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There was a reason Thomas Jefferson rebuilt Monticello so many times.
People speculated it was due to the depression he harbored over the untimely death of his late wife. Some pegged it down to his constant yearning for improvement and change, much like in his political life. Others, a less sentimental crowd, deemed it was a sign of how inconsistent he was, how unsatisfied he seemed to be with everything. Gossip concerning his personal life was a constant Jefferson was quite accustomed to, whether ego boosting or unfavorable, he was used to it. However, none of assumptions regarding his insatiability in architectural design were true.
Jefferson liked to think of himself as a progressive man, a figurehead for change, an advocate for development and innovation. Those who knew him on a more intimate level said he carried these ideals for growth over into all aspects of his life, his architectural achievements being just another one of them.
He entertained all the varying beliefs that which both praised and condemned him with a calm front. A dense facade, solidity manifested in human form. However, his act was just that, fake. Behind the facade, Thomas Jefferson was spiteful and ambitious, equally as devious as his less than morally courteous contemporaries could be.
There was a reason Thomas Jefferson rebuilt Monticello so many times.
He was often known as a loner, not a misanthropist per say, just a man of such a character who prefers solitude. Detachment was granted to him in the form of his private residence, his brick legacy, Monticello. There, shielded by the thick walls, Jefferson allowed his persona to drop. He would spew angrily to himself during the night. Constructing and destroying numerous vengeful ploys. Some of them he would later carry out, or rather, he conscripted another, usually one with a dubious history, to execute his desires for him. Most of his schemes were petty in nature, just little acts to spite his competitors. Others, were of a more hostile nature.
A common saying amongst architects is that a building is not complete until one can feel it has become alive. Not in the literal sense that a human being is, but alive nonetheless. A building's core is supported by a framework much akin to the human skeleton. Bones are the underlying structure, the base on which a body is built. Next, the muscles. Layers of walls, thin and thick, create a map, trails that form pathways breaking off from the main chamber, some large and some small, not all as obvious as the other. Decor, furniture, paintings, and ornamentation are the organs of a building. They provide substance for the body to flourish. Finally, air. Breath. The presence of a living body within an artificial one. A moving body, alive with voice and noise, hums and hymns, singing songs of joy and terror with its very existence.
There are many things that serve to render parallels between man and his house. But this is all metaphorical. Only those who possess a keen eye for design can spot the similarities. To truly appreciate architecture, the two bodies, the living and the abiotic, must merge.
The doors, the limbs of a flailing man.
The windows, the eyes of someone too afraid to look.
The ceiling, the weight forcing out a person's last breath.
Death.
There was a reason Thomas Jefferson rebuilt Monticello so many times. To truly appreciate an architectural masterpiece is to meld with it, to mix together the creator with the created.
Murder.
Blood smeared on the basement walls in the middle of the night as a body is thrown up against the damp brick. A muffled scream as a face hits the ground, the sound just another wasted exertion. It's over now. The sense of loneliness that accompanies death. All concealed within the walls of his home.
This is what makes architecture truly alive, for architecture is only defined by the actions it witnesses. And to feel alive is a sensation of which Thomas Jefferson yearns for above all others.