For a surprisingly satisfying study in the dynamics of bridge tension and release, a great favorite of Rose’s is the original Tacoma Narrows Bridge in Washington state, an infamous engineering faux pas. Built in 1940, the bridge quickly earned the nickname Galloping Gertie for its nauseating, roller-coaster like undulations; they were such that drivers reported cars ahead of them temporarily disappearing from view on the drive across (Gertie’s resonance was transverse, meaning she buckled length-wise).

Less than six months after opening, Gertie burst free, or collapsed, depending on which way you look at it. Extremely lightweight, a relatively gentle wind of 40 mph left her swinging from side to side like a hammock in a hurricane. When her two sides twisted in opposite directions, the cables snapped. Fortunately, the only fatality was a dog named Tubby. (The entire incident was captured on film; it comes up easily with a Google search.) “There is something very poetic about this image of the bridge shaking free and the spirit very much released,” reflects Rose. Indeed, it is a most pleasant catastrophe to observe. It resolves the conflict inherent in any great architectural feat: the precarious submission of nature to man.

When the Golden Gate opened, the ode-obsessed Strauss boasted, “Here nature, free since time began / Yields to the restless moods of man.” Nature proved rather bad at yielding—the Golden Gate must be painted its trademark shade of International Orange almost continuously to stave off rust.

“Bridges are harmonious.” Rose offers. “They come from a desire to create something that adds to society. But they always seem to be a crazy, romantic dream. They’re always testing the latest technology in the universe. There is the myth of the devil’s bridge: A bridge is being built and either the technological challenge is too great or the bridge cannot be finished in time. The builder is distraught. The devil says, ‘I can make it happen if you give me the first soul that crosses.’ Generally, the builder agrees, the bridge goes up, and the builder sends a cat or a goat to cross first, tricking the devil—there is this idea that building a bridge crosses nature, and therefore demands a human sacrifice.”

Crossings
“If you’re paying attention, you are changed by your passage over the bridge,” says Rose. Just this past Sunday, I crossed the Golden Gate for the first time since talking to her. I paid attention. And though I wouldn’t say that the experience was transformative, I did feel the state of flux—a potentially liberating neither-here-nor-thereness.

A self-described nomad, Rose is neither here in the US nor over there in Australia. She currently resides in Germany, a relocation she calls “as permanent as I can imagine.” Recently, she’s been devoting her artistic energies to writing a travel diary and toying with the idea of a cabaret burlesque symphony “Tom Waits meets Gogol Bordello,” featuring all the characters she’s come across during the bridge project.

“I think the thing I’ve enjoyed the most about the Singing Bridges project is the interactions it’s allowed me to have,” she reflects. She spends a lot of time thinking about these interactions now. Bridges have a way of drawing people in, and she’s spent years drawing bridges out. Shelter from the storm, a study in aesthetics, a receptacle that captures the soul of the universe or the souls of its inhabitants—of all the things architecture can be, perhaps its most compelling role is as a meeting ground where we share our experiences, our emotions, our sins, and ourselves.

- Kim Velsey

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Posted to Art on Thursday, March 27th, 2008 by kristena.