Dear Crown Hall, I imagine that you are now covered in snow, and like most of the places, are especially elegant because of the winter. I must confess that it’s been so long since I last thought about you, but this is a good opportunity to express how our experience together changed my perspective about what it means to be an architect. Before going to Chicago, a huge expectation had been created inside me, since I would be studying in a building that, besides being designed by the brilliant mind of Mies Van der Rohe, is also the postal of the Illinois Institute of Techonology. Do you understand the value of this for an architect student? In fact, I imagine you do, since I was not the first, nor the last to go through your doors. However, having you as a mark in the university helps the architecture students support a cause that is way bigger: our value. I imagine that many students from other courses did not understand that before coming to IIT, but I also dare to say that they were jealous of everything that happened inside you. First, I must start by confessing something. The first time I walked on campus, I mistook you for another building, the Herman Hall. In my defense, I was not the only one, and just between us, Mies had a way of doing this very often. However when I finally met you, I understood that only you has the glamour and the sovereignty of a crown. And by the way, Mies knew exactly how to direct all eyes to you. But let’s talk about what happened inside you. Me, only 20 years old, coming from an architecture school that was gray and sad, when I first enter through your doors I thought: I’m not knowledgeable enough to inhabit this building. After all, you need maturity to understand the importance and singularity of everything that you offer. Starting by the open plans. Something that for me was almost like a distant dream: histories professors told us so we could imagine before sleeping at night. A whole floor without walls, with only some wood panels, where in the future I would learn that were where we would pin our works (and, by the way, I was often a little embarrassed – and maybe a little proud sometimes – having to pin my works there). Rooms without walls, and even so every studio had its place. And around you, all the IIT revering you through your glass façade. I was redirected to the downstairs floor, where I spent months suffering the horror of being an architecture student. From there, I would only see some rays of sunlight, which were enough to keep me sane during this period. Your library, equally imperial, with designed chairs on top of the bookshelves, all behind the glass panels, after all, no one has anything to hide there. What I really want to say is that everything that happened inside you was exclusively remarkable and nobly selected only for us, architects. We watched different lectures, hosted the Mies Crown Hall Americas Prize (when we had incredible architects as visitors), debated about various subjects, had many final presentations, always with the wood panels covered with a lot of art and hard work. And the tables always filled with food, to calm down the nerves. I know some people that made a home out of you, where they would spend the night awake, with blankets under the tables for some minutes of rest. It was inside you, also, that we heard severe critics. I saw a lot of people crying. I cried as well. Models falling on the floor, despair to print projects on time, people cutting themselves with the cutting knife. And in the summer, with all due respect, it was like a stove inside you. What I’m trying to say is, in fact, that you represent the both sides of the crown. One is the elegance e nobility of being an architect, creator of dreams and, the other, all the battles that we have to win to achieve the throne and deserve to be crowned. But I believe that all monarchies are like that, isn’t that true? Deep inside I can only thank you. I believe that everyone who went through your doors go out stronger and more prepared. Thank you for the time we spent together, and take good care of the ones that will come next. Kind regards, Beatriz.