Preliminary Boards

      Here is an update on the redesign project for Ringer Library. Most of our recent effort has been concentrated on board layout, graphic design, and how to most effectively present available information. Rather than add in lots of undersized images to this post, I've provided a link to a Google Drive folder with a PDF of our boards in it. I know it is ideal to have images within the post, but Blogger has it's limitations, and things were really not working out when I tried to get a nice layout on here. Take a gander. I think they're quite nice.

Thinking Beyond The Next Pig

      Not too long ago, I wrote a post about a novel by Douglas Adams, "The Long Dark Tea-
Time Of The Soul". If you've read it, you may recall that I promised that I would eventually elaborate on a certain topic within that post. Well, the time has come at last for me to do just that. Here's a little refresher to get things started.

      The scene takes place in Valhalla. The gods have gathered and are feasting as they await Thor's arrival. Thor has called Odin for a public confrontation of some sorts, which is evidently a regular occurrence in the alternate dimension that these gods inhabit. Roasted pig is a main attraction at these events. Dirk Gently is conversing with a guest at the feast when the following line is delivered. 
  
      "It's no secret that the gods have fallen on hard times," said the old man grimly. "That's clear for all to see, even for the ones who only care about the pigs, which is most of 'em. And when you feel you're not needed any more it can be hard to think beyond the next pig, even if you used to have the whole world there with you."

      I felt like that was the best part of the whole book. It sums up the entire reason for Thor issuing a challenge to Odin and consequently explains the conflict around which the book is centered. It also brings forth a very good topic for discussion.

      One major theme component that I omitted from my previous writing on this book was the idea of relinquishing what's truly important for the pursuit of vain and material things. Odin has done just this, and that's why Thor has issued the challenge. Odin has entered a contract with man to relinquish his godly powers in order to have comfort in the mortal and material world. He would rather have a clean room and fresh linens than all the power in the world. Sounds ridiculous? It's Douglas Adams, remember? Odin truly lost sight of what's important in life. He chased material things. He chased the next pig.

      Here's where I believe this passage and this book most tie in to each other. I have written many posts on other readings and discourses that relate to the idea above. I'm going to leave out a links to them all, lest this post start to look like the Star Wars intro with hyperlinks scrolling through space, but I assure you, they're there. Some relevant topics include mass customization in architecture, the idea of an architect as a master builder, and the future of architecture as a whole.

      A fair amount of my writings from earlier this semester would suggest that the architect's sphere of influence is shrinking, much like that of the Norse Gods. Architects really did used to have the whole world there with them. That's not to say that they're not important now, but I feel like that they have filled bigger shoes in years past. Architects enjoyed elevated social status because of their occupation, and their works often defined entire time periods, movements, and groups of people. Unfortunately, this tends not to be the case today.

      This dwindling influence can be attributed to a few things. Architects really cannot help the fact that advances in technology have made it borderline impossible to be a master builder in the sense that Brunelleschi was. The expansion of automated and prefabricated design have not been kind to the demand for architects, either. It would appear that the cards have been stacked against the architect, and it is my fear that the stack is only growing taller. However, we must not despair, and for the love of everything that is holy, we must not chase the next pig.

      It can be easy to take the low road, especially when you feel like what you're doing really isn't all that important. I understand that everybody needs to work. I get it. The bills don't take care of themselves. Neither does my homework. Sometimes it can be a struggle just to get through the day, but when things seem to be falling apart around us, we have to take the extra step and challenge ourselves. I hope I'm not getting overly dramatic here, but I feel like this important for not only architecture as a profession, but also life as a whole. We all must take the time to find what we think is important and has value, because it is in doing that that we find happiness and purpose.

      Thanks for reading, and here's to hoping that your raison d'être isn't bed sheets.

Why Steve Can't Have Nice Things

      Perhaps you recall this lovely creature, Steve the Styracosaurus. Well, Steve has fallen on hard times, and he's not to blame.

    
      For starters, just two weekends after Steve was placed in his natural habitat in the bushes outside of Langford B, we recorded some horrendous amount of rain in a very short span of time. That was the same rainstorm that forced the athletic program to buy hundreds of thousands of dollars of new turf for Kyle Field. Too bad they couldn't have spent that money on an enclosure for Steve.
     
      The trouble did not stop there. Steve had his leg inadvertently broken by somebody who tripped in to him while trying to take a picture. I guess that is the downside of being such a handsome dinosaur. We think this was the blow that did him in, but we decided to stick an arrow in his neck, just to put him out of his misery. A sad situation, but we must not grieve too much. Steve's spirit lives on in our hearts, just as the spirit of his Dino brethren live on in fuel tanks everywhere. What is dead may never die.

Embracing The Suck

      If it sounds dirty, it's probably because it is dirty. We spent a little time in class today practicing sketches. I tend not to sketch a whole lot because I'm not very good at sketching, and I'm not very good at sketching because I tend not to sketch a whole lot. It's a vicious cycle, but today that cycle was broken. I embraced my sucky sketching abilities for about a half hour, and I had a good time doing it. Using the floor plan below, I created the following perspective. If my sketches are as bad as I believe they are, then it would be helpful if I told you that this is supposed to be looking at the sharp corner on the left side of the plan.

      Things got a little icky over there on the left side of the sharp corner in question, but on the whole, I liked it. I can't seem to find an image of what the actual project looks like, but I'm sure it's nothing close to what's above. We'll just call this an artist's interpretation. Just kidding. Be looking for less sucky sketches sometime in the near future.

Thinking Like An Architect

      Peyton Manning on fourth quarter comebacks: "You hear about how many fourth quarter comebacks that a guy has and I think it means a guy screwed up in the first three quarters."

      Football and Architecture do not have too much in common. You may be wondering why I am trying to draw connections between the two, and why I would choose such a clumsy quotation to draw said connections with. Let me explain. Peyton Manning is no wordsmith by any stretch of the imagination, but he raises a valid point. Fourth quarter comebacks are exciting, but they suggest by their very nature that somewhere along the way, somebody did not do their job. It's great to be able to get yourself out of a pinch, but it's better to avoid getting yourself in one all together.

      The same can be said for architects and their work. Architects create things, and it is our hope that these things we create do not create problems. These problems can manifest themselves in a number of ways, from the mildly obnoxious to the massively problematic. Afternoon glare, okay, but a leaking ceiling? Nope. Thinking like an architect means that you know how to deal with these problems, and you deal with them by making sure they never happen. A good architect is like a master chess player. (I really like that, should've gone with that instead of Peyton Manning). As a chess player contemplates a move, they are thinking several turns on down the line.

      The same can be said for design. The architect must think of all the ramifications of their design choices. Good architects are aware of more than just the immediately visible effects that their choices may have. They should know trouble before it arises, and they sure as hell don't want anything to do with fourth quarter comebacks.

Mid Term Reviews

      Mid-terms were on Wednesday. We had two reviewers come in and critique our work done to this point in design. Their comments were insightful, and I think they will prove very helpful moving forward.

     

      You may recall this image from an earlier post. The parti illustrates two main axis of pedestrian circulation through the site and building. Our form and parti are generated along the continuation of existing elements from the library. A main idea of this concept is currently lost in plan. The circulation under the barrel vault is broken by the new entrance created. The area where the curved wall terminates in the new wing is also an issue. It doesn't agree with its counterpart in the existing building, and could be adjusted to make the form more in line with our concept.

      Reviews were good, and I look forward to continuing this project.

Little Things And Not So Little Things

      “If walls could talk,” is the old expression. News flash - they do. Some walls are boring, and do not have much to say. Some walls speak volumes by nature of unthinkable blandness.  Some walls walls say just enough to get you interested. It’s true. Everything single object has some sort of intrinsic meaning and message. Materials cost money. Some of them are quite expensive. The true value of a material, however, is not found on the price tag in Home Depot. It is found in the message that material sends. 

      When humans first began to build, they did so for simple reasons, and their buildings were made quite simply. People need shelter, so they made their shelter with what they had. Examples of this can be seen throughout history. Native Americans in the Southwest had Adobe houses. Pioneers across the great plains had sod roofs. At the time, people were just building what they needed with what they had at hand. As time passed, however, these materials began to take on meaning by virtue of their context and their very existence. Adobe bricks conjure images of the desert, with its empty spaces and beating sun. The modern equivalent of the sod roof is, perhaps, the green roof. In addition to the environmental incentive of a green roof, we also have the cultural context of the prairie and its sweeping plains. There are so many subtexts within a building. Every piece of it contributes a unique element to the whole. Every piece has a story of its own.

       Today we are able to process information and draw connections faster than ever. The context of materials grows more and more complex as we continue to use them in different capacities. The dialogue between materials is one that has been built up over centuries of design and millennia of construction. This leaves designers with a difficult challenge to face. The bar has been both raised and lowered simultaneously. We have the ability to create with more freedom in all aspects, but the information age is very good at pointing out our mistakes.

       Let’s take a look at an example. Here we find a symbolic contradiction of forms, no matter how we look at it. Notice the bell towers on the first image, with their curved cornices and tightly grouped columns. See the similarities with the lantern of the second building? As one may have recognized, the building on the left is St Paul’s Cathedral in London. It was designed by Christopher Wren for many good reasons. One of them was to be the headquarters for the Protestant Church in England. This church on the right is Sant’Ivo alla Sapienza. It happens to be designed by Francesco Borromini, who happened to be a principal architect for the Roman Catholic Church in the Counter-Reformation. This shared form was practically trademarked by Borromini. Sant’Ivo was consecrated fifteen years before construction on Saint Paul’s began. Do you see the problem here? St Paul’s is a beautiful church and a monumental achievement by Christopher Wren, but you can’t help but cringe at the unfortunate connection between his design and Borromini’s. This is the kind of thing that an architect would like to avoid doing. 

    I don’t think my work as a student and aspiring architect will place me in any context with the potential for disaster on as grand of a scale as described above any time soon, but it is always good to stay prepared. Knowing is half the battle, I suppose. Every little piece does matter, and if we’re not careful, they can matter a whole lot more than we would have ever liked them to. Every building has a story, and these stories are told by the materials we make them with. They all contribute a sentence or two, if you would. It is up to the designer to make sure that once these sentences are put together, they actually make sense. If we fail to do this, we may end up creating a building that costs a lot of money, but has no real value.