Christopher alexander - A pattern language

We imagine a carefully developed childrens’ bicycle path, within the larger network of bike paths. The path goes past and through interesting parts of the city; and it is relatively safe. It is part of the overall system and therefore used by everyone. It is not a special children’s “ride”—which would immediately be shunned by the adventurous young—but it does have a special name, and perhaps it is specially colored.

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The path is always a bike path; it never runs beside cars. Where it crosses traffic there are lights or bridges. There are many homes and shops along the path—adults are nearby, especially the old enjoy spending an hour a day sitting along this path, themselves riding along the loop, watching the kids out of the corner of one eye.

And most important, the great beauty of this path is that it passes along and even through those functions and parts of a town which are normally out of reach: the place where newspapers are printed, the place where milk arrives from the countryside and is bottled, the pier, the garage where people make doors and windows, the alley behind restaurant row, the cemetery.

Therefore:

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SUMMARY OF THE LANGUAGE

235. SOFT INSIDE WALLS

236. WINDOWS WHICH OPEN WIDE

237. SOLID DOORS WITH GLASS

238. FILTERED LIGHT

239. SMALL PANES

240. HALF-INCH TRIM

241. SEAT SPOTS

242 . FRONT DOOR BENCH

243. SITTING WALL

244. CANVAS ROOFS

245. RAISED FLOWERS

246. CLIMBING PLANTS

247. PAVING WITH CRACKS BETWEEN THE STONES

248. SOFT TILE AND BRICK

249. ORNAMENT

250. WARM COLORS

251 . DIFFERENT CHAIRS

252 . POOLS OF LIGHT

253. THINGS FROM YOUR LIFE

XXXIV

biles, with lights and bridges at the crossings, with homes and shops along it, so that there are always many eyes on the path. Let this path go through every neighborhood, so that children can get onto it without crossing a main road. And run the path all through the city, down pedestrian streets, through workshops, assembly plants, warehouses, interchanges, print houses, bakeries, all the interesting “invisible” life of a town—so that the children can roam freely on their bikes and trikes.

Line the children’s path with windows, especially from rooms that are in frequent use, so that the eyes upon the street make it safe for the children—street windows (164); make it touch the children’s places all along the path—connected play (68), ADVENTURE PLAYGROUND (73), SHOPFRONT SCHOOLS (85), children’s home (86), but also make it touch other phases of the life cycle—old people everywhere (40), work community (41), UNIVERSITY AS A MARKETPLACE (43), GRAVE SITES (70), LOCAL SPORTS (72), ANIMALS (74), TEENAGE SOCIETY

(84). . . .

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in the communities and neighborhoods provide pub lie open land where people can relax >rub shoulders and renew themselves;

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58 CARNIVAL

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. . . once in a while, in a subculture which is particularly open to it, a promenade may break into a wilder rhythm— promenade(31), night i.ife(33)—and perhaps every promenade may have a touch of this.

Under normal circumstances, in today’s world the entertainments which are available are either healthy and harmless—going to the movies, watching TV, cycling, playing tennis, taking helicopter rides, going for walks, watching football—or downright sick and socially destructive—shooting heroin, driving recklessly, group violence.

But man has a great need for mad, subconscious processes to come into play, without unleashing them to such an extent that they become socially destructive. There is, in short, a need for socially sanctioned activities which are the social, outward equivalents of dreaming.

In primitive societies this kind of process was provided by the rites, witch doctors, shamans. In Western civilization during the last three or four hundred years, the closest available source of this outward acknowledgment of underground life has been the circus, fairs, and carnivals. In the middle ages, the market place itself had a good deal of this kind of atmosphere.

Today, on the whole, this kind of experience is gone. The circuses and the carnivals are drying up. But the need persists. In the Bay Area, the annual Renaissance Fair goes a little way to meet the need—but it is much too bland. We imagine something more along the following lines: street theater, clowns, mad games in the streets and squares and houses; during certain weeks, people may live in the carnival; simple food and shelter are free; day and night people mixing; actors who mingle with the crowd and involve you, willy nilly, in processes whose end cannot be

TOWNS

foreseen; fighting—two men with bags on a slippery log, in front of hundreds; Fellini—clowns, death, crazy people, brought into mesh.

Remember the hunchbacked dwarf in Ship of Fools , the only reasonable person on the ship, who says “Everyone has a problem; but I have the good fortune to wear mine on my back, where everyone can see it.”

Therefore:

Set aside some part of the town as a carnival—mad sideshows, tournaments, acts, displays, competitions, dancing, music, street theater, clowns, transvestites, freak events, which allow people to reveal their madness; weave a wide pedestrian street through this area; run booths along the street, narrow alleys; at one end an outdoor theater; perhaps connect the theater stage directly to the carnival street, so the two spill into and feed one another.

Dancing in the street, food stands, an outdoor room or two, a square where the theater is, and tents and canvas will all help to make it even livelier— small public squares (6 i ), dancing in THE STREET(63), PUBLIC OUTDOOR ROOM(69), FOOD STANDS(93), PEDESTRIAN STREET(lOO), CANVAS ROOFS (244.). . . .