Its semester two, week eleven, day 6. I’m feeling it. Its a little bit deeper of a burn than it used to be. I’m just pumped up. I think I’m in love with design. I can’t help it. Ideas fly around every minute of the day, every waking moment (and non-waking moments I can’t remember long enough to write down after snapping awake in the middle of the night). I add something to my list every day; “Oh, I could do that a little different (except in my head I say ‘better’)” or, “It would be fun to design -insert object, structure, program, tool, anything-.” I’ve got a “back burner” folder of projects I want to develop eventually. At first I was just thinking about them, giving them a name and putting them in a list on my desk. I soon realized I couldn’t remember everything I had thought about them. Now I’m not just thinking, I’m writing, drawing, talking, researching, looking at photographs, reading essays and books, copying sketches, watching videos and interviews on the internet. All of this will eventually come to light and be brought into the world (wide web). I’m not the worlds greatest designer, maybe with the right nudges and criticisms and works of other like-minded designers and non-designers, some of these ideas can come to fruition.
That’s the end of my pipe dream rambling. I’m going to try it, if it works, awesome. If it doesn’t, I’ll just keep my ideas to myself and never publish any work.
Luckily, my studio project is one of the ideas I feel passionate about. Maybe it’s because I’m leaning towards smaller scale design and if we were working on skyscrapers or something huge I wouldn’t be as happy. Maybe it’s because I am just excited about school. Most likely it’s because my jury gave me a lot of good insight (and hindsight) that I can use to improve my work this time around.
Currently exploring two thoughts.
One, architecture as conceptually the same as a stack of books. The tectonics of a book can inform an approach to architecture. Books consist of pages (layers of experiences, and alternate universes and entire worlds contained within), a binding to hold the pages together (the structure, a consistent organization, the structure making the layers possible, expressing them physically), a dust jacket to protect the cover (a skin, envelope that guards the interior from the elements of the world, conceals the relationship between interior and exterior while revealing character and expression on the outside.
In the books, pages. On the pages, chapters (chapters have themes and stories). In the chapters, paragraphs (paragraphs have messages and meaning). In the paragraphs, sentences (sentences have structure and syntax and semantics and something else poetic and intangible I’m having a hard time describing). In the sentences, words (words have phonetics, connotations). Words have roots, affixes, morphemes (please pass the morphine, now) and letters. The letters, oh the letters. Well, letters are symbols, composed of marks on the page, made by a pen, or a machine, now may be displayed on a screen.
Can we find and make sense of a metaphorical relationship between how we construct language, how language constructs books and how we approach architecture, form and space. What can we find inside form, and inside space? What are they made of? What is what they’re made of, made of? How can we break down the familiar tools and devices of architecture, start to manipulate the smallest, simplest of parts to suit our agendas and needs and build them back up to something of meaning?
Two, reading is weird. The act of reading. Our love of reading. The opening of a book (or now, the click of a button). Dusting off a cover. Alphabetizing, categorizing (dewey what?). Where we read, how fast we read, what are the conditions for a reading space. It would be easy to design a reading room. But what about a place for reading? Hmm. Must keep thinking (or reading).
arch student. doing arch student things.