ABSTRACT
All architecture (the representation of another, alternative space of everyday life – the promise of redemption or is it the prison?) is translation – the graveyard of dreams made concrete. This is a story about (the impossibility of ever telling the story about) a place. A theme of this essay is that all originality is chimerical: the site chosen is Parc de la Villette, Paris, already picked over by many authors, and dwelt upon in many texts (a starting point is Tschumi, 1988).
