Each morning I walked past the roses wrought into the iron fence outside the main Art School building. They always made me smile inside, followed by sorrow.
The stylised Rennie Mackintosh roses made me feel safe, like a powerful ward was surrounding the School. She wouldn"t be able to come here. It must have been childish voodoo that made them work in the first place – if the paper roses had really worked at all. Remembering the paper roses, I recalled who had made them and what had happened to them. Over time the Pavlovian response should have worn off, but each morning it came as a renewed experience. Each morning I was gripped by fear and wonder. It was a hell of a way to start the day.
I was still determined to understand buildings and material properties, light and space, use and us
