PPL Insert 01.jpg

Under the maud moon

This project set forth to revitalize the underused historic wing of the Providence Public Library through insertion of a kiosk, combining the use of literature and graphic design with architecture. 

The Poem, Under the Maud Mood, written by Galway Kinnell, the pulitzer prize winning poet from Providence, Rhode Island, was chosen for its repeated reference to breaking and rebuilding, specifically in a way that only nature can. The poem is projected through 'fractured' floor boards within the main form of the kiosk. The manner by which light penetrates the fractures in the floor of the form is an homage to the ideals of Kinell's poetry: organic imperfections can be opportunities for a new and unique experience.


In addition to providing a new kind of space within the host, the inserted form reorganizes the circulation patterns throughout the host space.

The form generates intrigue throughout the entire space, encouraging movement in directions that there was previously no reason to travel through. By enticing visitors to look up and down at the floor and light patterns on the ceiling of the kiosk, visitors are encouraged to do the same within the beautiful, historic host space once they exit the inserted intervention. In this way a new appreciation of the historical host space is promoted and encouraged.

model of proposed insert

Existing host and insert

(2) Existing & (4) Proposed circulation patterns

an excerpt from under the maud moon

On the path
by this wet site
of old fires -
black ashes, black stones, where tramps must have squatted down,
gnawing on stream water,
unhouseling themselves on cursed bread, failing to get warm at a twigfire - I stop,
gather wet wood,
cut dry shavings, and for her,
whose face I held in my hands
a few hours, whom I gave back
only to keep holding the space
where she was, I light
a small fire in the rain. The black
wood reddens, the deathwatches inside begin running out of time, I can see
the dead, crossed limbs
longing again for the universe, I can hear
in the wet wood the snap
and re-snap of the same embrace
being torn.
The raindrops trying
to put the fire out
fall into it and are
changed: the oath broken,
the oath sworn between earth and water, flesh and spirit, broken,
to be sworn again,
over and over, in the clouds, and to be broken again,
over and over, on earth. II.

I sit a moment
by the fire, in the rain, speak
a few words into its warmth -
stone saint smooth stone – and sing
one of the songs I used to croak
for my daughter, in her nightmares. Somewhere out ahead of me
a black bear sits alone
on his hillside, nodding from side
to side. He sniffs
the blossom-smells, the rained earth,
finally he gets up,
eats a few flowers, trudges away,
his fur glistening
in the rain. The singed grease streams
out of the words, the one
held note
remains – a love-note
twisting under my tongue, like the coyote’s bark,
curving off, into a howl...