ABSTRACT
Door is a word with two meanings: either an opening that provides access or an object that closes such an opening. The second kind of door negates the first, which, if one wants to avoid confusion, can be called a doorway. Both kinds of door have been around a long time, since man first found shelter in a cave and then rolled a stone across its mouth to keep the wolves out. Doors, in determining connections, map our paths from room to room, paths that one can experience mentally before they trace them physically. Even when they are stationary in a space, its doors suggest the possibility for exit, and a severe restriction of these possibilities can be disturbingly claustrophobic. Doors are more than linkages between spaces; at the same time, they are important physical events in those spaces. There is a measure of overlap between doors and windows, an area of ambiguity in which either name would be permissible.
