Prints and Textures.

(Source: Olivia Gregory)

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DIG

Dig was an exhibition and performance at Storefront for Art and Architecture by Daniel Arsham/Snarkitecture that explored the architecture of excavation. Storefront’s distinctive gallery space was filled with a solid volume of EPS architectural foam, engulfing the existing interior in an unyielding flood of white. The volume was then excavated using simple tools – hammers, picks and chisels – to transform a stock industrial material into a strange, unexpected cavern for both work and play. 

An exhibition documented the ongoing dialogue between ideas of notational precision and fabricated looseness. This negotiation of design logic with sculptural intuition sets the stage for the interaction between the artist and viewer. Daniel Arsham/Snarkitecture created and inhabited Dig for the duration of the subsequent month-long installation, carving spaces from solid infill in a performance open to public view. The façade of Storefront became a human ant farm, framing the work occurring within for outside passerby. Inside the remaining gallery space, a cave-like entrance opened into the solid form, inviting viewers to watch the excavation of an unreal space in real time. 

Dig was an experiment between the precision of the architectural plan and the looseness of the unknown. The installation and performance explored the intersection of primitivism and contemporary architecture; the complexity of the final surfaces and form suggested a digital origin and concealed the simplicity of a space made entirely by hand. The solid volume was excavated and inhabited by basic necessity, but also engaged in careful play with the existing architecture of Storefront. Dig uncovered the inconceivable within the conceivable. 

At the close of the installation, the material was returned to the manufacturer and recycled into rigid foam insulation. 

Dig was made possible by OHWOW and Galerie Emmanuel Perrotin.

(Source)

Abigail Ahern's Place.

I have always loved The Selby ever since I found out about its existence a couple years ago. I especially love that the homes they feature are mostly up to par (if it doesn't exceed it) with how I would've wanted my own place to be like, when I get one.

Mix and match furniture, high ceilings, and a view overlooking a stunning private backyard slash garden? 

Yes please.

Ugh, I can't tell you how much I love the statement lighting she owns. I'm having a hard time finding the statement-making source of light for my future bedroom, and to be honest, both of the above would be perfect. Mostly because I'm not very keen on the traditional-looking chandeliers (or chandeliers, period, well not for my bedroom anyways).

Its always better to have an actual bookcase, but when you can't have one; what better than a ceiling high wallpaper that gives you that illusion, but without the need of occasional dusting. And quirky knobs to hang your bags, etc on. 

Mad love, baby. Mad love.

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So You Wanted to be an Architect...

by Scott C. Reynolds.

Your Lego set was more advanced than those of your peers. Meticulously curated through years of single-minded Santa-letter-writing and trading with friends, your set was capable of producing perfect miniature cityscapes. Whereas most kids didn’t care if the north facing wall of their plastic skyscraper was a mottled mess of yellow blue and red bricks haphazardly stacked without any regard for structural integrity, you were a perfectionist, insisting that your multistory masterpieces were cohesive in their color and in the pattern of brick boundaries.

For your eleventh birthday your parents wanted to take you to Disney World, but you begged them to take you to New York City instead. You wanted to experience the city whose skyline you’d become so intimate with through television and movies. Your parents were good sports, waiting in line for an average of 3 hours each of the 4 times you dragged them to the Empire State Building during that weekend. You explained that you needed to see New York from on high in multiple lighting conditions to really experience it. They smiled and patted your head.

After that weekend your singular goal in life was to make your mark on the Manhattan skyline. You weren’t going to be content to design a building that merely occupied the skyline; you had to create an iconic New York skyscraper. You were single-minded in your pursuit of this goal. You paid your way through college by doing freelance drafting work for people who bought houses during the real estate bubble and planned to profit by building additions and flipping before the mortgage caught up with them. By the time the bubble collapsed you had plenty of money saved up to carry you through and even provide a cushion while you looked for a job.

Looking for a job after college was more difficult than you ever thought it would be. You graduated near the top of your class but there were no offers coming in. The credit crisis that dried up your drafting work took everything else down with it and now some of your classmates were struggling to find work at The Gap, let alone as working architects. Many of your classmates opted to take on more student loan debt (or, more often, more checks from Mom and Dad) and enroll in the hospitality management program at Cornell. It seemed like a smart move. Despite the unpredictable economy, Americans were eating out and traveling more than ever. You might have joined them if not for your stubbornness and your burning need to prove wrong everyone—teachers, parents, friends—who told you that your dream was unrealistic. That very few people throughout history have had the opportunity to create an architectural icon. That the numbers were against you.

You held fast and made sure that nothing would derail your plans to make your mark on the Manhattan skyline. You moved to the Big Apple to to feed off the energy of the city and draw inspiration. Architecture jobs were scarce, but there were buildings being built all over the city. The economy couldn’t keep this city from reaching for the sky. You decided to join a construction crew and gain valuable experience on the blue collar side of the business. Your parents made the requisite judgements about your big fancy education going to waste. Your coworkers did the same, albeit with more colorful turns of phrase. Like the man who inspired this decision, you laughed. If Howard Roark wasn’t above working the quarry, you weren’t above pouring cement.

You made an impression on your supervisors as a hard worker with a good head on your shoulders. They knew you were an architect and soon started inviting you to analyze blueprints when things didn’t seem quite right. At almost every job you were able to spot flaws in the plans that saved the company time, money, and on a couple of occasions, potential lawsuits. It wasn’t long before the higher ups were questioning why they had their best architect wearing a yellow hard hat instead of white. They fired their staff architect and put you in his place. You weren’t going to get to design the next Chrysler Building or anything, but you were a working architect and that meant you were moving in the right direction.

Over the next few years you kept busy designing renovations for old buildings that would become modern Chase branches or Starbucks. You created, unofficially of course, the fanciest drug store in history when you turned the bottom two floors of a century-old SoHo condo building into a Duane Reade. Pregnancy tests and condoms were on aisle 5, just on the other side of the Corinthian column. From the front door you could look downtown and see the new Gehry building. It represented everything you dreamed of creating. An instant icon. The fact that it was his first skyscraper inspired you. It was still possible to make a mark on this city with a single set of blueprints. You just needed to wait for the opportunity.

You got the chance to design the new headquarters for a regional bank. It wasn’t a city-changing skyscraper, but at 50 stories it would at least be visible from across the river. You would be a legitimate part of the skyline, if not one easily recognizable by tourists. The more important part was that the site was adjacent to 40 Wall Street, the loser of the historic battle with the Chrysler Building to become the tallest in the world in 1930. Even though your building would only be about half the size of its proud neighbor, you took pride in the fact that you’d be sharing the same block.

As construction progressed and your building took shape you spent more time on the site observing, directing, and micromanaging the crew. Everyone tried to be patient with you but you insisted on being more hands-on than you should have been. That became clear when you started lecturing a young welder for what you considered to be low-quality work. Snatching the torch from his hands you told him you were going to show him the right way to do it. Unfortunately you didn’t snatch his safety goggles and seconds later you were screaming in agony as errant sparks melted your corneas. They rushed you to the hospital but the damage was done. Unable to continue working as an architect, you spent the remainder of your days collecting disability and became known citywide as the crazy blind guy who spends every day on Wall Street asking tourists to describe some unimportant building to him.

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Red Cube.

Isamu Noguchi, Red Cube

The sculpture is located in front of 140 Broadway, between Liberty and Cedar Streets.

The bright red painted steel of Isamu Noguchi’s Red Cube stands out in strong contrast to the blacks, browns, and whites of the buildings and sidewalks around the sculpture. Located to one side of a small plaza in front of the HSBC (previously the Marine Midland Bank) building on Broadway, Red Cube is surrounded on three sides by skyscrapers, the height of which draw a viewer’s eye upwards. The sculpture itself adds to this upward pull, as it balances on one corner, the opposite corner reaching towards the sky. Despite its title, the sculpture is not actually a cube, but instead seems as though it has been stretched along its vertical axis.

Aside from it’s striking color, Red Cube also stands out from the surrounding architecture in that all of its lines are diagonals, whereas the buildings are made up of horizontal and vertical lines. Additionally, the sculpture is balanced somewhat precariously on one corner, while the buildings, by contrast, and solidly placed.

Through the center of the cube there is a cylindrical hole, revealing an inner surface of gray with evenly-spaced lines moving from one opening of the hole to the other. Looking through this hole, the viewer’s gaze is directed towards the building behind, tying the sculpture and the architecture together.

Although Noguchi began his sculpting career creating individual pieces, he spent a number of years in the 1940s and 50s working primarily on designing spaces, such as gardens and plazas, and incorporating sculptural elements that worked together to create a whole. These experiences affected his subsequent work on individual sculpture pieces. In discussing his conception of public sculpture, Noguchi expresses the importance of the relationship between sculpture and architecture: “The spaces around buildings should be treated in such a way as to dramatize and make the space meaningful…”

To Be an Architect...

To be honest, it’s not about the classes you have to take or the years you put into it. It’s the journey. Yes, to become a licensed architect anywhere takes years of time and money. But that’s just figures put together by your university and just curricula put together by architecture accrediting boards. They are the same requirements for everyone.

What it is about is you. It’s about your growth as a person and as a designer. Your designs are an extension of who you are. Grow as a person, and your architecture will grow. “What it takes” cannot be narrowed down to a few characteristics, good grades, and handiwork. What does it take?

Love architecture. It’s simple, sure. But a great many (too many, in my opinion) people fall into disciplines/careers/jobs that they hate. Becoming an architect will be torture if you hate it.

Be disciplined and determined. Architecture majors have strange schedules. We put ourselves through Hell just to design a structure that will never be built. You need discipline for that. The discipline to stay up until it’s done, the discipline to accept criticism, the discipline to learn your craft. You need determination as well. The determination to stay on the path you’ve chosen, the determination to acquire new knowledge, the determination to become an architect. Architecture is not for weak-willed people.

Be inspired. Architecture majors are fledgling artists. They do not know what drives them to create- they just know that they must. Find what inspires you personally. Anything and everything is architecture. Music, poetry, fashion, typography, sewing, cooking, sports, etc. Architecture can be found in everything. What makes you feel like soaring into the sky? What is your muse? All great artists have one or more muses. Find yours, and do not let it slip away from your grasp. Ever.

Give yourself time. Good things take time. If you can’t understand a program or your model making is not very good, you need time. Practice makes perfect. Practice requires time and effort. Put in the time, give it your all. And those good things will happen. Sometimes we are too immature, as in our abilities have not blossomed. We can’t force it. We just need time.

Take care of yourself, in every way. Stay healthy. If your mind needs a break, take one. Don’t take on more than you can handle. Organize yourself, and stay balanced. Work. But also play. Have friends. Eat well. Laugh. Make sure you’re happy.

Travel. Research the profession. Know your end goal, or know the possibilities. Buy a nice laptop. Save pictures of buildings you enjoy seeing. Write down feelings you have. Save magazine clippings of layouts you like. Play games that make you think. See movies with wonderful cinematography.

Know yourself. Know what your mind craves. Art is a play on how our minds are calibrated. It doesn’t matter if you’re not good at math. It doesn’t matter if you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re 15 with no experience or 45 and married with children. It doesn’t matter if you had to retake physics three times, or if you don’t know how to use AutoCAD. As long as you want to be an architect, then you can be so. But only if you know who you are and how you think. Stimulate your mind, and your creativity will follow. If you have enough of that stimulation, that inspiration, that drive, that ambition, that love… then you can build to the stars and moon.

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I Like My Desk in a Clutter.

"If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, 

of what, then, is an empty desk?"

Albert Einstein

My mother often scolds me for my messy room. The thing is; I don't think she knows that I sometimes prefer it that way. I know where all my things are. And when things get too crazy; I always clean up after myself and reorganize.