
An architect pal on the West Coast beats back the demands of megalomaniac clients with three words: “Proportion, proportion, proportion.” If a movie star or real estate baron wants to build a towering Gothic mansion in the middle of a street dotted with modern ranches, my friend makes it clear the desired edifice will be terribly out of proportion and brand the owner as tasteless. Wouldn’t it be better, he prods, to be in proportion? To represent good sense and good taste?
Why, I wonder, does this mantra work for my friend in the way-out-west, but can’t find traction here in Raleigh? Around the corner from me, some moneyed soul has thrown up what looks like a giant flophouse, a sprawling inn-like thing serving just one family. I thought the surrounding homes were over-sized until this behemoth arrived.
I’m curious about what goes on inside the expanses of the house, but not nearly so much as I am what goes on inside the owner’s head. Does he think the neighbors admire his 40-room fantasia? Does he even recognize he has neighbors? Does he always go over-sized? For example, does he trod around in size 20 clown shoes? Has he ever considered the timeless elegance of proportion? Is there any way to stop the next flophouse baron?
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