She loved Architecture and her aspiration was to travel to the world's most extravagant places and introduce these wonders to the great unwashed with her written word.

Her other penchant was being a socialite. Being seen and published at all the cool events in all the cool places with only the coolest of people. She modelled, she appeared on ads, and she was in 'Dancing with the Stars'. She had her own manager for all this, to ensure she also got paid for being famous for being famous.

So in my arrogant and I have to say it, naïve youth, fucking Georgia was somewhat akin to being publically knighted. And to top it, I went on and married her. Unfortunately when I began fucking her I was also cuckolding her fiancé of five years, Mike Davidson, a 193 cm, army reservist and New Zealand's decathlon champion three years in a row. The fallout from this would eventually come back and darkly alter our lives in a way we could never have predicted.

Now the reason Georgia was so beautiful is that she had work done, a lot of work. Breast augmentation, nose job, laser removal of any hair below her earlobe, you name it, and if it could make her more beautiful she did it. I was sucked totally in; I suppose Georgia herself was the ultimate sculpture for living in. It really did not cross my mind that if we had children there would be a good chance that they would turn out like her parents which was actually an awful thought when I finally got to think about it.

Now, how come the darling of the women's mags was interested in me? Especially since New Zealand decathlon champion and Olympic silver medalist was my competition.

At this time I was the precocious young up and coming architect; the enfant terrible. I was the one that made older architects tut-tut but it got me into the colour supplement in the Sunday newspapers. I had clients that did not mind the depredations of living in one of my "sculptures for living in" as long as it got their pictures in the Sunday supplements as well. My architectural models appeared in art galleries, along with audio visual computer generated atmospherics complete with esoteric electronic ambient sounds that even if it was impossible to interpret them as any conceivable real architecture was great to experience with the help of some suitable smoking weed.

I met Georgia while giving a lecture to the students in her final year class. She was so impressed with my audio visual computer driven atmospherics that she rang me up a few days later under the pretext of interviewing me for an article she was writing. Actually she had been schmoozing her dad to get him to commission me to design a radical beach house for him. That would be a match made in heaven, the ultimate portfolio house for me and a "sculpture for living in" for the designer's gal to be televised in.

Unfortunately the first interview at her apartment rapidly turned into a fuck fest. As she answered her door she kissed my cheek. The touch and the whiff of perfume had an immediate involuntary anatomical reaction. This required me to hide my embarrassment by entering the room in an ungainly way so that it would not appear too obvious. I was coming for an interview after all.

Georgia sat me down and asked me if I would like a glass of wine. In fact I think it was the only question she asked of me all night. The interview kind of ended there.

Bringing the wine, she sat down next to me. Very close, in fact very, very close. Her hand on my knee, we simply did not talk, with her other hand she drew my head to hers and whispered, "Let the kissing begin". From then on it was all sound effects and conversation had to wait.

Now Georgia was a wild girl, with all orifices open for business, but she was strictly a one guy at a time gal. So it was also unfortunate when Mike, her fiancé walked in on us unannounced and un-expectantly. At the time both her flat mates were out. He had his own key and just walked in to find both of us naked, in missionary position on the lounge floor with Georgia's legs clasping me tightly ensuring that I unloaded deep into what had previously been the preserve of Mike.

Mike was naturally distraught and left immediately without confronting either of us. In my defense I had not known the existence of Mike (I hadn't read the Women's mags). However to my shame I was too arrogant to feel any remorse about the event.

Despite our sex on that first night not being the most creative, I had already identified, in those preceding minutes that Georgia was to be my potential trophy wife and muse.

Our intimate life became a match made in heaven.

Georgia had led the seduction on that night. Was it love at first sight? I don't know, certainly, there was lust at first sight. My cock told me Georgia was flawless. She had been dressed for the occasion, no bra, commando, lingerie and the lightest of a silk flowing frock. In retrospect the night was premeditated, Georgia in control and I became her willing servant.

I had always been driven and in that sense we were a match. Both of us embarked on a frenetic pairing. Her interest in architecture was deep. She wrote and publicized my work. She could get me the most "off the wall clients" clients. She gave me wings and my architecture grew even more bizarre to the point it began to get international attention. Work was regarded futuristic and was sought after by people with an artistic bent, successful actors, authors, jewelry designers, musicians, poets and their acolytes.

With the completion of her father's beach house socially mobile people with money, vineyards and olive groves felt they needed one to express their success in the contemporary world.

Marriage to Georgia was naturally an expensive social event orchestrated by Georgia and her Mother Felicity with exclusive rights to a select magazine and television company. It was appropriately held at the beach house with a backdrop of a silica white beach and sparkling blue water; all absolutely tastefully done and worthy of the select local celebrities invited for the occasion.

The social whirl continued in our married life. We seemed so compatible. We loved conversing with one another and with anyone in fact. We could talk about anything except in retrospect the stuff that really matters between lovers. We were full of our work, planning the next engagement, the next holiday or social event. When we were not conversing we were going to the gym, working, travelling and collecting awards and giving interviews. We ate little at home, we went to restaurants. Home was for sleeping and sex, glorious, wild animated sex.

Through all this Georgia's father became the major patron of my architecture to the exclusion of others. My practice was small but included two other architects with some technical support. The other architects benefited as well from the work I brought in from Georgia's father although they did obtain their own commissions.

There came the day when Georgia's father approached us to design his dream. It would be the tallest high rise in Auckland and possibly the most radical building of its type. It would bring the practice firmly into the world stage. Small as we were, we sought an appropriate practice to bolster our resources as well as recruiting our own staff. We put in a new expensive computer system capable of the power needed for the complex design.

When the initial interactive virtual reality concept design presentations were made at a public event each journalist was given a headset to experience the design personally. We were presented with the bizarre scene of a room full of journalists silently contorting themselves interacting to whatever they were making of the experience.

The scheme was wildly controversial. Opinion was divided; so many people loathed it but the lovers had the power and its realization inched forward. Georgia was the poster girl for its publicity; generating excitement globally for the high end apartments that would be sold off in the upper stories.

Then disaster struck.

James business activities were stretched to the point that a major collapse in one of his overseas investments result in a loss of confidence in his activities and an escalating withdrawal of support turned into a rout. In short his business collapsed, it was all a house of cards. When the realization of this hit James he had a massive heart attack. It all happened so fast. Some bitter investors on discovering their losses and finding James had died turned on James wife. She was an innocent and the first communication from them came before she was formally informed of her husband's death; they were vicious. Felicity had woken to a beautiful day but by mid-afternoon she had no husband, no house, no possessions and no prospects and people she did not know baying for her blood.

Neither Georgia nor I were aware of any of this and Georgia was to discover what was happening in the most brutal fashion. Georgia drove up to her parent's mansion, she drove around the garage to the carport where she parked her Porsche and as she pulled in there, swinging in front of her was her mother. In despair she had hung herself on the only beam she could reach in Georgia's carport.

I only heard later with a call from the police. Georgia was hysterical and needed support. I reached the station and she was inconsolable. I could only deduce that her Mother had committed suicide. Neither of us knew why. At that stage she had no idea of her father's death and had been trying to ring him. Georgia was an only girl, and she had no other real family. We contacted who we thought were family friends and found out the bones of what happened but no empathy.

I reached out to my own parents but they had never really warmed to Georgia and she in turn was not comfortable with them. The funeral for both was held together. I had to pay, so it could not be lavish. I was surprised at how few turned up. It seemed the financial crash had caused too much embarrassment. In fact the few that came were from Palmerston North where the family had moved from, eight years previously when his business took off.

Essentially Georgia's entire world had collapsed. Everything, her social standing, her self-esteem her wealth was reduced to near zero. Even her Porsche was not her own. She was now totally reliant on me and my business was in peril.

I now found myself in conflict with my practice partners. We had over committed ourselves and now began a scramble for survival. Fortunately the larger practice we had teamed with had a healthy workload and saw the value of our design team. An arrangement was made and we were fundamentally absorbed into their organization.

At the same time Georgia had come to hate Auckland. She had discovered the superficiality of some of her so called Auckland friends, now that her life style was heavily curtailed. Georgia was traumatized, in deep depression and under medical treatment. I do not believe that Georgia at this time ever received adequate psychological treatment or advice. She could no longer face being in public, suffering anxiety when going outside.

Georgia still had old friends back in Palmerston North. She decided these were her real friends and begged that we relocate. I was brought up in Auckland and the thought of provincial living was not attractive but I had myself suffered a loss of grace. I had my own business trauma and found it difficult to hold my head up with my colleagues. Sculptures for living in now sounded so trite and superficial so maybe disappearing into the provinces was not a bad idea.

It so happened that the practice had obtained a large amount of work in the University sector with a large project commencing construction shortly at a university local to Palmerston. There was a need for a site architect. Although this would be a step down for me there was the opportunity to open a local office as the firm did not have a branch there.

This cheered Georgia to the point that I got the first loving hug since the trauma had begun. In all this time there had been no intimacy and no sex. Of course I put my arm around her, let her cry into my shoulder but it all seemed to be about pity and comfort. Our conversation seemed to have dried up as well, but planning the move to Palmerston served to brighten our somber lives and gave us plenty to discuss.

The difference in property values enabled us to buy a reasonably luxurious but small house on a large lifestyle block just out of Palmerston. My plan was to subdivide the land and build a new house for ourselves and rent out the old. In starting a new office I had to somehow obtain work. As a design architect I was not content with mundane work and as the new boy in town, I lacked a network. A big town architect would also be seen as a threat by the other architects in town who well knew my reputation. I don't think they ever thought I would survive there and they certainly were not going to help me.

I was also suffering the architectural equivalent of writers block. What I had been designing may have been a little too radical to attract many local clients; I needed to demonstrate that I could deliver a variety of styles of building or house types. I schmoozed at a local art gallery, who through the art community was reasonably aware of my work. They were delighted that I would put together a retrospective exhibition of my work. I was able to provide one of my audio visual computer generated atmospherics completed with esoteric electronic ambient sounds, some models, and even though the building was never built a virtual reality experience of James's dream building. Subtly among this I added some interactive 3ds of a series of houses and one notional art gallery that might be attractive to clients in and around Palmerston. There was a farm house, a country lifestyle house a fully low energy sustainable house, you get the picture.

Things were looking up and Georgia was getting excited about all this. Her move to Palmerston had done her wonders; Country living close to a small city was therapeutic to her. Her depression seemed to lift and she was able to socialize. She had linked up with a couple of old school friends with whom she was spending time. One of them put her on to a job in a local army camp. It was civilian PA to a colonel there. She had applied for it, got it and suddenly our lives seemed to be settling. I had an income, we had a house on a beautiful country property, Georgia had a job and friends and I had an exhibition coming up. When Georgia began talking about what a terrific place to bring up children the idea of family began to enter our conversation.

I guess this all sounds sweetness and light but for me it wasn't. I really had no friends of my own. The gallery people were friendly but I would not even call them acquaintances. I had not seen this side of Georgia before. I suddenly realized what little I knew about Georgia. I didn't even know she came from Palmerston North before the funeral. Our lifestyle in Auckland had been fast paced and hectic, here it was laid back. Georgia just seemed to switch off her Auckland groove and click into Palmy mode. After all, it was her comfort zone; it was where she was brought up. Me, I was bored. Even though Georgia was so much happier, there was still no intimacy between us. It seemed that in Auckland sex was episodes driven by lust, between events, done in intensity and pace. We did not seem to know how to make love in a rural paradise.

When Georgia started work we had the family discussion. We would wait a little while and once she a settled in to the job we would try for a baby. Simply talking about it did seem to raise the libido. Our first return to sex seemed like a hopeless first time attempt by teenagers. Made worst by discovering we had no condoms. Georgia agreed that she would temporarily go on the pill and thus started some regular, although not overly exciting sex.

Meanwhile Georgia seemed to be enjoying her job. She talked a lot about her boss the colonel. Apparently he had a lifestyle section on which he intended to build as house, sustainable and off the grid. When we had the grand opening at the gallery we invited him along. I was surprised when he turned up with his wife. Georgia never mentioned he was married and although it was logical at his age I had not thought about it. They also had two children.

The Colonels name was Robert and has wife Mary. They had two very young children Annie, 5 and Elsie, 3. Mary was a commissioned officer in the army as well with the rank of Major so Major Mary we got to call her. When they arrived at the exhibition they had arrived from some recruiting function so were both dressed in their camouflaged battle dress and berets. I was instantly taken with both of them. In uniform they were a handsome and tall couple as well as each having a warm and engaging personality. At Georgia's direction they both zeroed in on the interactive sustainable house dragging me along. They were both fascinated with the house and essentially I was engaged on the spot. Mary told me her father had been an architect and so she had a real interest. Robert himself was one of those do-it-yourself, self-reliant types with an interest in hands on technical matters. Both were committed environmentalists. Without seeing it I was already imagining their property on some bush clad slope.