Architects can make history come alive with advanced virtual reality technology

Also, the romantic story behind this image

by Richard L. Thornton, Architect & City Planner

This Virtual Reality image began during the Pandemic, when Vivi and I reconnected after being apart since 1993. She soon sent me a laser scan of herself as a gift and suggested that I convert it into a hologram to keep me company. This summer, I digitally altered her current body to the unnatural super-skinny waist that she had, when we first met on December 15, 1990. She is remarkably slim even today, but I was creating “virtual reality” of that magic moment.

I next added longer hair and the red dress that she wore on Saturday night at the Christmas Party in Alexandria, VA. I then went through the tedious tasks of converting an OBJ file to a DWG file, so the Artlantis virtual reality program could create realistic colors and textures for her skin, hair and clothing.

In her most enduring roles as an actress, Digital Vivi will portray young Mestizo women in the Nacoochee Valley, GA and Saint Augustine, FL . . . plus Metis French Huguenot-Creek women on the South Carolina and Georgia Frontier and mixed-blood British-Uchee women in the Savannah River Valley. Coming later is her star performance as Georgia Hawkins, beloved mixed-blood Creek daughter of American Indian Agent, Benjamin Hawkins.

The story behind the Virtual Reality image

Neither one of us thought that we would see each other again, late Sunday afternoon, when I drove off in my Toyoto pickup to go back to the farm in the Shenandoah Valley. On her flight to Los Angeles, Vivi convinced herself that I was not real. I was some frontiersman, who had walked through a time warp from the early 1700s to save her life from self-destruction, then disappeared back into history.

I knew that Vivi was a real person, but was grounded enough to know that it was clearly a situation of folklore’s “The Princess and the Frog.” Perhaps God had brought us together temporarily to give me the courage to walk away from a nightmarish fake marriage, where I was treated worst than dirt.

On the Late Night flight back from Los Angeles to Dulles Airport, Vivi decided to tell Air France that she was sick and would take a later flight to Paris that evening. She wanted to have proof that I was not the person, whom she become so incredibly bonded with. It was either yet another fling with man, who lied about everything or else the real thing, but a man, who had stepped out of the American frontier two or three centuries ago.

December 19, 1990: At dawn, Vivi rented an entire airport van and gave the driver my name, age and the county I lived in. He was able to quickly find my address. This surprised Vivi, but she assumed that I probably lived up some mountain cove in a log cabin or else in a brick rancher on a crowded mini-farm. When the driver called me from the Old Virginian Truck Stop for detailed directions, her heart began pounding. This was NOT another, quickly-forgotten weekend fling with some wealthy, arrogant playboy.

When she stepped out of the van onto the fresh snow, I was stunned to see her in the red dress that she had worn to the party, Saturday night. She had come to stay . . . at least for a few hours. She instructed the driver to unload her baggage. I grabbed a wheel barrow to carry the luggage into the house. Vivi had never seen a wheel barrow in person before.

Once in the Entry Hall of the house, we embraced tenderly to make sure that the other person was real. Vivi then walked into the Dining Room, turned around and announced:

“Mon Dieu Ree-shad! Weinstein, the producer in Los Angeles, was a monster! After my audition, he put a drug in my coffee. I thought that he was going to kill me, but I could not move my body to escape. Hearing my screams, a secretary came in and saved me. I quit le cinéma forever! ”

“Then when I went back to my hotel room to put medicine on my cuts and bruises then cry myself to sleep, I read a Protestant brochure. Normally, I ignore religious things, but something touched my heart that night.”

“I want to be reborn to be 18 years again. Will you baptize me with the water from the creek beside your house? “

I said yes, but would have to warm up the cold stream water in the microwave. Vivi wanted to see the house, so I led her into the massive 20 feet by 24 feet Keeping Room, where she took this photo. We then went into the big country kitchen, where I cooked her a breakfast. She had not eaten in 14 hours.

After we went upstairs, I explained to her that I was not a church minister, but the Bible didn’t say anything about an ordained preacher or priest being required for baptism. My Methodist hymnal had the words that you say in the baptism. I baptized her in the Master Shower.

After an extended period of getting to know the upstairs, Vivi put on a Santa’s Little Helper outfit. We went outside and visited with the puppies.

Old Springhouse Tavern in Woodstock, VA

Vivi wanted to see what towns looked like in rural Virginia. She also had never ridden in a pickup and found that exciting. I drove her around the county seat of Woodstock, which was founded in 1752. Most of the buildings in its downtown date from the 1700s and 1800s.

We went for lunch to the Old Springhouse Tavern, which dated from the 1700s. One glance at Vivi and the waitress directed her to the VIP room. I was wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt. The waitress then asked Vivi, if she wanted her bodyguard (me) to accompany her. Vivi responded that I was her Architect.

A couple of minutes later, the waitress escorted a middle-aged Asiatic lady into the VIP room. The woman overheard Vivi say that after she arrived in Paris tomorrow, she was going to give her daughter a wonderful Christmas and tell her about the goat and sheep farm that she visited. The Asiatic woman began speaking in French to Vivi.

The other restaurant guest was Yoko Ono, widow of Beetles member, John Lennon! Yoko soon joined us at the table. I understood enough French to generally know what the ladies were discussing, but not enough to be part of the conversation.

At this point, I was convinced that I had entered the Twilight Zone. I had started the day, planning that morning to clean the manure out of the birthing stalls in the barn then wash up and deliver cheese to some shops in Fairfax County that had run out due to Christmas parties.