Explore Acceptanceletter

It was January of 1976, and I was barely 18. I had just received my acceptance letter, the one I’d been hoping and praying so desperately for over the last two months. I’d won some contests for my drawings and sculptures, just local things with the school, and around the area, the county fair, nothing big. But I saw my creations with their gleaming blue ribbons, and I felt so proud of myself in those moments. My creations were all just visions of the future. It was my obsession. I couldn’t stop thinking about the world of tomorrow. I envisioned a future of flying cars and jetpacks. If that was truly what the future would hold, it would eliminate the need for roads. Roads dictated the layout of all things collectively human. How, I wondered, the ways in which flying cars, and no more need for roads, would change how we designed and built cities. What wonders could come that nobody could even yet fathom? In such a world, cities could be built ever higher, and ever more complex. and the