I will tell you what this place is like.
In the Performing Arts center, there’s a crazy, boisterous place that is constantly full of noise and commotion. Some people call it a lounge, while other people call it a hallway. It’s a destination but also a passage way. The elevator constantly dings, carrying people to their destinations, and it hugs the wall like a fireplace and hearths the attention point of the room. Posters flap on their bulletin boards as hurried students scurry past. Classrooms ring with music and voices and all around is this chaotic harmony of art and people.
The most prominent types of people that abide here are music majors. Some move fast, some go slow. Some are colorful, some are dreary. The contrast is so great that it feels like a zoo. There is no label you can put on “music majors” that could define them all. Some people are rushing to their classes and marching with assertive intention, while others leisurely stroll with lazy freedom.
In the daytime, the sounds of commotion, chatter, and music engulf the space. The music is muffled through the walls and doors, but is still audible. When you stand in the middle of the floor, you can hear all of the beautiful instruments sounding at the same time, but from different spaces. It's chaotic, beautiful, and busy. When the music and the noises stop (if ever a moment arises), the comforting undertone of the cool air, moving slowly through the vents, audiates clearly.
There are three bulletin boards in the passage way. The posters on the board are like leaves, scattered and wild. Each one is unique in its own right and each tries to suffocate the others. They are like tiny performers, each competing for the spotlight. They all try to catch a brief glimpse from the busy eyes of the students who pass. They breathe in the wake of hurried students: the posters flip up with excitement, only to sigh back down as gravity pulls them back to their flat, cork home. This creation, the bulletin board, is every evolving and changing. The seasons of events it advertises come closer and closer, and once they pass, the leaves are shed, only to be replaced with younger, newer paper.
The bulletin board was created in Topeka Kansas in 1924 by a man named George Brooks. It was designed to have a board or table that could hold down things and keep papers and documents stuck to the surface but not permanently. Bulletin means a short official statement or broadcast summary of news, which makes sense. Had I not known the name beforehand, I might call it a cork wall or a display wall.
The ground is made out of smooth, fuzzy carpet. A carpet that used to be blue and red but now, after years of being trampled on by the hustling feet, has been transformed into a greyish purple color. The wooden doors that occupy the wall space are smooth and shiny; some are ajar, some are shut. They patiently await students to walk through them. The doors boast their glorious, copper handles, bragging them with a pompous air to the students who pass. They seductively try to tempt the music majors to walk through, fulling their purpose and intention in life.
The elegant sprinklers suction-cup the ceiling. They resemble classy silver wine cups and from their silver skin, they shine back the white light given to them by their bright neighbors. These neighbors, the lights, are like faces. Two, long eyes of fluorescent light are shielded by a round, scale-like plastic frame. One light flickers and twitches like a wet bug trying to flap dry its wings.
The forecast is always boisterous for this space. The craziest weather that comes through is during mid-day, when storms of people go in and out, some staying to linger and some going to class. The table in the middle of the space holds the focal point of the hallway. Scattered chairs sprawl around the hearth and people sit and talk there. As the hours get later, things change. People trickle out like raindrops, and slowly but surely, the storm settles for the night.
During nighttime, everything is very different and everything is very still. The chairs are still sprawled, the posters are still attentive, the doors are still vigil. The hallway is poised in stillness.
The faint sound of an instrument echoes from a practice room. There’s always music even in the night. It differs from the day music, the night music is far off and subtle. Some nights it is a trumpet, other nights it can be a cello or a piano, maybe even a vocalist. Each one playing or singing in the distance, trying to perfect their music. As the night gets later, the quiet remnants from the tornado of the day settle and relax and everything rests and prepares for the next day to come.
My name is James Innes. I am a music major at Western and I spend most of my time in the Performing Arts Center. I sing, I play the piano, and I play the flute. This room I have described is a space I go through almost every day. I rarely ever stop and mingle in it, but rather, I travel through it on my way to somewhere more eventful. This place has a lot of stuff going on, but I usually spend most of my time in a practice room, a classroom, or the choir room.
One strength this place has is that it is very efficient. Without this pivotal pathway in the PAC, students would have to take detours around the building to get to their desired locations. Because the Music side of the PAC is underground, it would be very effortful and difficult to get out of the building, walk around to another side and walk in, only to get to class that was 20 feet from your departure point. This place allows students a clever location to swiftly jump to and from underground classes.
Some of the pitfalls to this room is that, while it is very spacious, as far as hallways go, it is not grand enough to hold anything more than an immobile posse or small group. It does not really invite people to practice here or take out their instruments. People are expected to walk through, chat, or sit at their laptops with a cup of coffee. There is no actual music that gets played in this space, despite the fact it is the vibrant heart organ of the monstrous PAC.
Like a heart there are multiple chambers leading to multiple places. The blood flow of people sometimes rushes from one place, through and to the next, or it might come in and collect stagnant in the center by the warm table. This cute little room can become very crowded very easily, especially after a series of classes get out simultaneously. Regardless, it very effectively and easily aides students in passing through.
This hallway is not quite like normal hallways. While most standard hallways only have the purpose of guiding people to another location, this hallway has two purposes: to pass through and to lounge in. It’s fascinating how easily people adapt to this concept. I imagine it started out as an awkwardly large hallway and evolved into a lounging tunnel as it is today.
Overall, this place is very bustling and hustling. The constant sounds and melodies of instruments can be heard with gentle ease from any corner, or over any voice. There’s a sort of serenity here, one where the harmony of the people, and the flow of the commotion both seem to add and support the creative thoughts and the beautiful initiation of gorgeous sound and beautiful music.
The most prominent types of people that abide here are music majors. Some move fast, some go slow. Some are colorful, some are dreary. The contrast is so great that it feels like a zoo. There is no label you can put on “music majors” that could define them all. Some people are rushing to their classes and marching with assertive intention, while others leisurely stroll with lazy freedom.
In the daytime, the sounds of commotion, chatter, and music engulf the space. The music is muffled through the walls and doors, but is still audible. When you stand in the middle of the floor, you can hear all of the beautiful instruments sounding at the same time, but from different spaces. It's chaotic, beautiful, and busy. When the music and the noises stop (if ever a moment arises), the comforting undertone of the cool air, moving slowly through the vents, audiates clearly.
There are three bulletin boards in the passage way. The posters on the board are like leaves, scattered and wild. Each one is unique in its own right and each tries to suffocate the others. They are like tiny performers, each competing for the spotlight. They all try to catch a brief glimpse from the busy eyes of the students who pass. They breathe in the wake of hurried students: the posters flip up with excitement, only to sigh back down as gravity pulls them back to their flat, cork home. This creation, the bulletin board, is every evolving and changing. The seasons of events it advertises come closer and closer, and once they pass, the leaves are shed, only to be replaced with younger, newer paper.
The bulletin board was created in Topeka Kansas in 1924 by a man named George Brooks. It was designed to have a board or table that could hold down things and keep papers and documents stuck to the surface but not permanently. Bulletin means a short official statement or broadcast summary of news, which makes sense. Had I not known the name beforehand, I might call it a cork wall or a display wall.
The ground is made out of smooth, fuzzy carpet. A carpet that used to be blue and red but now, after years of being trampled on by the hustling feet, has been transformed into a greyish purple color. The wooden doors that occupy the wall space are smooth and shiny; some are ajar, some are shut. They patiently await students to walk through them. The doors boast their glorious, copper handles, bragging them with a pompous air to the students who pass. They seductively try to tempt the music majors to walk through, fulling their purpose and intention in life.
The elegant sprinklers suction-cup the ceiling. They resemble classy silver wine cups and from their silver skin, they shine back the white light given to them by their bright neighbors. These neighbors, the lights, are like faces. Two, long eyes of fluorescent light are shielded by a round, scale-like plastic frame. One light flickers and twitches like a wet bug trying to flap dry its wings.
The forecast is always boisterous for this space. The craziest weather that comes through is during mid-day, when storms of people go in and out, some staying to linger and some going to class. The table in the middle of the space holds the focal point of the hallway. Scattered chairs sprawl around the hearth and people sit and talk there. As the hours get later, things change. People trickle out like raindrops, and slowly but surely, the storm settles for the night.
During nighttime, everything is very different and everything is very still. The chairs are still sprawled, the posters are still attentive, the doors are still vigil. The hallway is poised in stillness.
The faint sound of an instrument echoes from a practice room. There’s always music even in the night. It differs from the day music, the night music is far off and subtle. Some nights it is a trumpet, other nights it can be a cello or a piano, maybe even a vocalist. Each one playing or singing in the distance, trying to perfect their music. As the night gets later, the quiet remnants from the tornado of the day settle and relax and everything rests and prepares for the next day to come.
My name is James Innes. I am a music major at Western and I spend most of my time in the Performing Arts Center. I sing, I play the piano, and I play the flute. This room I have described is a space I go through almost every day. I rarely ever stop and mingle in it, but rather, I travel through it on my way to somewhere more eventful. This place has a lot of stuff going on, but I usually spend most of my time in a practice room, a classroom, or the choir room.
One strength this place has is that it is very efficient. Without this pivotal pathway in the PAC, students would have to take detours around the building to get to their desired locations. Because the Music side of the PAC is underground, it would be very effortful and difficult to get out of the building, walk around to another side and walk in, only to get to class that was 20 feet from your departure point. This place allows students a clever location to swiftly jump to and from underground classes.
Some of the pitfalls to this room is that, while it is very spacious, as far as hallways go, it is not grand enough to hold anything more than an immobile posse or small group. It does not really invite people to practice here or take out their instruments. People are expected to walk through, chat, or sit at their laptops with a cup of coffee. There is no actual music that gets played in this space, despite the fact it is the vibrant heart organ of the monstrous PAC.
Like a heart there are multiple chambers leading to multiple places. The blood flow of people sometimes rushes from one place, through and to the next, or it might come in and collect stagnant in the center by the warm table. This cute little room can become very crowded very easily, especially after a series of classes get out simultaneously. Regardless, it very effectively and easily aides students in passing through.
This hallway is not quite like normal hallways. While most standard hallways only have the purpose of guiding people to another location, this hallway has two purposes: to pass through and to lounge in. It’s fascinating how easily people adapt to this concept. I imagine it started out as an awkwardly large hallway and evolved into a lounging tunnel as it is today.
Overall, this place is very bustling and hustling. The constant sounds and melodies of instruments can be heard with gentle ease from any corner, or over any voice. There’s a sort of serenity here, one where the harmony of the people, and the flow of the commotion both seem to add and support the creative thoughts and the beautiful initiation of gorgeous sound and beautiful music.