studio


Easily since the mid point of my second to last semester, I’ve felt pretty overwhelmed. The sheer volume of “Important Things To Do” that take up my day to day existence in order to get through everything that comes with being in grad school is just ridiculous. It got rough enough that at the end of December, when I should have been in a kind of ‘full throttle’ mode, that one day, I just sat. Literally. I was on a couch for a few hours just staring at the wall when I made the only semi-conscious choice to just stop. Everything. No studio, no thesis, no working, no job hunting. Obviously, this was a bad choice. I’m still hurting for it now. It took many more weeks to pick up the pieces when I did get rolling again than it would have been to keep some wheels spinning all along.

It seems like every couple of days I’ve got another big ‘can’t miss it!’, ‘don’t stop!’, ‘full speed ahead!’, ‘keep going!’, ‘watch out!’, ‘you’re gonna crash and the world is going to end!’ kind of deadline. Frequently, they seem to fall on the same days. And granted, some of this is just nested in my personality to always be scanning the horizon and trying to predict the future. But on the other hand, I’m coming to the end of a long process that has a lot of loose ends to tie up (grad school) at the same time that others are beginning to unravel for the first time (job hunting). My approach to this transition can be best summed up in the 400-Meter Hurdle theory.

The 400m hurdle race is arguably the most demanding of all events in the sprint-hurdle group. It requires a combination of speed + endurance (fixed semester length, way too many things to fit in) and hurdling skill (project deadlines) along with a unique awareness of stride pattern between hurdles (dedication in the face of exhaustion / tying to make the unsustainable, sustainable) which requires special concentration throughout the race. This is definitely the definition of grad school.

So, several tips for the big race:

Without question, the ideal stride pattern is a consistent pattern of steps between all hurdles.

What does this mean? Know yourself. Know your most productive times and try to arrange that you are available to work during those hours, whether they be late or early. Keep it even throughout the week. Even if you work/school schedule varies try to get up at the same time each day. Waking up at 7am, I workout on the days I don’t have to be somewhere immediately. Perfect fit.

The hurdler should strive to accelerate the last few strides into the hurdle.

At the same time, relax a little between hurdles. Try to exercise, cook decently balanced meals, and see your friends. Catch up on co-worker gossip, network and revamp portfolios. Because yes, you will exhaust yourself immediately preceding deadlines and have no time to do any of this. It is unavoidable. So try to remain as healthy and balanced for as long as possible before the bottom drops out.

Leading with the knee is the single most important fundamental of efficient hurdle technique.

For me, this means that in order to get somewhere, you’ve got to know where you’re going, which takes lots and lots of planning. I’m constantly thinking of the next day and how I can make it go smoother; packing lunches, gym bags, organizing pick up and drop offs, scheduling for larger time chunks to better focus on assignments. And big picture too of course, set clear goals and come up with simple, daily tasks that will help you achieve them.

It is very important to be able to make any of these adjustments well in advance of the hurdle, instead of trying to rush an adjustment in the last few strides before the hurdle.

However, there are always last minute kinks. Sometimes, I’ve tended to ignore these and plow ahead with my schedule anyways. This is bad. I never get where I intended on going this way. And sometimes, I fall spectacularly. While this would have to be funny to watch from the side lines, in order to prevent actually living through the fall (more than I already have anyways) re-evaluation is almost as important as initial planning.

So, surprise surprise, I got Lars Spuybroek for studio this year. After three months of playing along on the sidelines, I decided it was time to jump in and really learn something. The studio is set up this time not based on knots, but on something he initially referred to as “textile tectonics”. The first time we met with him (he was still on a plane during the studio lottery), he corrected himself, and is now naming the studio, “variable nets”. Pure vocabulary if you ask me, but he thought that not only was the double T harder to roll off the tongue, but it implied a separate system of skin and structure. Variable netting implies a softer, yet more rigid system of design integration.

Our program is different as well. Instead of private residences, we’re composing skyscrapers. Hopefully, at the end of the semester, instead of amorphous blobs we’ll have . . . . well, tall amorphous blobs. (pictured is NOX’s world trade center competition entry)

We’ll be studying the history of the skyscraper and developing a framework based on Gottfried Semper’s idea of the “textile” skin and tectonic “bone”.

Something that Julie Eizenburg said that happen to stick in my mind was that parking lots are important places of informal social interaction in today’s apartment complexes. That most everyone has a car, and therefore uses their parking space on a daily basis. Its a much more informal environment for meeting your neighbors than say, an exterior courtyard. Primarily because the parking lot is programmed to encourage action (looking for parking space, parking, unloading groceries, etc) rather than the mere interaction that is implicit in a more formal courtyard.

The task in the parking lot is pure consumption of space, and consumption is a completely individual sensation. It offers the illusion of social mixing, but there is little need to interact with others. In fact, the point is more to disappear, than to appear. The art of the flaneur , a detached observer.

So I’ve been googling social parking and coming up with articles ’stretching the social boundaries of public spaces’ ‘emotional geographies’ and ’societies of traffic’, decades old art instillations in suburban parking lots (“ghost lot“), and critiques of the ramp system in Koolhaas’s library . . . I could probably use a couple of more architectural examples of ramping systems integrated into building concepts.

 

 

 

 

While cute little diagrams like this will get you points on the ARE exam, it really doesn’t do all that much for helping you integrate building form and design intent. I’ve recently gotten stuck in converting my (text) concept into (shape) form. Or as our instructor put it, “everyone wants to save the world, but does saving the world drive form?”.

She recommended reading into the most recent publication of Nan Ellin, Integral Urbanism. Ellin is currently the associated lecturer with the Un-built Atlanta exhibit, and director of ASU’s Urban Studies program. Her book divides urbanism into five theories based on buzz words: hybridity, connectivity, porosity, authenticity, and vulnerability.

Best metaphor so far:

Because an Integral Urbanism does not produce master plans, it is not obsessed with control, instead, it aims to allow things to happen. If master planning were a form of surgery on an anesthetized city, Integral Urbanism would be acupuncture on a fully alert and engaged city.

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