I’d like readers to fall into the lush and alluring image of Pipilotti Rist’s Pour Your Body Out, like Alice fell into Wonderland. A short read later, I’d like them to wake up in the little house called Raspberry Fields, a house that pulses with long pink eyelashes for shingles. I’d like the reader to be unsure of whether or not they picked up the Eat Me or Drink Me bottle along the way.If Kissing Architecture describes the new romance between image and architecture, I’d like the book to introduce works of art to each other that might never have imagined themselves side by side nestled amongst the same pages and I’d like to think that the normally distant worlds of art and architectural readership will get a small thrill by rubbing up against each other through and through the veil of slightly defamiliarized questions.Architecture is a field that lacks criticism. It has theory. It has journalism. It has broad popular appeal—so much appeal that every Tom, Dick and TV watcher thinks he’s a critic.But distinguishing the building your dentist is in from the supermarket does not critical skills make, which I consider to be a combined effort of affective language and critical content.Kissing Architecture attempts to bring the experience of image-architecture together with its intellection through the device of writerly critique passionée.