11.02.12

In our weekly review, we’ve begun discussing the means by which the home’s undoing can transition into the pages of a book. In a project that must somehow translate itself to a far-removed audience, starting early in this process will be critical to ensure we don’t miss any essential moments.

We begin with a sectional concept, where the spine of the portfolio acts as a slice through the building, cutting between interior and exterior or room and hallway in order to orient the view and draw out the deconstruction. Preliminary layouts feel heavy-handed and repetitive, lacking in a consistent tone and scale. The two-image spread also makes it difficult to capture movement, especially with the multitude of images we have for each wall in both daylight and darkness as it comes apart.


Preliminary sectional layout.

We decide to shift our focus to a room-by-room disassembly, where the full influence of both worlds can be felt. With two strips of continuous imagery running in parallel, the story becomes more seamless, an ongoing narrative of simultaneous durations.

11.02.13

Placing a renewed emphasis on photography and with our manner of working relatively clear, we begin demolition in the southeast bedroom. We cover and uncover the window with fluidity, no longer questioning every move. Old wood paneling with Winnie the Pooh trim and brown damask wallpaper give way to a layer of crumbling plaster.









Back on the roof, we continue to pull up shiplap in order to drill apertures through the ceiling into the room below. With a large section of boards removed, we discover the narrow, 4” passage of a full-height stud wall traveling the length of the stairwell to the main floor. The depth of the cavity is mysterious, a space whose end we can’t see or touch. White kernels of insulation drift down, mixing with the snow that must already be building at its bottom. How long until we reach it? With the deconstruction only now beginning in earnest, we’re beginning to question how much we can accomplish with only two short months remaining until the review.

11.02.14

The path to the house has become a constantly shifting enigma beneath the snow. Whenever a north wind blows through the site, loose powder skiffs the top of the banks, filling in our footsteps and smoothing away the track in a matter of hours. Moving roof boards to the garage, we tread precariously, seeking the hard-packed under-layer we’ve built up from repeated use.

We stack the long planks on the bare concrete slab. Divided into two parts, the garage seems to be of a similar era to the house, with large sliding barn doors and small, wavy window-panes. The front is currently lined with bags of pink insulation from the attic, the back a mix of existing garbage and things we dragged over from the house. Old mattresses, rolls of carpet, an ancient baby stroller, Pic-a-Pop bottles and a broken refrigerator all commingle in the heap, the discarded artifacts of a multitude of changing owners and renters.

These things will be buried soon, pushed into a pit and covered with soil, sowed with grain and forgotten. One hundred years from now, recovered from within the earth as archaeological remains, we wonder what sort of narrative they will tell.