"For the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and all we shall be changed"  Corinthians 15:52

Architecture is powerful at the gut level. One of the functions of great art and architecture is to trigger our instinct, and remind us of something else. It could be a place or a feeling or a vague memory. A great symphony carries us on a journey through our own emotions without calling attention to itself.  The raw gut feeling is the greatest aspect of architectural design; the less one knows of the intellectual trappings behind it, the better. All the tools of architecture – structure, light, shadow, color, texture, and so forth – are simply the means to the end of how humans feel in the space.  Typical architecture merges function and form, but the greatest architecture unites function and emotion in an organic whole.

Therefore, raw instinct and emotional reaction should be significant factors in the designing of the WTC Memorial site.  Winning designer Libeskind is erecting an intellectual smokescreen when he states the slurry wall is important because it withstood the attack; it symbolizes the strength of democracy, and must be preserved and viewed.  The important question is, what would one feel when viewing the wall? The tower height of 1776 (the year of our Declaration of Independence) is clever, but the precise height has nothing to do with the soaring, uplifting sense one gets. The “wedge of light” is a masterful idea, but not because of the precise times between which the sun illuminates it.  It just feels right.

Based on the current renderings of the design on the NY Times website, I believe the sunken “bathtub” would be a failure. Arguments that the bathtub area is sacred ground and “off limits” do not necessarily encourage the best forward thinking design. A sunken, walled-in pit reminds us of many things, and all are undesirable: a meteor crater, an abandoned swimming pool or cellar, an open grave, a stadium where prisoners are thrown to the lions, or a bullfight arena. It reminds us of a place where some spectacle is held for viewing at a safe distance. Perhaps the designers want us to go down and feel the horror the victims experienced, and emerge changed by it. Okay, if they articulate what they want us to feel, then we can debate it openly.

I’m not so sure that underscoring horror and physical destruction serves us best. A memorial does not have to portray the horrors inflicted on the deceased. As a musician I was deeply moved in the cemetery in Vienna where great composers lie in rest. Though many had died painful or lonely deaths, the cemetery was not designed to inflict their pain on us. The place uplifts the spirit and helps us remember the good. A memorial place is not only for the dead, but for the living. And those dead would want us to live on.

For the WTC memorial site, we must decide whether we want a place where a queue of tourists will ogle a monument to the terrorists’ fire and brimstone, or a place with a more peaceful and positive feel where we and future generations can live and cherish the good in our lost ones. We must not rush into a design that temporarily satisfies our urge do something for the victims now (because we should), if it ignores how we will actually feel in the place in years to come. If the place helps us feel what we need and want to feel deep in the gut, we will return there again and again and be uplifted.

March 6, 2003
New York City

[Mr. Grunberg is a conductor, violinist, and sql programmer. He can be reached here.]