We agreed that a playground building in a park must give itself to the park and its natural characteristics. A building in the familiar sense would assert itself; an interruption of the park. A window, apparent, would give away needs of a building. This is the reason why light courts are introduced, placed and dimensioned to assure full light to the interior yet not presenting a window to be broken on the outside. Play must be free and uninhibited, spaces to be discovered with shapes not imitative of nature yet unrestrained in their making.
There is nothing here that does not say park. The design was brought forth by the requirements of a very unusual program and a sloping site, extending from a very high retaining wall to covered railroad tracks. The building was to be embedded in the slope at the rear side covered with grass and lighted through light wells.
I didn’t speak in terms of architecture. He did not speak in terms of sculpture. Both of us felt the building as a contour, not one contour but an interplay of contours so folding and so harboring as to make, by such a desire, no claim to architecture, no claim to sculpture.