Exit | Wenatchee, WA | 2012

I’ve come to appreciate the between-worlds aspect of vestibules. In the 1970s, my bank in the French Quarter had a transition space from outside’s muggy, messy, mildewed streetscape to a cool, quiet, ordered interior. This classy inter-room eased you into the bank’s inner elegance — a hint of chill before the full AC, a crystal water pitcher before the lavish chandeliers, a doorman’s soft welcome before the tellers’ whispers. On entering, the vestibule provided a calm place to shed the city’s bustle. On exit, it was a place to muster one’s mettle for the heat, humidity and hurried hordes.