Monday, 10:30 AM. Sunlight hits the downtown tower of the Union Bank of California.
The brass letters that spell the bank's name reflect long, straight rays onto the limestone. Each line is sharp, precise, as if guided down the facade by a ruler. Can light be this precise, this calculated? I imagine the sunlight like an x-ray, revealing the inner structure of the building, the geometry of its name - Union Bank of California, in three-dimensional brass, sans serif. I am not watching sunlight on the surface, but seeing deep inside the stone, beyond the supports and foundations, back in time to the process, when the building was a sketch on a drafting table. For a moment, I can see the architecture in letters, too, the vanishing point of an A or K.