My messy sabbatical desk in the Normandy, sitting next to some enormous (if leaky) windows, was home base for a glorious eight months. I’m glad I paused to take a picture of it as it was (rather than in perhaps a more photogenic state.)
Heading out from the Normandy Village, the crazy brick patterns, tiny windows hidden under the eaves, and trees sprouting from the concrete give way to the mid-twentieth-century architecture of Berkeley instantly. Exiting means stepping through some kind of spacetime membrane back to reality.
2 thoughts on “Normandy Village, Inside and Out”
[…] of any profession, so it’s only appropriate that a portrait of me in Berkeley’s Normandy Village for sabbatical should include a generous cup of […]
[…] the extraordinary nature of the Normandy Village, “regular” cars seem oddly out of place. Perhaps that in part because the average car […]