During a lunchtime conversation last Friday, I was caught off guard by a question to which I honestly hadn’t given much thought.  I was asked what I did on my own free time, specifically “cultural” or for “personal enjoyment”.  It was a loaded question, made clear by the context of its asking.  After replying with my typical answer of “building with HFH on Saturdays”, I realized that I didn’t add much more follow-up to that response.

This bothered me.  

This bothered me so much, in fact, that hours after the conversation, I was still thinking of how small and somewhat sad my response felt, as if perhaps there was something missing from my life to the point where I couldn’t even tell someone how I “have fun”.

As the afternoon and evening progressed, I continued to dwell on that conversation until it finally occurred to me that one BIG problem with my response was that I had tried to respond to the question how I perceived I was expected to, and that all of the activities that I associated with people’s definitions of “having fun” were things that required money (for example, concerts and eating out).  Like many others, my personal finances have been significantly negatively impacted by the (thankfully waning) downturn in the economy over the past five years.  Where my response really came up short, though, was that I had overlooked (or just plain forgotten) all of the things I do that bring me great joy that don’t cost much money, if any at all.

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I love to read, especially sci fi and comics (call them “graphic novels” if it makes you feel any better).  Good stories have always fascinated me, and if they include pictures then all the better.  I am presently enjoying some steampunk sci fi by James Blaylock, straight up sci fi by S. M. Stirling, and the latest (strikingly mythical) exploits of Wonder Woman.  I’m also getting ready to read some non-fiction about the evolution of the slave trade in Barbados, my interest having been piqued while listening to an interview with the author on Fresh Air one afternoon.

Another constant in my life has always been music.  I can listen to most types, but my Spotify stream has been noticeably heavy on country lately.  Music has always reflected my moods, and there is no surer sign that I’m in a good mood than when I’m singing along to a song on the radio (or even in my head).  Country music brings out my nostalgic moods, classical my analytical side.  Sometimes, only pop music will do.

I like to use my hands.  I am currently completing a learning-annex type course in hand-formed pottery.  You can check out my Facebook and Instagram pages for some of the results, but this is basically just an extension of my need to make things.  HFH helps me work some of this need out of my system (on a rougher, more aggressive, level), but sometimes I need for what I make with my hands to have more of an art to it.  Hence the pottery.  And sometimes, just sometimes, when all the stars are in perfect alignment and my life is at its most settled, I’ll pull out my sketch book and jot down a few thoughts in graphic form.

I like science.  When I get the chance on a Thursday or Friday evening, I’ll head over to the Fernbank Science Center (http://fsc.fernbank.edu/) to see what’s in their telescope.  So far I’ve seen the Plieades Cluster, the moon, Saturn, Jupiter and other stars and planets.  I always make it a point to ask questions about the distance to, or age of, whatever we are viewing.

I love art and design.  I try to visit every exhibit at MODA (http://www.museumofdesign.org/) and at Whitespace (http://whitespace814.com/ ).  While I don’t often indulge in the philosophical musings of my college years, it is refreshing from time to time to engage a decidedly different side of the brain.  I can be surprisingly (to some) contemplative about art and culture, and trips to museums and galleries help me reboot my mind after the routine of the work week.

Likewise, a trip to Room and Board can help clear out the cobwebs from my designer’s mind and get me excited about design again.  Thankfully, now that money’s tighter I can easily walk in and out of there without spending a dime.  And like many designers, sometimes all it takes to get me thinking about design is walking into a noticeably good (or bad) space.

I enjoy nature, and when the weather is just right I like to go hiking with Abbey, my husky mix.  At first, it’s kind of tricky, as I usually start out a bit out of shape, but I can get into the rhythm fairly quickly, especially if it’s cool.  The combination of fresh air, quiet and good company can fix most of the week’s problems.  I also kayak, though not as much as I’d like to.  It seems like the weather in Atlanta goes from too cold to too hot too quickly.

One last thing, if it wasn’t clear by the over seven hundred words that preceded this paragraph:  I also enjoy writing.

Paulistano Uncovered

Here's a blast from the past.  My winning entry in the Paulistano Uncovered design competition from 2009.  Still proud of it.

Pinterest as a Design Tool

Architects get inspired by other designers' work.

While the ethical architect does not copy, it would be disingenuous to say we aren't affected in some way or another (even if only at the subconscious, intuitive level) when we see the work of other architects.  Sometimes it's details, sometimes scale, sometimes proportions.  Sometimes it's just how someone else solved a problem, addressed a condition, that we have faced ourselves.  At the very least, architects (and designers, in general) are a strongly visual group.

This is where Pinterest, my latest Internet obsession, comes in.  For those unfamiliar with the site (www.pinterest.com), Pinterest starts from the premise that when you see something interesting on the Internet, you "pin" it to one of your boards.  Appropriately enough, the artifact indicating your pin is an image.  That image generally serves as a link to an outside website.

Think of it as magazine clippings meeting your Internet Explorer Favorites on steroids.  What is valuable to the designer is the treasure trove of imagery and design that has already caught someone else's attention enough to merit being pinned to one of their boards.

My Pinterest design flirtation started innocently enough.  I would seek out images of the work of the late John Hejduk, or maybe see what David Adjaye was up to.  The progressed into a trip through the works of other, lesser-known, architects whose work I likely would never have heard of otherwise.  if you're wondering what I mean, visit my Architecture board.  Check out the work of SB Architects.  Or the beautiful, modern Signal Shed cabin by Ryan Lingard.

I will warn you, though.  Like Facebook, Pinterest can be a time-consuming black hole, an addiction to which can make you forget you have friends, family, even pets.  Don't overdo it!

Go-To Books for Architects and Designers - 30 January 2012

For the next installment in my list of go-to books for architects and designers, I offer Architect's Handbook of Construction Detailing, by David Kent Ballast. 

Here, Ballast, who has also authored numerous ARE study guides (including the ones that helped me study for my exams), presents a fairly exhaustive series of construction details ranging from concrete and masonry to doors and windows, and finish details.  Additionally, each component is listed by CSI number, which helps the architect create  list of specifications necessary for the detail and for the project.  What keeps this book from being just a series of details is with each detail, Ballast lists not only the individual components of the detail but also detailing considerations, required coordination and things like likely failure points.  The nerd in me jumps in joy at each detail!

Go-To Books for Architects and Designers

Every once in a while, I come across a book to which I return over and over again, a book that informs my work as an architect.  For a change of pace, this time I pay homage to some of the books that have helped molded me, and whose words never grow old to me.

For my first such venture I present Architecture: Form, Space and Order.  Never mind that author Frank Ching has a whole section of Amazon.com dedicated to his work.  Never mind that this book was required reading my freshman year at Georgia Tech.  Never mind that my dog ate my twenty-five year old copy and I bought a new, updated version last year.  This book, in very direct words and imagery, lays out some of the most basic principles of the art of Architecture. 

Whenever I question on of my design decisions, this book helps focus my decision-making process.  It breaks down the question of design into its most fundamental principles.  Ching analyzes forms, their relationships, and their organization, as well as how circulation between, through and around these forms activates them.  With an astounding simplicity and elegance, Ching lays out the craft of architecture for all to understand.

This isn't to say that architecture can necessarily be broken down into a series of quantifiable rules and properties.  The most cursory viewing of such enlightened spaces as Le Corbusier's Notre Dame du Haut in Ronchamps, Tadao Ando's Church of Light, and Freed's Holocaust Museum readily shows that the most moving of architectures incorporate not only discernable design principles, but also an element of inspiration that proves the rules by manipulating, even breaking, them, adding an unmistakable touch of inspiration.

Ching, however, masterfully reduces architectural principles into their most basic and most distilled essences.  The artwork in the book, beautiful linework with superimposed graphics that illustrate each principle, helps pin down each of the themes of the book.  Form, space, circulation, order, proportion, scale and basic principles, each theme serves as the basis of the beginnings of a language that every architect should learn.  And the earlier the better.

Learning

learn·ing
(noun)

1.  knowledge acquired by systematic study in any field of scholarly application.

2.  the act or process of acquiring knowledge or skill.

I recently had the pleasure of touring the new Clough Undergraduate Learning Commons at Georgia Tech. This facility, opened in August of this year, offers a place of learning adjacent to the main library on "the Hill", and includes classrooms, a Starbuck's, labs and a common area where students regularly congregate.

Clough Commons, as it has become known, also boasts multiple sustainability strategies and is currently undergoing LEED certification.  Among these are solar panels, a rain cistern for gray water use, efficient and smart electrical fixtures, and a monitored HVAC system.  The five floor includes a lush, occupiable, roof garden that invites visitors out into the fresh air.

The interior is a bright, open, and dynamic space, with a multi-story atrium crisscrossed by floating stairs.  It's easy see how daylight harvesting could work here.  The articulation of the spaces emanates from its use, probably best exemplified by the main corridor/gathering space.

If you  are local and haven't visited it yet, you owe it to yourself to do so.  Like the College of Architecture west building, Clough Commons stands as an example of building as teaching tool.  In addition to displaying numerous examples of sustainable practices, the Commons engenders a powerful sense of community through the usability of its circulation and public spaces.  It has quickly become one of the premier buildings on campus, due to its versatility and the many areas where students can learn, interact, and unwind.  Best of all, it's open 24 hours a day.

As a Tech alumnus, I can say that I wish we had had a building like this when I went to school.

For additional information, visit the Wikipedia article here.

Sanctuary

sanc·tu·ar·y

(noun)

1. a sacred or holy place.

Sanctuaries - The Last Works of John Hejduk, an exhibit at the Whitney museum of American art, illuminated the final years of architect John Hejduk's work and life. Curated by K. Michael Hays, the exhibit offered an extensive final look at, and a loving farewell to, the iconoclastic work of an architect largely ignored by anyone outside of academia. This work, though finished in this world, still resonates with themes ever present in today's world. 

During my years in graduate school at the Georgia Tech College of Architecture, I was fortunate enough to study Hejduk's work extensively. Though my thesis there centered on the work Daniel Libeskind executed before any significant building commissions, it was Hejduk's work that arose my passions as an architect. While I could analyze and appreciate Libeskind's work (admittedly through much effort and esoteric research), it was Hejduk's that moved me. His poetry, made manifest in built forms that sometimes bore little resemblance to "buildings", never ceased to inspire me, and to evoke a deep and quiet awe within me.

My first exposure to the work of a man once described "the last architect of the twentieth century and the first architect of the twenty-first," came in the form of The House of the Suicide and The House of the Mother of the Suicide, a full-scale architectural installation at the College of Architecture. This installation, shepherded by then tech educator Jim Williamson, was John Hejduk's moving tribute to Jan Palach, a Czech student who committed a very public suicide by self-immolation as protest against the Soviet occupation of his country.

The Houses, constructed by a team of students under Williamson's management, took over four years to come to fruition, and their unveiling culminated in a lecture by John Hejduk himself. I still remember meeting this giant of a man, a giant who spoke with a gentle, centered eloquence on themes that consumed much of my thoughts in my graduate school years. Memory. Conviction. Loss. Love.

I also had the great fortune of taking a class under Anthony Vidler, whose work The Architectural Uncanny, includes a study of Hejduk's work In his book, Vidler speaks of Hejduk's role as outsider, an architect who refused to bow to contemporary fashions. His work, likewise, struck its viewers as compositions of oddly quasi-anthropomorphic constructions, outsiders wherever they went.

And go they did. In addition to jumping between projects, Hejduk's vagabond visitors showed up in places across the world. In Argentina, his Shelter Mask turned the city of Buenos Aires into a stage. Friend Peter Eisenman helped realize the haunting Tribute Towers in Spain. His housing projects in Berlin offer a stark contrast to their surrounding buildings. And the House of the Suicide and the House of the Mother of the Suicide have shown up in three different cities across two different continents.

Hejduk was an architect's architect. He was artist and poet. His work was never compromised by trends. His ideas were never watered down. His vision was never clouded. Of all my career accomplishments, my involvement with the House of the Suicide will always rank s one of my favorites, although the work was accomplished before I entered the field full-time. I will always wonder what could have been, had Hejduk's life lasted longer.