Van Gogh Bicycle Path in the Netherlands: Cycling Through a Starry Night

 Cycling Through Starry Night
 The Van Gogh Bicycle Path in the Netherlands

-By Ar. Pallavi Vasekar

A Starlit Spin: Riding the Van Gogh Bicycle Path in the Netherlands

"The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry, starry night! This is how
I want to die.

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry."

— Anne Sexton, “The Starry Night”

"That does not keep me from having a terrible need of—shall I say the word—religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars."
— Vincent van Gogh, in a letter to Theo

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Picture yourself pedalling through a glowing night, not under the stars, but over them. In Brabant, Netherlands, where Vincent van Gogh once wandered and sketched, a shimmering bike path brings his Starry Night to life. This isn’t just a trail—it’s a blend of art, nature, and clever technology that feels like rolling through one of Van Gogh’s paintings. Let’s explore the heart, craft, and eco-friendly spark of the Van Gogh–Roosegaarde Bicycle Path.

The Idea: Art You Can Ride 

In 2014, Dutch artist Daan Roosegaarde dreamed up a way to weave Van Gogh’s legacy into the modern world. Inspired by the swirling skies of The Starry Night, he partnered with Heijmans Infrastructure to create a bike path that’s more than a route—it’s a story. Stretching 600 meters from Nuenen to Eindhoven, it’s part of a larger Van Gogh cycle trail, connecting places like the Opwettense and Colse watermills—spots Van Gogh captured on canvas during his Brabant years (1883–1885), when he painted The Potato Eaters.

Roosegaarde calls it “techno-poetry,” and it’s easy to see why. This path isn’t just about getting somewhere; it’s about feeling something. Launched to celebrate 125 years since Van Gogh’s death, it’s a public artwork that welcomes everyone—locals zipping to work, travellers chasing history, or couples on a moonlit ride—to experience art in motion.

The Materials: Stones That Glow, Powered by the Sun

How do you make a bike path shine like a starry sky? With smart materials. Thousands of tiny stones, coated in photoluminescent paint, are set into the asphalt. These stones drink in sunlight by day and glow softly at night, twinkling like Van Gogh’s stars. To keep the path lit even on cloudy days, solar-powered LEDs line key curves, fuelled by a nearby solar panel. Together, these create a gentle, eco-friendly glow that’s as practical as it is enchanting.

The materials are the unsung heroes here. The glowing paint works with nature, charging without extra energy. The solar LEDs add dependability while keeping things green. It’s a perfect marriage of beauty and brains.

The Look: A Canvas Under Your Wheels

During the day, the path blends into the quiet Brabant countryside, just another bike lane. But at night, it’s pure magic. The glowing stones swirl in patterns that mirror The Starry Night’s bold brushstrokes, creating a river of light beneath you. It’s not just pretty—it’s emotional, pulling you into Van Gogh’s world of restless skies and vibrant dreams.

Van Gogh painted what he felt, not just what he saw. This path does the same, turning a simple ride into a journey through his swirling, starlit vision. Every pedal feels like a step into his mind, where nature and emotion dance together.

The Landscape: Art, Nature, and Connection 

This path is more than a pretty idea—it’s a feat of landscape architecture. Part of Roosegaarde’s Smart Highway vision, it reimagines roads as spaces that inspire and sustain. Built for €700,000 with support from the Eindhoven community, it’s a gift to the region, drawing tourists to Nuenen’s Van Gogh sites and boosting local pride. It’s functional, safe, and a reason to linger in Brabant’s history-soaked landscapes.

It’s also kind to nature. The soft glow cuts down on light pollution, preserving the dark skies Van Gogh loved. It’s proof that infrastructure can be beautiful, practical, and in harmony with the environment.

The Solar Spark: Green and Glowing

The path’s sustainability is what makes it shine even brighter. The solar-powered LEDs, backed by a local solar array, keep the path energy-neutral. The glowing stones, which light up for up to eight hours after sunset, need no extra power. It’s a glimpse of how renewable energy can transform public spaces into something both useful and awe-inspiring—a small step toward a greener, more creative world.

A Ride That Feels Alive

Cycling this path feels personal. It’s not just a tourist stop—it’s a way to connect with the fields and skies that shaped Van Gogh’s art. He found peace and meaning in nature, painting stars that felt alive with possibility. This path lets you roll through that same energy, with glowing swirls that make you pause and wonder.

Whether you’re a local gliding home or a visitor tracing an artist’s footsteps, the path invites you to slow down and feel the world as Van Gogh did—full of beauty, mystery, and life. It’s not just a ride; it’s a moment to breathe in the magic of a starry night.

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Next time you’re in the Netherlands, grab a bike in Nuenen and let this glowing path guide you. Pedal through Van Gogh’s world, feel the stars beneath you, and let the ride remind you why his art still lights up our hearts.

For more on visiting, check out Holland.com or Studio Roosegaarde.

"Discover the timeless sculptures of Nanasaheb Karmarkar—an Indian master who brought stone and bronze to life."

Falling in Love with Stone at the Karmarkar Museum of Sculpture

- By Ar. Pallavi Vasekar.

Hello, art lovers and curious souls! 

Imagine this: you’re in Alibaug and want to do something different from the usual beaches and cafés. Let me take you to a true hidden gem—the Karmarkar Museum of Sculpture in Bodani, Maharashtra. Nestled in the quiet village of Sasawane, this place feels like stepping into an artist’s heart, where stone speaks and bronze seems to breathe.

I visited recently, and I’m still moved by the experience. It’s raw, soulful, and deeply inspiring. So, make yourself a cup of chai, and let me share the story of the artist, the sculptures, the materials, the museum’s atmosphere, and how you can visit this treasure yourself.

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Nanasaheb Karmarkar: The Sculptor Who Gave Stone a Soul

Vinayak Pandurang Karmarkar, fondly known as Nanasaheb, was not just a sculptor—he was a visionary. Born in 1891 in Sasawane, he showed artistic talent at a young age, making Ganesh idols and painting walls in his village.

His life changed when British district collector Otto Rothfield recognised his gift and helped him secure a scholarship to the J.J. School of Art in Mumbai, one of India’s finest institutions. From there, Nanasaheb’s work gained national recognition. He combined Indian themes with Western techniques in a way that felt both rooted and contemporary.

His dedication earned him many honours, including the Padmashree in 1962 and the title of “Fellow” from the Lalit Kala Akademi in 1964.

Today, his ancestral bungalow houses the Karmarkar Museum, which displays over 150 of his sculptures. Walking through the museum feels almost personal, like entering the artist’s creative world. Each sculpture—from monumental pieces to small figurines—carries life, emotion, and storytelling.

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The Sculptures: Stories Carved in Stone

The museum’s collection is vast, but here are a few sculptures that truly stayed with me:

• Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj on Horseback:
  This 21-foot bronze masterpiece from 1966 is unforgettable. It captures Shivaji Maharaj in mid-gallop, sword raised, radiating energy and leadership. The original stands at the Military Preparatory School in Pune, but the version at the museum is just as striking.

• Shepherd Boy:
  This stone sculpture is simplicity and grace at its best. The boy’s posture, the folds in his clothing, and the expression on his face feel so real that you almost expect him to turn and speak.

• Mother & Child:
  Created in plaster of Paris, this sculpture is filled with tenderness. The mother’s protective embrace and the child’s trusting gaze express love in its purest form.

• Matsyagandha:
  Inspired by Indian mythology, this wooden sculpture of a fisherwoman has a fluid, natural beauty. The warm grain of the wood makes it feel almost alive.

These sculptures are more than art—they are emotions and moments in time. Nanasaheb celebrated both Indian history and everyday life through his work.

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Materials: The Artist’s Mediums

Nanasaheb was a master of many materials:

• Stone: Used for timeless works like Shepherd Boy. His skill brought softness and fluidity even from the hardest stone.

• Bronze: Bold works like Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj were created using the lost-wax casting technique, giving strength and fine detail.

• Wood: Pieces like Matsyagandha highlight the natural texture of wood, adding depth and warmth.

• Plaster of Paris: Perfect for gentle themes, as seen in Mother & Child, allowing for delicate expressions and lightness.

The museum also preserves his tools and unfinished works, giving visitors a glimpse into the artist’s process and discipline.

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The Museum’s Atmosphere

The Karmarkar Museum is housed in Nanasaheb’s ancestral bungalow, and this makes the experience even more special. Rustic walls, intimate rooms, and natural light create a setting that feels both historical and personal.

Each sculpture is thoughtfully placed, and the informative boards next to them share details about their themes and techniques, allowing visitors to explore at their own pace.

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How to Visit the Karmarkar Museum

Address: Sasawane Road, Bodani, Maharashtra 402201

• By Air: Fly into Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport. Drive to Mandwa Jetty (1.5–2 hrs), take a ferry to Alibaug, and then take a 30-min taxi or auto-rickshaw ride to Sasawane.

• By Rail: The nearest station is Pen (30 km). From there, you can hire a taxi or take a bus through scenic countryside roads.

• By Road: From Alibaug, it’s an 18 km (~30 min) drive. From Mumbai, the journey is around 3 hours. Parking is available near the museum.

Timings: 10 AM–5 PM (confirm before visiting)
Entry Fee: ₹5–10 (extremely affordable)
Photography: Allowed with permission—ask the staff.

While you’re there, also visit Sasawane Beach (just 400 m away), Alibaug Beach, or the historic Kolaba Fort nearby.

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Tips for Visitors

• Best Time: October to March is perfect for the weather, though the monsoon (June–Sept) makes the area lush and green.

• Duration: Set aside 1–2 hours to enjoy the sculptures and the atmosphere.

• No Souvenir Shop: The memories are your true keepsakes.

• Engage with Staff: The staff are knowledgeable and happy to share insights about Nanasaheb and his life.

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Why You Must Visit

The Karmarkar Museum is not just a space to view sculptures; it is an experience that connects you with India’s artistic heritage. Each sculpture reflects Nanasaheb’s ability to capture human emotions, mythology, and history in the most tangible way.

For those who appreciate art, culture, or simply discovering hidden places, this museum is a treasure. It’s inspiring, peaceful, and a reminder of how art can bridge the past and present.

So, the next time you’re in Maharashtra, step away from the usual tourist spots and immerse yourself in this beautiful museum. You’ll walk out with a deeper appreciation for the power of stone and the legacy of a true master sculptor.

Have you visited any unique museums recently? Share your experiences—I’d love to hear them!

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Watch & Explore More

🎥 Karmarkar Museum of Sculpture | Sasawane Vlog (YouTube) – A full visual tour of the museum before you go.
🎥 The Definitive Guide To Karmarkar Museum of Sculpture (YouTube) – Learn more about Nanasaheb Karmarkar’s story and artistic legacy.

#KarmarkarMuseum #NanasahebKarmarkar #IndianSculpture #MaharashtraArt #HiddenGemsOfIndia #ArtHeritage

Flight Beneath the Waves: Tampa’s Flamingo Art Experience

“Beneath the surface where dreams unfold,
A flamingo floats in blues and gold.
Not bound by sky or shallow sand—
She builds her home in ocean’s land.”

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Phoebe the Flamingo’s Underwater Home at Tampa International Airport

In the heart of Tampa International Airport, among the steady rhythm of announcements and footsteps, stands an unexpected moment of pause: Phoebe the Flamingo’s Underwater Home. This public art installation transforms a bustling transit zone into a surreal aquatic scene, blending fantasy, sustainability, and local identity.

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Concept: A Dreamlike Dive into the Unexpected

At the center of the installation is Phoebe, Tampa’s unofficial flamingo mascot, reimagined in an underwater setting. The concept invites a playful contradiction—a flamingo, typically associated with shallows and shores, making a home beneath the sea.

Surrounded by coral forms, drifting seaweed, and glowing marine creatures, the scene offers an imaginative escape that contrasts the routine and urgency of airport spaces. It gestures toward Tampa’s coastal geography while introducing a magical reinterpretation of natural habitats.

This is not merely decorative art; it is a space for reflection, delight, and storytelling. It softens the environment and encourages travelers to engage—not only visually but emotionally—with the unexpected.

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Materials: Tactile Sustainability 

The installation is constructed using a palette of vibrant, durable, and environmentally mindful materials:

• Recycled glass and resin panels mimic the movement of water, capturing and refracting ambient light to create a sense of immersion.

• Upcycled fabrics, in shades of coral, aqua, and turquoise, form layered drapes reminiscent of ocean currents and seagrass.

• 3D-printed marine life and Phoebe herself are crafted from biodegradable PLA filament, with dyed recycled fibers forming her feathers.

• Subtle LED lighting built into the coral and sea creatures adds a bioluminescent glow, shifting gently from soft blue to deep violet.

• Reclaimed driftwood and recycled aluminum create the base, evoking a textured sea floor while anchoring the structure firmly.

Every component is selected for both visual impact and environmental responsibility, aligning with growing trends in sustainable public art and conscious design.

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The Artist: Lila Torres

The installation is the work of Tampa-based artist Lila Torres, known for blending ecological narratives with surreal visual language. Drawing inspiration from Florida’s coastal landscapes and native wildlife, her work often invites viewers to reconsider familiar symbols in unfamiliar settings.

Torres developed the concept in collaboration with local conservationists and community voices, ensuring the piece remains both playful and contextually relevant. Her artistic vision integrates public engagement with an understated environmental message—encouraging awareness without overt messaging.

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Theme: Imagination Grounded in Place

Thematically, the installation bridges fantasy with ecological mindfulness. Phoebe’s presence in an imagined underwater habitat encourages viewers to question boundaries—between air and sea, between species and environment, and between what is real and what could be.

It is a celebration of Tampa’s character—its relationship with water, its openness to the unusual, and its growing investment in art as a form of civic expression.

Rather than presenting a didactic message, the installation uses visual storytelling and material choices to hint at larger ideas: environmental stewardship, the value of creative placemaking, and the importance of slowing down in transitory spaces.

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Impact: Art as a Pause Point

Positioned near the main terminal, Phoebe’s Underwater Home stands as a landmark that encourages interaction and curiosity. Its glowing presence and layered textures contrast with the rigidity of surrounding airport infrastructure, inviting travelers—regardless of age or destination—to pause, look closer, and engage with art in a moment otherwise defined by movement.

It has since become a visual identity marker within the airport and a widely shared subject on social media, often tagged under #PhoebeUnderwater. More than an object of display, it functions as a shared experience—uniting people briefly in wonder amid the anonymous rhythms of travel.

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“She wades through clouds beneath the tide,
With coral dreams where fears subside.
A flamingo, still—yet wild and free—
In the sea of motion, just let it be.”

Phoebe the Flamingo’s Underwater Home is not only a creative installation—it is a statement about what public spaces can be when imagination, ecology, and local culture come together. In a place designed for passage, it offers presence.

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Have you ever felt a place come alive through art? I’d love to hear about a sculpture or space that stopped you in your tracks.

For more musings on art, architecture, and the spaces that move us—stick around.

© Ar. Pallavi Vasekar

Exploring The Awakening: A 72-Foot Public Sculpture on the Potomac River

"The Awakening": A Giant Stirring Beneath Us

Some sculptures you pass by with a glance. Others stop you in your tracks, pulling you into their story. J. Seward Johnson Jr.’s The Awakening is the latter—a massive, unforgettable presence that feels alive. Spanning 72 feet, this isn’t just art you look at; it’s art you walk on, touch, and carry with you long after you’ve left.

A Story in Motion

Picture this: a colossal figure, frozen mid-struggle, breaking free from the earth. A hand reaches out, a knee pushes up, and a face twists in effort—all crafted from five massive aluminium pieces. It’s raw, visceral, and open to interpretation. Is this giant rising to life or being pulled back into the ground? That question lingers, and it’s what makes the sculpture so hauntingly personal. Each visitor sees something different—a spark of hope, a fight against the odds, or maybe just a quiet moment of becoming.

Aluminum’s Quiet Power 

The choice of aluminium is genius. It’s strong yet catches the light in a soft, almost ethereal way. Unlike the weighty permanence of bronze, aluminium feels fleeting, like it could shift with the wind. The surface isn’t glossy; it’s textured, almost organic, like weathered bone or driftwood. As an architect, I’m drawn to how materials can tell a story. Here, the aluminium doesn’t just hold the form—it amplifies the sculpture’s sense of movement and mystery.

From Mulch to Riverside 

When The Awakening first appeared in 1980 at Hains Point in Washington, D.C., it was set in a bed of mulch, as if the earth itself was churning to life. In 2008, it found a new home at National Harbour, nestled in the sandy banks of the Potomac River. The move changed everything. The sand adds a layer of poetry—evoking time, erosion, and the tides of memory. Now, with the river stretching out before it, the sculpture feels like a myth rising from the deep, both ancient and alive.

Art You Can’t Ignore

What I love most about The Awakening is how it invites you in. Kids scramble over the giant’s knee. Friends snap photos gripping the outstretched hand. It’s not art you stand back and admire from afar—it’s art you live with, even for a moment. As someone who thinks about how spaces shape us, this feels like a masterclass in public art. It doesn’t just decorate a place; it transforms it, turning a patch of sand into a stage for stories.

What’s Buried Within 

The Awakening makes you pause and look down, not up. It’s a reminder that something powerful—whether it’s creativity, resilience, or memory—is always stirring just beneath the surface. Standing next to that massive hand, you can’t help but feel small yet connected to something bigger.

Have you ever felt a place come alive through art? I’d love to hear about a sculpture or space that stopped you in your tracks.

For more musings on art, architecture, and the spaces that move us—stick around.

© Ar. Pallavi Vasekar

Famous Paintings I Witnessed: Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks

A Quiet Night at the Diner: Sitting with Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks

- By Ar. Pallavi Vasekar.

The first time I saw Nighthawks—really saw it—was at the Art Institute of Chicago. You know those moments when time feels like it slows down? The kind where it’s just you and a painting, and the rest of the world goes soft around the edges? That’s what it felt like.

Edward Hopper’s 1942 masterpiece isn’t just about a late-night diner. It’s about us. The spaces we move through. The silence between us. The ache of not knowing what someone else is thinking even when they’re sitting right beside you.

That One Lit Window

The scene is simple, almost cinematic: a glowing diner on a dark corner. Inside, a man and woman sit side by side but not speaking. Another man, alone, his back turned. A white-clad waiter behind the counter, lost in his routine. Outside, the streets are quiet—almost too quiet. Not a single passerby.

And yet, the scene draws you in.

Hopper’s use of light is masterful. The fluorescent glow spills out onto the sidewalk, fighting the darkness. The colours—deep reds, greens, and ochres—feel warm but also tired, like the end of a long day. It’s the kind of light that feels both safe and sad at once. The composition is clean, almost architectural, but full of feeling.

And just like that, you’re there. Not just looking at the painting—but inside it.

That Quiet Kind of Lonely

What stays with you isn’t just the setting—it’s the stillness. The unspoken things.

The man and woman don’t look at each other. The other customer has his back to us, to the world. The waiter is busy but also distant, as if he’s on autopilot. No one is truly present with each other, even though they share the same space.

There’s a very specific kind of loneliness here. Not loud or dramatic. Just… real. That loneliness you feel when you're surrounded by people but still feel disconnected.

Hopper doesn’t explain it. He doesn’t have to. We’ve all felt it. Sitting in a restaurant. Waiting at a station. Scrolling through a glowing screen at midnight. That slow, hollow ache of being around others but still feeling like you’re on your own little island.

When Hopper Meets Patwardhan: Different Streets, Same Silence 

And while Hopper captures this in a mid-century American diner, I’m reminded of someone closer to home—Sudhir Patwardhan.

His paintings—often set in the everyday urban chaos of Indian cities—hold a similar stillness. A man looking out of a window. A nurse on her way to work. A construction site paused mid-motion. There’s noise in the background, but his characters are wrapped in quiet. They’re present but also a little elsewhere.

Like Hopper, Patwardhan doesn’t shout. He just shows. Ordinary people. Caught in in-between moments. Deeply human, deeply relatable. And just like Nighthawks, his work makes you pause—not because something dramatic is happening, but because something familiar is.

It’s that same emotional undercurrent—the silent dignity of everyday life. The isolation that exists even in a crowd. The strange comfort of knowing that others feel it too.

The City That Doesn’t Look Back

Hopper’s painting also tells us something about cities—not the postcard versions, but the real ones.

The ones where you walk past people without saying a word. Where windows are lit, but curtains stay drawn. Where strangers share space but not stories.

The outside world in Nighthawks is eerily empty, like the city is holding its breath. The buildings feel hollow. The night feels long. And the diner—despite its glow—feels like it’s trying too hard to push away the darkness.

Both Hopper and Patwardhan give us this version of the urban landscape—where life goes on, but not always together. Where moments are shared but not always felt.

Why Nighthawks (Still) Stays With You

There’s something oddly comforting about this painting. Maybe it’s the fact that the diner is open at all—that light, that cup of coffee, that space to sit.

And maybe that’s the quiet kindness of Nighthawks. It doesn’t fix the loneliness. It doesn’t give answers. But it sees it. It sees you.

Because we've all been there—sitting in silence, sipping something warm, feeling a little lost, a little tired. And we’ve all looked out of a window or into a crowd and wondered if anyone else feels the same.

Hopper and Patwardhan, in their own ways, whisper back: They do.

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So if you ever find yourself in Chicago, go see Nighthawks in person. Or if you’re here in India, sit with Patwardhan’s paintings—maybe in a quiet gallery, or even in a book.

Let them both remind you that in a world that moves fast and forgets to ask how you’re doing, art can pause beside you and simply say,
“You’re not alone.”

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Art doesn’t always fix things. But sometimes, it holds space for us. And in this series, that’s exactly what I hope to share—paintings that made space for me.

© 2025 Ar. Pallavi Vasekar

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“Airport Installations #1: Stillness in Transit – Duane Hanson’s The Traveller”

Terminal Truths: Duane Hanson’s The Traveller and the Art of Airport Humanity

By Ar. Pallavi Vasekar

Airports are more than mere transport hubs. They are modern-day cathedrals of movement—spaces where architecture and emotion intersect and where every corner vibrates with stories of arrival and departure. As both an architect and artist, I’m drawn to these spaces not only for their streamlined function but also for how they stage the raw, transient nature of the human experience.

Welcome to Airport Installations, a new series in which I explore how public art reimagines these transitional spaces. First in focus is a sculpture that captures the universal weariness of travel with haunting realism—Duane Hanson’s The Traveller, located at Orlando International Airport (MCO).

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The Heart of The Traveller

Picture yourself navigating Terminal A. Announcements echo from the ceiling, suitcases roll across polished floors—and then, unexpectedly, you notice a figure slumped near a column. He’s wearing blue running shorts and a faded pink mesh tank top, resting his head on one hand, with a sleeping bag and duffel bag lying close by. There’s a scrape on his knee. He appears to be just another exhausted passenger.

Then you realise—he isn’t real.

Created in 1986, The Traveller is a hyper-realistic sculpture by Duane Hanson, cast in polyester resin, fibreglass, and bronze. Encased in glass to prevent well-meaning onlookers from interacting too closely, the sculpture is incredibly lifelike—right down to the sun-reddened skin, real human hair, and the smudges on his shoes. It doesn’t stop you with spectacle—it stops you with recognition. We’ve all been this traveller at some point in our lives.

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Hanson’s Signature: The Art of the Ordinary

Duane Hanson spent much of his life in South Florida, creating sculptural portraits that elevated everyday people—janitors, tourists, repairmen—to the realm of fine art. He celebrated the quiet, unremarkable moments that often go unnoticed. In The Traveller, Hanson captures the physical and emotional fatigue of travel with a mix of tenderness and subtle humour.

His hyperrealism isn’t just a visual trick. It invites reflection. It slows you down. The folds in the clothes, the slump of the shoulders, the awkward sprawl on the floor—all of it feels candid, familiar, and deeply human. This isn’t a posed subject. It’s a moment caught mid-journey.

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From an Architect’s Eye: Disrupting Spatial Flow

What intrigues me as an architect is not just the figure itself, but where and how it’s placed.

Airports are engineered for movement. Their design encourages flow—security to gate, gate to flight. But the Traveller resists that flow. He claims space in the middle of it all, disrupting the rhythm of the terminal. It’s a quiet form of rebellion, one that interrupts the smooth choreography of transit with a gesture of pause.

The glass enclosure, added later for preservation, acts like a frame. It doesn’t isolate him—it amplifies the sense that this is a shared, relatable scene. He doesn’t just occupy space—he grounds it in reality.

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Final Boarding Thoughts

The Traveller is a subtle but powerful reminder that art doesn’t need scale or spectacle to move us. Sometimes, all it takes is honesty. In a space built for impermanence, this sculpture offers a sense of presence. In the rush of transit, it gives permission to pause.

Restored in 2024 by local conservator Diana Galante, the sculpture continues to engage and surprise visitors on Level 3 at Orlando International Airport—near Starbucks in Champ’s Plaza.

As this series continues, I’ll explore more airport installations that breathe meaning into the in-between. Have you encountered the traveller or another unexpected moment of beauty while travelling? I’d love to hear about it—these are the stories worth sharing.

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Sources:
Drawn from Orlando International Airport’s art program and research on Duane Hanson’s work in hyperrealism.

Copyright © 2025 Ar. Pallavi Vasekar

Al-Ula: A Town Carved from Time and Earth

 

Al-Ula: A Town Shaped by Earth and Time

by Ar. Pallavi Vasekar
© Copyright 2025 Ar. Pallavi Vasekar. All rights reserved.

In addition to being aesthetically stunning, Al-Ula, which is located in Saudi Arabia's northwest deserts, is a profound architectural lesson embedded in the surrounding terrain. Its built environment's profound response to the desert's geology, climate, and culture is what most interests me as an architect, not just the beauty of its forms. Al-Ula seems to have been gradually unveiled rather than built, as though the land and time combined to carve human existence into the stone.

Landscapes With Architecture Incorporated 

The built fabric of Al-Ula, which is situated in a striking valley of sandstone cliffs, blends in with its surroundings rather than competing with them. The town has a unified, nearly undetectable presence because local sandstone is used as both a material and an inspiration. The very rock that surrounds them gives rise to walls, tombs, and entire communities. An intuitive and monumental understanding of mass, light, and permanence can be seen in the Nabataean tombs at Hegra, which are meticulously carved into the cliffs. 

These are not merely immobile monuments; rather, they are spatial time capsules that reflect the principles of shelter and thermal mass that desert architecture has long perfected. These buildings provide shade, insulation, and orientation techniques that we still use in modern passive design in an area where summer temperatures soar.

Lessons from the Desert Al-Ula's old town is a superb illustration of climate-conscious planning, with its densely populated mud-brick homes, winding shaded walkways, and inward-facing courtyards. Constructed with stone and adobe, these materials were not only practical but also climate-responsive. Mud-brick walls allow for the release of stored warmth at night and act as a buffer against the intense desert heat during the day. In order to optimise shade and funnel breeze—natural cooling techniques honed over many generations—alleyways are purposefully narrow.

      

Such vernacular wisdom is embedded in every wall and shadow here. There’s a humility in how architecture serves both environment and community, creating spaces of comfort, ritual, and memory without excess.

Continuity and Timelessness

           

Al-Ula is starting a new chapter today, hosting cultural events and installations of contemporary art, but what's still amazing is how this change still respects the land. Instead of shouting, even contemporary interventions are asked to listen. A dialogue that values silence just as much as spectacle is beginning to emerge between ancient stone and contemporary materiality.

As architects, we frequently discuss place-making, context, and sustainability. Al-Ula embodies these principles rather than merely discussing them. It serves as a reminder that even in the most hostile settings, architecture can be profoundly human, expressive, and long-lasting without being obtrusive.

 

Reference links: https://youtu.be/s1baJ84yN_0?si=_Tctlx0Qc4hYsqrx

                             https://youtu.be/urHPKMkusJg

Chettinad Tales: Where Spiced Cuisine Meets Timeless Tamil Mansions

Chettinad: Where Mansions Whisper and Spices Sing 

by Ar. Pallavi Vasekar
© Copyright 2025 Ar. Pallavi Vasekar. All rights reserved.

"Magic things are all around us, just waiting for our senses to get sharper." — W.B. Yeats

In the heart of Tamil Nadu lies Chettinad—a place where walls remember, spices linger in the air, and history greets you at every turn. As an architect, walking through Karaikudi’s quiet lanes felt like flipping through a living scrapbook—floors, pillars, and courtyards that carry both art and memory.

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Mansions with Global Souls 

The Nattukottai Chettiars, 19th-century traders, built over 10,000 mansions blending Tamil roots with Burmese, European, and Ceylonese influences. Think Burmese teak doors, Italian marble floors, French stained glass, and Belgian mirrors. These homes whisper tales of migration, prosperity, and elegance.

🎥 Watch: Exploring Chettinad Mansions | Architectural Digest India

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Built to Breathe 

Each mansion features a valavu (sunlit courtyard) that lets the house breathe. The thinnai (raised porch) once hosted community meetings and guests. Terracotta tile roofs catch rain into stone tanks. Walls made from lime, egg white, and palm sugar remain naturally cool—practical and poetic.

🎥 Chettinad Architecture & Courtyard Design | Tamil Nadu Tourism

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The Art Beneath Your Feet 

Athangudi tiles shine in jewel tones—handmade. 

using local soil and glass powder. Stucco sculptures of deities and Moroccan chandeliers showcase the Chettiars’ international aesthetic. Every surface is a canvas of quiet craft.

🎥 Making of Athangudi Tiles | Dakshinachitra

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Light That Lives  

Daylight pours into rooms through courtyards and stained-glass windows. At dusk, the golden glow of brass lamps and Moroccan chandeliers warms the interiors. Skylights tucked in roofs guide light through every corner—subtle, soulful design.

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Culture Still Breathing 

Chettinad is alive with ritual and rhythm. Visit Karpaga Vinayakar Temple, where prayers echo against sculpted stone. Kandaangi sarees, woven in bold checks, and palm-leaf baskets (kottans) are still handmade by locals. Walk through Athangudi village to watch tile-making, or explore Karaikudi’s antique-filled markets.

🎥 Chettinad Craft and Culture | Tamil Nadu Tourism

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Taste That Stays With You

The food? It’s bold, complex, and unforgettable. Served on banana leaves, it feels sacred and comforting at once.

Chicken Chettinad—Peppery, coconut-laced brilliance
Prawn Masala—Spicy and soulful
Urulai Roast—Crisp potatoes with roasted masalas
Paal Payasam—A sweet, slow-cooked finale

🎥 Traditional Chettinad Cooking | Village Food Factory

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Getting There & Staying In

Fly to Madurai or Trichy, then drive through rice paddies to reach Karaikudi. Trains are a peaceful option too.

I stayed at The Bangala, a restored mansion with heritage hospitality and unforgettable thalis. You could also try Visalam, another restored gem offering soulful Chettinad experiences.

🎥 The Bangala: Chettinad Heritage Stay | CNT India

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Why Chettinad Stays With You

It’s not just the grandeur. It’s the stillness in empty mansions. The clink of tile underfoot. The soft breeze was tinged with spices. Chettinad doesn’t shout. It lingers—quietly—with you.

“It is not far. It is within reach.” — Walt Whitman

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Have you been? Did a meal or mansion leave its mark?
I’d love to hear your story—drop it in the comments.

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#ChettinadDiaries #SoulfulSpices #HeritageTravel #TamilNaduUnfiltered #WanderWithWonder

Ever Wondered What the World’s Most Beautiful Library Looks Like?

The Architectural Grandeur of the Library of Congress

Copyright © 2025 Ar. Pallavi Vasekar

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Rabindranath Tagore

(from The Gardener and Stray Birds)

“The book that you hold in your hands is the living voice of a distant soul,
It speaks not in words alone, but in silence that your heart understands.”

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As an architect and avid library visitor, I’m endlessly fascinated by spaces where design and knowledge converge—and few places embody this better than the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. Housed in the iconic Thomas Jefferson Building, this Beaux-Arts masterpiece is a testament to architectural brilliance, thoughtful planning, and the vibrant human spirit of its veteran volunteers who guide visitors with infectious enthusiasm.

Having explored libraries worldwide—from the simple yet soulful Auroville Library in India to grand institutions like this one—I found the Library of Congress to be a breathtaking celebration of intellect and artistry. Let’s dive into its architectural elements, materials, planning, and the unique charm of its volunteer guides.

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Architectural Elements and Materials

Stepping into the Great Hall of the Thomas Jefferson Building is like entering a cathedral of knowledge. Completed in 1897, the building’s exterior, clad in granite and marble, radiates permanence, while its copper-sheathed dome—now oxidised to a verdant patina—crowns the structure with elegance.

Inside, the 75-foot ceiling of the Great Hall soars above, adorned with intricate frescoes and murals by artists like Elihu Vedder, depicting allegories of wisdom and creativity. I was particularly captivated by the eagle carvings crafted from polished wood and bronze—symbolising strength and vigilance—and the delicate iron and brass metalwork in the railings and chandeliers, which adds a refined contrast to the heavier stone elements.

The materials are a sensory delight. Rare Italian and Algerian marble swirls across columns and staircases, their veins resembling the pages of an ancient manuscript. The oak and mahogany bookcases, carved with classical motifs like scrolls and laurel leaves, are not just functional but sculptural—elevating the act of reading to an art form. The Main Reading Room, with its 160-foot dome and stained-glass skylights, bathes the space in a warm, ethereal glow, making it a haven for readers like me who seek both knowledge and beauty.

Planning and Design

The Library of Congress—originally designed by the firm Smithmeyer and Pelz and later completed under architect Edward Pearce Casey and engineer Bernard R. Green—is a triumph of planning that balances spectacle with function. Born from a national design competition, the building’s layout radiates outward from the Main Reading Room, a grand hub that connects to specialised reading rooms, alcoves, and offices.

The inclusion of quiet courtyards and an innovative book conveyor system—revolutionary in its time—reflects a forward-thinking approach to accessibility and user experience. As an architect, I admire how the space evokes awe without compromising its role as a high-functioning repository for millions of volumes. Skylights and clerestory windows filter natural light into the interiors, reinforcing the harmony between function and serenity.

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The Heart of the Experience: Veteran Volunteers

What truly brought the Library of Congress to life were its veteran volunteers, part of the “By the People” program. These knowledgeable guides—many of whom have served in military or civil service—infuse the tour with warmth, wit, and a storyteller’s touch.

During my visit, I met Margaret, a spirited veteran who enthusiastically pointed out small but rich architectural details: rosettes in the cornices, symbolic keystones over arches, and the alignment of zodiac motifs on the ceiling. Her insights transformed what could’ve been a quiet walkthrough into a deeply human journey through history. These volunteers don’t just share facts—

They connect you to the soul of the space, reminding us that libraries aren’t just about books; they’re about people and stories.

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A Monument to Knowledge

The Library of Congress is more than a building—it is a celebration of human intellect and imagination. Every carving, column, and mural whispers a story, and every skylight brightens the pursuit of knowledge. Its opulent materials and meticulous design create a space that inspires awe, while the compassionate presence of its veteran volunteers adds a beating heart to its architectural shell.

As an architect and lifelong reader, I left the Library of Congress feeling renewed—reminded that great design doesn’t just house information; it elevates the human spirit.

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Rabindranath Tagore

(from Fireflies)

“The past is not dead. It lives in books,
in marble words carved,
and in hearts that still listen.”

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References and Further Reading     

• Library of Congress Official Website

• Thomas Jefferson Building Virtual Tour

• Main Reading Room Highlights

• History and Design: Smithmeyer & Pelz

• Murals by Elihu Vedder

• Book Delivery System (Blog)

• “By the People” Volunteer Program

• Beaux-Arts Architecture Overview—Britannica

• Auroville Library—India

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“Tiébélé’s Painted Houses: Africa’s Most Beautiful Mud Architecture”

Tiébélé’s Painted Houses: A Living Canvas of Culture and Craft

I first heard the name Tiébélé from my elder brother during a casual conversation about vernacular architecture in Africa. He mentioned Burkina Faso—a name that itself felt remote and intriguing. Curious, I looked it up and stumbled upon something that completely captivated me: the painted houses of Tiébélé. What began as a random mention soon unfolded into a fascinating exploration of architecture that’s not only sustainable but also

deeply rooted in storytelling, community, and identity. As an architect, this discovery felt like finding a hidden chapter in the world’s design history—one that deserves to be seen and celebrated.

Nestled in southern Burkina Faso near the Ghanaian border, Tiébélé is a small village covering just 1.2 hectares. It is home to the Kassena people, one of the oldest ethnic groups in West Africa. Since the 15th century, the Kassena have been building and painting their homes in a tradition that seamlessly blends utility with art. Their dwellings are not only structurally clever and environmentally responsive but also transformed into vivid murals—each telling a story of culture, spirituality, and survival.

👉 Watch: The City of Clay | Habitats of the World: Burkina Faso (2024) – A cinematic short documentary exploring earth-based design in the Sahel.

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A Canvas of Clay: Materials Rooted in Earth

The architecture of Tiébélé is grounded in the clever use of local, natural materials. Homes are constructed from a mix of clay, straw, cow dung, and wood—each component carefully selected for its strength and thermal performance. The clay-straw-dung mixture creates a durable mortar shaped into thick walls, later sometimes molded into adobe bricks. These walls offer natural insulation, keeping interiors cool in the arid Sahelian heat and warm during chilly nights.

Flat roofs, crafted from wooden beams covered with mud and laterite, are sealed with a natural varnish made from the néré fruit. This layer not only protects against rain but is also reapplied every five years as part of a collective ritual. Even furniture—beds, shelves, and seating—is sculpted from clay, demonstrating the Kassena’s ingenuity and complete immersion in earth-based design.

👉 Watch: Tiébélé Painted House—Traditional Mud Houses of Burkina Faso (2017)— A close-up video tour showing the earthen construction and hand-sculpted detailing.

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Patterns That Speak: The Visual Language of Kassena Women

What truly sets Tiébélé apart is its breathtaking wall art, painted by the women of the Kassena community. These aren’t simply decorative flourishes—they are visual narratives. Using earth-derived pigments like red laterite, white kaolin, and black graphite, the women create bold geometric patterns and symbolic motifs. Each symbol carries meaning: red represents courage, white purity, and black the spirit world. Animal motifs like snakes and crocodiles are believed to offer protection, while celestial designs represent guidance and hope.

This artwork is not a solo endeavor. It’s a communal ritual, often held after the harvest season. Women gather with handmade brushes—crafted from guinea fowl feathers or stones—to smooth walls, apply a pigmented base, paint with precision, and finally polish the surface with stones and seal it with varnish. It’s a celebration of creativity and kinship that revitalizes not only the structures but also the social fabric of the village.

👉 Watch: Discovering the Royal Court of Tiébélé (2023)—Focuses on the Cour Royale, the heart of the village’s artistic and cultural expression.

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Built to Withstand: Defense and Climate Response

Beyond their beauty, Tiébélé’s homes are strategically designed for protection—both from the elements and intruders. The compounds are enclosed by walls and arranged in tightly knit clusters. Entryways are intentionally small and low, requiring visitors to crouch—a subtle yet effective form of defense. The lack of windows minimizes heat and adds a layer of security. Walls up to a foot thick moderate indoor temperatures and reflect centuries of climate wisdom.

The layout follows fractal patterns, revealing a deep understanding of spatial organization and social structure. The Cour Royale de Tiébélé—the chief’s compound—is especially intricate, featuring the most elaborate motifs and architectural details. Even rooftops serve multifunctional roles, often doubling as drying platforms for grains.

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A Living Tradition Amidst Modern Pressures 

Tiébélé is more than just a picturesque village—it is a living, breathing archive of the Kassena way of life. Every hand-mixed layer of plaster, every brushstroke, and every communal gathering tells a story. Yet, this rich tradition faces threats from climate change, erosion, and the pressures of tourism. While tourism offers economic opportunities, the Kassena community remains cautious, often requiring extensive dialogue before granting access—underscoring their commitment to cultural preservation.

Though Burkina Faso proposed Tiébélé for UNESCO World Heritage status in 2012, the site is still awaiting official recognition. As architects, urban designers, and cultural custodians, we must advocate for such legacies that show how design can be a force for identity, sustainability, and connection.

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Designing with Tiébélé’s Spirit in Mind

The spirit of Tiébélé can inform contemporary design in powerful ways. Designers like Dokter and Misses have already reinterpreted Kassena motifs in modern ceramics and accessories. Imagine what we could do by integrating similar design philosophies—local materials, community participation, and storytelling facades—into housing, cultural centers, or schools.

Tiébélé reminds us that buildings can be more than shelter. They can be alive, echoing with the voices of ancestors and the hands of their creators. If ever you find yourself tracing the dusty trails of Burkina Faso, make a stop in Tiébélé. It’s not just a village; it’s a living museum, a masterpiece etched in clay and spirit.

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#Tiébélé #VernacularArchitecture #CulturalPreservation #AfricanDesign #ArchitecturalInspiration

Copyright © 2025  [Ar. Pallavi Vasekar]