The New Design Digs

And so... it begins

under:COVER

A disguise. A lie. A fake facade that concels the truth. Pretending to be what one is not. Saying one thing, while the truth and reality remains otherwise. A direct and intentional mislead.

That is what achitecture has become.

Stucco is a cover. It is used to hide the fact that a building is made out of cylinder blocks or some other material. It tells the viewer that the wall is a single mass, when the truth is that this barrier is made of a constituency. Many components working together towards a single goal- in this case a wall.

Why? What is so wrong about embracing the material used? So it's concrete blocks and not solid gold. Get over it. This material was chosen for a reason. It serves a function that is done very well and done inexpensively. Are these people ashamed of their decision? They shouldn't be. They made the right choice. So they shouldn't have to hide it. Embrace it. Embrace the texture of the concrete. Embrace the module it creates. So it may not be the most beautiful, asthetically-pleasing material pallet. Stain it. Cover it with something that brings out its nature in new way. I've seen panels of particle board that were treated and looked gorgous. And particle board is a material with a bad reputation and for good reasons. It's been misused. Mistreated. But a gathering/seating area inside Full Sail University uses it for benches and does not try to lie about it. And it looks amazing.

A wave of uneasment- no, more than that, it was more along the lines of a deep-seated anger- ran over me when I came across a building in Charleston that had painted over granite panels. GRANITE. EXPENSIVE, BEAUTIFUL ROCK. It was covered with SOME BLAND, NON-DESCRIPT GREY PAINT. It makes no sense. It's plain blasphemy. A crime. The only enjoyment it brought was this sense of discovery when one notices the peeling back of paint. Its like dusting some dirt of a rock and having revealed a beautiful jem.

Sometimes you just have to find the beauty in natural things. Sometimes you just have to embrace things for what they are, and let that shine through.

Sometimes, you can't cover the truth.

formLESS

What is architecture? Formless.

We are a society of labelers. Of styles. Things which fit into nice, neat categories. Everything has to be able to be described as part of some kind of movement, and then thrown into a big collection of everything stuck with that tag. No deviations from the norm. OR, if the deviations exist, they are all lumped together and labled deviations. Ironic. Their differences make them the same.

Classicalism. Modernism. Post-moderism. Deconstructivism. Blobitecture.

Too many definitions for the same thing: Architecture. Architecture is not a style. They are too many to mention. Architecture is not a form. The forms are as varied as imagination will allow. The characteristics of what defines a space is not what makes architecture. Decoration is not architecture. Material pallets are not architecture. Computer generated forms are not architecture. They are simply the means through which the idea is conveyed. Its akin to calling the brush or the paint which was used to make an image a "painting." It simply isn't. They are integral to the actual act of constructing or forming the painting. Without them there would be no painting. But that does not mean they are the painting. They have influence, but the end result is an entity independent from them.

If it creates space, it is architecture. The form is incidental. The style is incidental. Labels created by a society which grew up classifying its classmates into groups with various cool points. Fuel for a raging fire of discussion on personal opinions.

In the end, all that matters is the space. Its characteristics. The thoughts. The feelings. The creativity it sparks. Everything else is simply what makes that possible.

my life: FOUR in the MORNING

So I've left the studio. My life. My life is that little room filled with desks and scraps of wood and paper. A sterile environment; the only auditory, olfactory, or visual stimuli are the ones that I have brought in with me. It's dedication. To work like this. Something no one outside the major gets. Outsiders look at the work, hear the ideas. They know that hours upon hours are spent. They can understand the intensity. But they can not understand where the time goes. To other people, the work I do is meaningless. Explanations fall on deaf ears. Ideas that have been hand-crafted, inspired, sculpted with loving precision. These ideas turn to lumps of stone in the eyes of non-architecture majors.

To be misunderstood would be one thing. Misunderstanding implies a connection made, just one doesn't lead to the correct destination. Nothing can describe the blank stare. The words. The words that carry nothing but polite faux interest. People are uninterested at the worst, confused at the best. The confusion: all I have is some paper that has been cut and glued together. Kids do this all the time in elementary school. Why does it take so long to do this? I thought I said I spend so much money on these projects. Sigh.

This is architectural design. Not building construction. There is a difference.

But like I said, this is my life. From morning to morning, excluding what little sleep I manage to sneak in at random times during the day. Excluding the breaks for a meal, for other classes. Excluding little breaks, I am constantly working on design. We in the major huddle together. Not for warmth, but to keep back the rising tide. We are the ones who have made it thus far. We have watched our fellow classmates drop out of the major. It felt like Normandy. Not everyone could live like this. Not everyone could understand the assigned work. Not everyone wanted this. We have made it thus far. We reminisce over missed peers. The have moved on. We have stayed to glue or draw at three in the morning. Competitions break out. Those who stay the longest, sleep the least; they are the winners. Anyone who leaves early is mocked by those who stay late. Anyone who stays late is mocked by those who leave early. Whoever placed caffiene dispensing machines so close to the studios is a rich entrepreneur. Artificial chemicals. Loud music. These compensate for a night's sleep. But poorly.

And now, ironically, time for me to sleep. A few hours of quiet. Ultimately it means nothing in terms of feeling rested. But still necessary. My life, at four in the morning.

In The Beginning...

This is going to be for announcements and updates on projects currently being worked on, as well as a soapbox from which I can preach to the empty void my viewpoints and standings.