Buildings have no subjectivity; they are not alive. Or, perhaps in a way they are? Are bones alive, or seashells, or our teeth or the visible surface of our skins? All of these structures and surfaces are layed down by living things to provide support and protection, to keep water in or out as required. In a sense, buildings form the skeletons and skins of collective bodies. As collections of people rather than collections of cells, they work together toward some mutual advantage. So when a building is loved, or hated, desired or despised, it is not just the calcified matter that is being judged, but also the beings that made it, the reasons for its coming into being, the life which it is meant to shelter and support.‍‍