If you can get a handle on it, it's probably a door.
I'm wary about doors.
And doorways.
Doors are anticipated architectural technologies. They grant access, they permit exits. What's critical to note about doors is that they maintain the logic of the architectural frame. Doors are systemic agents granting mobility within familiar fields. A building does not lose its integrity with doors. As such, like the solutions we often offer to our most persistent civilizational challenges, doors allow us to shuffle within the already-known, to move the pieces around in the name of innovation, while maintaining the design.
Doors 'behave'.
You know what doesn't 'behave'? Cracks (I prefer to 'represent' cracks in backslashes, like so - \cracks\ - as if to caution the reader about making an idol out of them, as if to warn the theorist to approach 'them' with reverence, as if to indicate that 'they' don't follow syntactical and grammatical rules that govern sentences and expression). Architects don't design \cracks\, don't anticipate \cracks\. \cracks\ are not part of the furniture; they are the excessiveness of the frame. Design's ecstasy. They are neither external to the frame nor internal. They are not 'solutions', not guarantees, not final answers. But something about 'them' marks deterritorializing tensions, and obliquely trace out new realities.
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