The Cycles of Trends and Movements

Stylistic movements are constantly moving in and out of vogue (as Heidi Klum would say, one day you're in; the next day, you're out).  The third and fourth part of that sequence is that there is likely a strong backlash against whatever was en vogue, and then at some point much much further down the line, whatever is "out" will somehow end up being back "in".  This premise is easily demonstrated in the fashion of that last five decades or so.  Who would have thought that high-waisted jeans, acid wash, day glo, and jumpsuits would ever be back in style?  And yet you see some of the most fashion-forward design houses or "avant-garde" pret-a-porter styles are actually just reminiscent of something you might find in your mom's closet circa 1983.

As with fashion goes architecture:  Classical (600 BC - 323 BC) begets Neoclassical (1715 - 1820), Gothic begets Gothic Revival,  Colonial has Colonial Revival.... so it goes.  One of the readings mentioned that there are two strong reactions to a movement:  vehement reaction against (eg Romanticism vs. Enlightenment, Realism vs. Romanticism) and renewal of it almost as a new idea.  From my understanding of the readings and a little help from an outside source, the Italian Rational movement was kind of a revival of the European historical city whose elements were the most basic elemental parts of architecture.  These fundamental parts of architecture could then be used as the stepping stone for understanding the "types" of different elements and developing them for their own specific purpose.  The culture of the site would drive the design of the elements.  All this was driven by the need to rebuild the historical cities of Europe following the war.

This discussion of types and typology reminds me of last week's readings talking about getting back to the beginnings of things to really understand them.  This is why the study of architectural history is important to us as architecture students (however tedious it might be).  There are a million iterations of the potential of a roof or a wall because of our deliberate design, yet when it comes down to it they start as basic universal things:  a horizontal plane and/or vertical plane(s) to protect the inhabitants from exterior conditions. 

So those denim skinny jeans you're wearing right now, why are you wearing them?  They started out as work trousers when they were invented by Levi Strauss and Jacob Davis in 1873.  Then they became a teenage fashion statement sometime in the 1950s, and since then have been a staple of casual dress.  Over time, they have variably been deemed fashionable by being dark wash indigo, acid washed, sand-blasted, distressed, high-waisted, low-rise, low low low rise, flared, boot-cut, skinny, and baggy (boyfriend, for you ladies).  Ten years ago you ladies in particular probably wouldn't be caught dead in high-waisted, taper-legged "mom jeans," and yet this is somehow fashionable again.  Think about it.

Design inspiration of the day: WRB Architects Lake House

Elegant, Simple, 1-story Lake House

Last quarter, I wrote my final paper about my design theory and supported it using information about transcendentalism and Lou Kahn's philosophy.  My theory was only based on what I knew from studying Emerson in American Lit and a basic recollection of Kahn's philosophy from his son's documentary about his life.  I wish I had had access to this week's readings for that assignment, because I'm sure my paper would have been a hell of a lot better.

Kahn's architecture isn't really my cup of tea - I'm not all about the heavy, obvious platonic geometry.  But the more I read about his thoughts on the metaphysical and monumental aspects of the built environment, the more I realize I like his philosophy.

I struggle a lot in my own design process because I try to jump too far ahead to what the solutions should be and over think details; I don't spend enough time contemplating the big picture and trying out lots of things that are probably crap, but are what Kahn thinks is most important:  PROCESS.  The arrival at the solution, the final stage of the project, or the grade is not what I should be thinking about from the very beginning.  Reading Kahn's words helps me realize part of what my huge problem is.  When I complete a project, often I feel unsatisfied with my work, like I could have done much better.  Sure, everybody feels that way to a certain extent, especially if they had just had one more hour... but for me, part of it is that I don't explore the full range of possibilities, all of the possible solutions (including the garbage) that are inspired by the asking of the question.  I don't ask enough questions.  The most successful design students I know probably ask five times more questions than I do.

First there is denial, then there is acceptance.

Kristin's New Year's resolution:  Ask more questions about my projects.  To quote Ms. Wreden from free hand drawing in first year:  "What are you doing, potato?"

Kahn's idea about the "ina" and the existence will of every object and living thing fascinates me.  There is a unifying spark of life in every organism, I can go along with that.  Are we defined as what we are because something in us "wants to be" it?  With humans this becomes too complex to understand fully, and thus what humans produce (architecture) is too complex for this concept to be applied.  Are you who you are because of what your genes and your environment "want" you to be?  Or are you who you are because of what you intellectually desire to be?  I want and try to be easy-going and level-headed, but my genetics from my dad (nature, not nurture in this case) want me to be a deep feeler and emotionally guided (which I struggle against constantly).  Should I not struggle because nature has chosen my course?

So in architecture, does the design of a library dictate itself to the architect because of what libraries "should be", or does the architect dictate the design based on where he wants to take it?  These aren't necessarily mutually exclusive concepts, but what is at the root of this design?  Does a cathedral want to be a cathedral?

How Navigable Are Your Designs?

Spacial Navigation: Architect vs. Common Man

Responding to Global/Local Readings

It is a common belief that you have to learn from the past in order to prevent mistakes in the future, otherwise history is doomed to repeat itself.  Frampton and Berry discuss in their writings how architecture cannot really exist independent of its roots - much like in our architecture history classes, it all really begins with the innovations of classicism.  Frampton talks about how architecture, as a critical discipline, must somehow stay balanced between staying in touch with its sources and looking only forward to the global culture.  Our increasingly global culture, where everything is connected by a "series of tubes", satellites, and radio waves, is developing at the expense of the richness of regional cultures.  Because of our movement toward commonality, the profound nature of our individual cultures is being cut off at a substandard level where everyone from the United States to China is stunted at a bland cultural common ground.

I like Berry's idea about agrarianism, that our point of view should stem from the land.  It kind of reminds me of Pocahontas -
 "You think you own whatever land you land on
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name"

I feel supremely ridiculous for just posting Disney lyrics to make a point.  But the truth of the matter is that nature, the land, the streams, the mountains, all existed before us and will continue to exist after we're gone provided we don't destroy the world with industry.  Today's culture focuses too much on the latest hot commodities and really not enough on our very first resource: Earth.  Unless you happen to choose the Earth wallpaper on your iPhone, you probably don't think of our planet's natural beauty in its entirety on a regular basis.  When your thoughts begin to be shaped based on the land, rather than monetary capital and technology, you necessarily have to root your thoughts to a local standpoint.

These readings increasingly make me want to go live on Walden Pond, Henry David Thoreau-style, and live a natural, resourceful, self-sufficient lifestyle.  Too bad I'm so lazy.

This I Believe: Design should be a transcendental experience.

Architecture and interior design should be a TRANSCENDENTAL EXPERIENCE. Further, it should be ENRICHING AND INSPIRATIONAL.  

This stems from the feelings that being inside beautiful architecture can elicit from me.  Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to be an architect or interior designer.  Granted, when I was little, my idea of architecture was designing houses – but the reason I wanted to design houses (not that I could articulate this at the time) was to capture very specific emotions and experiences through design.

The beauty of a ray of sunlight shining through a window pane, changing throughout the day and the seasons.  The way the layout of your living space can alter your attitude about the events of your day.  How the built environment of your workplace can make the 9-to-5 grind either somewhat pleasant or an absolute terror.

To me, architecture/design should create a meaningful place where you actively desire to be. Design should be ENLIGHTENING, INSPIRING, INVIGORATING, AND EVOCATIVE.

Architecture is like music.  Music has so many nuances of genre, instruments, and lyrics – with the thousands of permutations of these elements, you can create a perfect ambience for any mood or activity.  Music can take you to the highest points of exultation and move you to tears.  It can make you angry, uncomfortable, motivated, and energetic.  So, too, can architecture and it elements be permutated to evoke any mood, any atmosphere that the client or the designer desires.  While a plethora of emotional options are available in a design, architects and designers should create places that not only make it tolerable, enjoyable, to inhabit for extended periods of time, but also draw in patrons, make them actively WANT TO BE THERE.  Non-designers probably don’t think of form and space as being so intrinsic in shaping your mood, but the psychology of the physical environment – to me – is one of the most important factors in shaping your well-being.  You may not be able to put your finger on it, but seemingly tiny aspects of design can also bring you to zeniths and nadirs of mood.  It is an undeniable truth that colors, smells, lighting, and textures affect your comfort and your state of mind – therefore, good design must engage these senses.

What does any of this have to do with transcendentalism, or the transcendental experience?  In its most basic explanation, transcendentalism is the development of a person to their highest potential and communing with the (natural) environment.  Because the natural environment is supposed to be a physical manifestation of divine power, this communing with the environment was meant to bring man to an elevated sense of self.  In this age, post-Enlightenment and indeed post-God in a way, the capabilities of man’s mind are more awe-inspiring than the mythos of a higher power.  So, I amend the transcendental idea of the environment as a physical manifestation of the divine to mean this instead:  BUILT ENVIRONMENT IS A MANIFESTATION OF THE DIVINE POWER OF THE HUMAN MIND.  By truly engaging all of a patron’s senses through design, a space or place can have a spiritually and physically fulfilling effect.  How often have you looked at a design and said to yourself, I wouldn’t have thought to bring these elements together like this?  To me, the artistic human mind is indeed something almost divine – the ability to contain all these disparate pieces of information and synthesize them in unexpected ways. 

The next question is: how does the development of man to his highest potential relate to architecture? Ralph Waldo Emerson must have been channeling Vitruvius when he wrote his essay, “The American Scholar.”  Vitruvius posits that a good architect must be equipped with knowledge from a variety of disciplines, because “it is by his judgment that all work done by other arts is put to the test.”  Now, I don’t believe that architecture is the benchmark by which all other arts should be judged – but it is an all-inclusive form of “art.”  In his essay, Emerson states that in order to be the best a man can be, he must educate himself in a variety of disciplines, not only through study but through living the experiences himself.  Both Emerson and Vitruvius were proponents of the idea that scholars, or architects, should learn much from the predecessors, but must not mimic them.  They also believed scholars/architects should look to the future and fearlessly have their own thoughts.  Therefore, the education of an architect very closely follows what Emerson believed to be the ideal education of the well-rounded scholar.  The very essence of the development of an architect is transcendental in nature.

One of Emerson’s principles of “Self-Reliance” was this: “The other terror that scares us from self-trust is our consistency; a reverence for our past act or word, because the eyes of others have no other data for computing our orbit than our past acts, and we are loath to disappoint them.” In addition, Juhani Pallasmaa says, channeling Vitruvius again, that architecture is becoming too specialized as a profession, too insular, being governed more and more by its own values rather than the amalgamation of the values of arts in general.

 Louis Kahn’s architectural philosophy addresses this problem, and my next theoretical point:  First, architecture has no (or should not have) strict rules or principles, and that buildings may “contradict each other.” This is something that I find to be of particular importance, because I have trouble with it myself – your designs should constantly push your personal boundaries and challenge your skills so that you don’t fall into a monotonous rut.  Second, Kahn was a big proponent of “monumental architecture” that retains a sympathy for the site.  All of Kahn’s realized buildings have this quality of monumentality, of significance that relates to and enhances the site, that makes each of them seem like a temple to whatever program they serve.

There are certain spaces on this earth that when you walk into them, it can take your breath away, send chills down your spine (as cheesy as that may be).  I think all good architecture should do exactly this. Good design should enable its inhabitants to feel a SPIRITUAL CONNECTION. Somewhat abstractly, the way that materials and elements connect with each other, with the ground, and project into the sky, can make you consider your own connections to things.  I like it when a space can make me stop and meditate. I think of the feeling it gives me to stargaze, to look up at the sky and see the absolute beauty of the stars and the moon and the clouds, and how all this beauty surrounding me makes me stop and reconsider myself and my place in the world.  Buildings can do just that.  Not to say that every space should make you have a grand epiphany – but good design at the very least should make you say “WOW.”

The terms “spiritual connection” and “transcendental experience” might not be exactly apropos, but what I want to say is this:  architecture and interior design should engage the patron on a profound level.  Your experience of architecture should not be superficial – in, out, gone.  That’s what separates architecture from mere building.  Your typical office block is functional, fits basic requirements of protection and climate control, provides ample space to conduct your official functions – but it sucks.  You leave for work in the morning, dreading the day ahead.  You passively inhabit your workspace for eight or nine hours, growing increasingly desperate to leave, then off home where things are infinitely better.  Architecture should subvert the office block.  Through superior design, the occupational environment can be so much more than a shell where you earn your money and give up your greater dreams of becoming a rock star. Through design, where you work (or where you play, for that matter) can become a place that you ACTUALLY DESIRE TO BE, not for the activities you do there, but for the way that place makes you FEEL.  It’s like the feeling of going to your grandmother’s house, or a seaside condo, except that instead of merely the context and the experiences driving the good feelings, the design elements themselves can elicit a positive reaction.

Juhani Pallasmaa articulates my theories about architecture better than I can with my limited experience.  In his writing, "The Geometry of Feeling," Pallasmaa talks about how so many of our modern buildings can excite us and pique our curiosity, but they often leave us feeling cold emotionally.  The struggle is to imbue the buildings with MEANING.  A quote that really sums up this problem: "From the viewpoint of cultural philosophy our entire hedonistic materialism seems to be losing the mental dimension that might in general be worthy of perpetuation in stone."  To break it down: Architects and designers are becoming too invested in what they're working with and not how they're working with it.

I agree with another of Pallasmaa's statements: "We make the mistake of ... assessing a building as a formal composition, no longer understanding that it is a symbol or experiencing the other reality that lies behind the symbol." This reiterates Kahn’s philosophy of monumental architecture.  Obviously, not every space has to be viewed as a grand tribute to stock trading or customer service or pedicures or the sale of Vietnamese noodles.  However, spaces and places should be more than a box filled with trim and a level ceiling, even more than a box filled with exquisite architectural elements.  What does the architectural ceiling contribute to making the experience of eating noodles a significant one?

Another of Pallasmaa’s ideas -  “the artistic dimension of a work does not lie in the actual physical thing; it exists only in the consciousness of the person experiencing it.”  This is the crux of the issue.  Architecture can mean many things to different people, but the singularly important thing is this: that architecture MUST appeal to your consciousness somehow, not just allow you to experience it completely passively.

To sum up:  Architecture and interior design are transcendental in two ways – one, the development of the designer him/herself to the pinnacle of what they can be intellectually and spiritually; and two, in the manifestation of the divine feats of creation that the artistic mind is capable of.  Design should be a constant overturn of established ideas, ever contradicting itself.  Ultimately, I feel that good design should engage the inhabitant’s body, mind, and soul in their entirety, leading to significant intellectual and physical experiences that draw them back for more.

Bonus Blog 3: Sean Coulter Lecture

The lecture on Tuesday was quite enjoyable.  Coulter's entire presentation dealt with the "ethereal connections" to context - people to the building, people to each other, people to the environment, buildings to each other ... every possible interlocking connection created by the built environment.  It reminded me of the issues addressed in the readings about site.  Coulter showed a few comparisons of Gehry buildings (I wonder if he has the same disdain for Gehry that Caldwell does?) - a pair of similar buildings, one in Las Vegas and one in Amsterdam, and another pair of which I can't remember the locations.  Suffice it to say, Gehry (and other architects) sometimes designs buildings that could really be dropped in any location anywhere in the world, and they'd be okay, but not as excellent as they could be.  

My favorite design from the presentation was the UNLV Lied Library. I love the tectonic qualities of the space, with the repetition of the curved planes inside and out, and the materiality.  Pretty much, it's awesome.

Bonus Blog 2: That which remains...

The mind of an artist can be a scary thing.  It seems like the most successful artists in any medium are the tortured ones.  It also seems that all of the Louisiana Tech SoA professors are a little bit ... eccentric.  In no way am I implying psychosis, merely that architects/interior designers and artists in general have the ability to see the world in different shades of reality from the average person, whether it is voluntary or brought about by mental instability.  Being an artist requires at the very least the ability to distort perception enough to create something new, something inspired, or subvert traditional views.

The opening of that which remains was a little bit of an eye-opener for me.  I already knew about Mr. Caldwell's penchant for quilting, so that didn't come as any sort of surprise.  My favorite works of his were "Vertical Zen" and "Warm Thunder."  "Vertical Zen" is reminiscent of a raked rock garden; the Japanese minimalist/Zen aesthetic has always appealed to me in its natural elements (here represented by neutral colors) and simplicity.

Mrs. Carwile has an exceptionally bubbly disposition and, as we all learned well last year, extreme positivity in the face of adversity.  Her favorite color is yellow, which she says is usually associated with genius or insanity.  The thing I liked about her paintings was the pervasive architectural systems - the underlying geometry left evident on the surface, and the richness and combination of colors.  What surprised me was the dark qualities of Mrs. Carwile's paintings.  The titles of her paintings tended toward darker subjects, and there were lots of ethereal beings.  The titles didn't provide much insight to me of the messages of the paintings, but it was somewhat unsettling seeing these atmospheric ghosts lending a watchful eye to the canvas.

Bonus Blog 1: Mullet Cheese

Our readings and class discussions have covered the topic of what separates "architecture" from being designated "art" or "building."  This post, however, poses the question to you, whoever might be reading this - what makes art, art?

As some of you are probably familiar with, the LA Tech SoA field trip to Houston includes a stop at the Menil Collection by Renzo Piano.  The Menil includes Byzantine, African artifact, Surrealist, and Modern/Contemporary exhibitions.  My focus today is on the Modern/Contemporary exhibition.

I'll start off with some mere opinion.  My favorite pieces from the exhibition -  Rene Magritte's "Le survivant" and "La courbure de l'univers," and David Novros's "6:30." 

"Le survivant" is provocative in its subversion of what it means to use a gun - the "user" end (the butt) of the rifle is splattered with blood, as opposed to the "business" end (the barrel), which would, under regular circumstances, be the end covered in blood.  It has several possible implications that I find intriguing, but I'll leave it up to you to take from it what you will.  Also, I have a very macabre sensibility and it would probably freak people out to dig too far into my psyche. 

"La courbure de l'univers," or "The curvature of the universe," is simply a bottle and oil paint.  Yet it raises some interesting questions about what the universe actually is - it reminds me of the end scene of Men In Black depicting our own universe as merely a glass marble in the bag of an alien.  It kind of makes you feel insignificant, the way looking at the stars makes you feel insignificant.  We accept that we as people are so small compared to the universe we can comprehend, but how insignificant is our own galaxy to the grand scheme of things?

I couldn't find any images of Novros's "6:30" but suffice it to say it is an arrangement of six L-shaped canvases coated in iridescent paint.  Depending on the angle you view it from, the light plays across the paint and gives the top portion a pinkish hue and the bottom a greenish-blue hue.  For me, and I think it was intended for other people as well, this piece reminds me of the play of light at twilight periods - dawn or dusk.  Or the Aurora Borealis.  Though I think the title is crucial in determining its intended purpose.

And now, the point. I decided to write a blog about this particular exhibition because of the principle artist displayed here: Robert Gober.  Gober actually took part in coordinating the displays of his work in this exhibit, so one can assume his pieces are shown very nearly as they were originally intended.  Most of his works are untitled, leaving their interpretation wide open.  Some of the pieces displayed at the gallery: "Untitled" , "Untitled" , "Untitled" , and I'm not sure but this is very possibly also untitled.  The docent explained that Gober likes to create replicas of every day objects with a slight "surprise."  I inspected the Seagrams bottle uncomfortably closely for a while and couldn't find the surprise :(. 

What do you make of Gober's work?  As far as finding a deeper meaning, I generally abstain from any symbolic interpretation of the work.  I wouldn't say I necessarily like it, but it does appeal to my macabre sensibility in that it is sort of off-putting - it throws you off balance for a little while.  You know something's not quite right, and you suspect something greater is going on here, but it's just out of reach.  Like the feeling of being watched.  The mulleted cheese is kind of like a guy in a bunny suit carrying an axe.

What is your favorite kind of art?  Be it paintings, sculpture, movies, or books - what kinds of emotions do you like art to invoke in you?  When does "art" stop being art?  Is pornography art, or exploitation?  Are terrible B-movies still art?  Leave comments, discuss.

The Shadow of Anywhere

Moneo talks of the "substantial immobility" of architecture.  I like that phrase.  It encompasses so much in so few words:  the profound nature of the built environment, the staying power (hopefully) of a building, the ability of the building to create context where it stands.

These works impress upon us the crucial point that a building should be designed so that it clearly fits where it belongs - that the design draws from its site and adds to the site so that the building couldn't belong just "anywhere."  The cookie cutter suburban homes across America could be airlifted from NoWheresVille, Indiana and transplanted to the suburbs of Shreveport and not look a stitch out of place.  This is not architecture.

I like the idea that the site is the first given material of a design.  It isn't merely the ground plane, nor just the excavated hole for the foundation to be poured in.  When I switched majors from architecture to interior design I was somewhat relieved that I wouldn't have to deal with site issues anymore, like drainage and landscaping and whathaveyou.  WRONG.  Because the site is so much more than the dirt you build on, I do have site issues to consider.  When we went on the SoA Houston field trip this past weekend, the second year interior design students toured several projects by Rottet Studio, one of which was the Cheniere Energy, Inc. located on the eighth floor of Pennzoil Place by Philip Johnson.  The building is constructed such that there are twin towers with a clearance of only roughly ten feet between them, and with Cheniere offices on the eighth floor, natural light was an issue.  Rottet Studio had to design carefully to accommodate the lack of natural light, and succeeded as you can tell from the pictures at the link.  These are the site issues an interior designer would have to deal with, though this was merely a shell in an office high rise in a downtown that could be anywhere.

The topics that we are assigned to read about in this class inevitably all seem to come back to the "soul" of architecture - consideration of the site is what takes the foundations of a design from being merely a superficial solution to a problem to the level of appreciating and enhancing the "given."

Rocking Your World View: Real Breast Cancer Awareness

The SCAR Project
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month (as I'm sure you haven't failed to notice with all the pink products being sold).  The SCAR Project, which stands for Surviving Cancer, Absolute Reality, is a photograph series by fashion photographer David Jay of young breast cancer survivors.  The pictures are raw and slightly uncomfortable, with pictures of women with proudly displaying their mastectomy scars.  This series is truly beautiful, and I think that if you want a true dose of breast cancer awareness, this is better than pink ribbons.

The Craft of the Hand and the Heart

Though typically I prefer assigned readings to get quickly and concisely to the point, I enjoyed the tangential information presented in Metcalf's The Hand at the Heart of Craft.  I never stop to think about the evolutionary (God-given?) implications about why we as humans are able to use our hands the way we do, much like I don't stop to think analytically about each nuance of movement as I type or build models.  It is true that our dexterous hands are an integral part of what makes us human.  Metcalf has me believing that we should feel privileged as part-time craftsmen, though my appreciation for the abilities of my hands didn't make having to draw them fifteen plus times in freehand drawing any more enjoyable.

Metcalf writes about one of the most important things I've learned in the school of architecture:  Art is nothing without passion, without feeling.  He quotes Csikszentmihalyi: "People who find their lives meaningful usually have a goal that is challenging enough to take up all their energies, a goal that can give significance to their lives."  In my studio classes, even in my theory classes, I feel continually challenged - I tend to get whatever the designer's equivalent of writer's block is, I have to fine-tune my craft, and frankly I find myself producing a lot of shit work for a while.  I hate producing shit work.  But hopefully this will lead to a good kind of, life-fulfilling challenge, not make me want to change my major again next year.

The designer and maker used to be one and the same, but not anymore.  We (architects and designers) are, unlike engineers, self-conscious makers.  We are about functionality, but functionality plus -.  For us, objects and places aren't just to be used, but experienced.  And, as we've stated before in class, the product of our design is nothing without HEART.  Our design is verily crafted by our hands in conjunction with our hearts.  Without passion, we're just getting paid - not doing our jobs.

Kieran and Timberlake discuss, among other things, the modular construction of grand things.  They compare the construction of a building to that of a ship or an aircraft, but I'm going to make the leap by stepping back to Metcalf and comparing the development of a building to the construction of a human being.  Metcalf talked about the branching of the arm from the body and the fingers from the hands, the way the shoulder joint attaches to the body and how the nerves connect with the brain. Kieran and Timberlake talk about the spine of the building, frame, skin, systems, and equipment - how easy it is to anthropomorphize buildings construction.

And so, the conjunction of these works with Pye is this: there used to be a time when the designer's hand and heart went into the entire product, from development to production.  But now, so much of what we design relies on whether or not the contractor or whatever "maker" can execute design well.  Our heart can be lost through their hands.

The Blind Architect

The Blind Architect

Without the benefit of vision, how would you re-evaluate the experience of your designs?

Architecture's Order and Proportion

It is innate in human behavior to seek order and proportion in our surroundings.  Without order and precise rhythm, music is cacophony and not harmony.  Babies are drawn to more symmetrical faces without being taught what is considered "beautiful."  Obviously, as Wittkower points out, there isn't really a universal method for ideal geometry (though the Golden Rectangle is pretty popular.  Just ask Twitter.) but it is a universal truth that order and proportion are fundamental to aesthetics.

Just like advanced mathematicians see patterns in numbers that some of us can never hope to understand (like my extremely left-brained roommate), designers can find or create a certain order and balance in an environment that others don't quite understand, but they recognize as being pleasant. Much like my scientifically-minded mom doesn't understand my desire to puncture holes in my body and get tattoos (self-expression, woman!), she also doesn't understand the logic or the "ordered chaos" of some of my designs or artwork.  Just like she accepts my increasingly less unique body modifications, she also accepts that my design is aesthetically pleasing on some level, though she can't put her finger on it.

Kahn's discussion of the room, the street, and the human agreement made me feel like a pretty insignificant part of a grand whole, much like looking up at the stars.  All in all I'm just a brick in the wall random person in a room in an apartment building on a street like so many countless other streets in the world.

Responding to Alberti, Natalini, and Palasmaa

In his work, Alberti states that architecture is created through lineaments (the outline or design of the details of the building) and structure (the actual construction and physicality of the building).  He goes on to describe how Architecture is composed by the consideration of parts, from the roof to the wall to the opening to the "compartition." To be honest I found Alberti to be quite pedantic and difficult to read.  Mostly what I got from it was "Here is a list of things that are part of a building.  In designing a building be sure to design the details of these things."  The moral of the story:  Alberti is discussing the PHYSICAL parts of architecture.

Natalini goes on to discuss in his work the different parts of the INTELLECTUAL process that goes into designing architecture.  Natalini states that "there is a lapse between the pencil and the stone" - that there is a discrepancy about what should be called architecture.  A building is not architecture because it is a building, nor is a design drawing architecture just because it is designed.  I agree with Natalini's notion that architecture does not exist unless it goes through the whole process from conception to development to fruition (even if it is only on a modeling scale).  Awesome detailed drawings aren't architecture yet.  An awesome model isn't architecture if there's nothing but chance behind its composition. Architecture does not exist in each discrete part of the process, but the process defines what can be considered architecture and what cannot. 

Palasmaa's work focuses on the SPIRITUAL or EMOTIONAL element of architecture - as he states it, the "phenomenology."  He starts out questioning why so few pieces of modern architecture leave us feeling cold while a colloquial old building (with probably very little aesthetic, I might add) will strike a resonance within us.  The average Joe (ie non-architect or architecture student) would fight tooth and nail to keep something like the Villa Savoy out of his Ruston, LA. Part of it is a lack of understanding, much like I don't really understand Rothko or that guy who painted a canvas beige and it was called "modern art."  Part of it, I feel, is that because an antebellum home, for example, has an established meaning or at least existed as a Rustonite grew up, people in Ruston know how to react to it.   It has a history that their grandparents or great-grandparents were a part of, so they know what it means.  A Rustonite wouldn't know how to react to the Villa Savoy.  It doesn't seem very comfortable, very warm, or very intimate.  It doesn't really have that "home" feel.  A lot of people don't really know how to be forward-thinkers, don't really know what feelings should be evoked from them in contemporary architecture and likely can't conceive their own reactions.  Just like I'll never really have the reaction to contemporary dance that I do to ballet.

Responding to Vitruvius: On Architecture

During this assignment I also had to read Ralph Waldo Emerson's "The American Scholar," and there were many parallels between the two texts. 

According to Vitruvius, the architect must be a well-rounded person, dabbling a little in a lot of disciplines.  Because architecture is supposedly the art by which all other arts are judged, it must be the supreme art form, the culmination of many disparate parts to create a whole beautiful, functional work. In his work, Emerson says that in order to be a "whole man," a Scholar must be versed in many different areas, not highly specialized in one discipline so that the man becomes his work.  The Scholar uses books and history for inspiration (as an architect must look to precedent for inspiration), lives and learns from his own experiences (as an architect can not only copy the work of others and pass it off as his own), and thinks creatively while looking to the future (as an architect aims to create a building befitting its time that also shall stand for many ages).

The combination of these works serves to give an architect a rather large ego, as both texts insinuate that as a Renaissance Man of sorts, the Scholar and the Architect are the pinnacle of human development.  I don't necessarily agree that architecture is the art by which other arts are judged - I rather think of it as an amalgam of the various arts but not the umbrella they all fit under.  And while it is good to be a well-rounded individual so that you have a large pool of knowledge and images to pull inspiration from, it is impossible to know everything and do everything very well.  So really, the scholarly architect should be sure not to get too big for his breeches and realize that while it does take an understanding of a large array of subjects to do what he does, a mechanical engineer or a nanotechnologist can still make him feel like an idiot.

Responding to "The Problem of Architecture"

The main idea proposed in Scruton's "The Problem of Architecture" seems to be that the appreciation and aesthetics of architecture are wholly unlike those of any other art form.  While representational art forms, e.g. painting and sculpture, and sensory art forms, e.g. music, can be appreciated entirely for their "form" as an end in itself, Scruton contends that architecture cannot.

I agree with the notion that architecture requires "particular attitudes," as stated on page five, to create and enjoy it.  One needs only to look at the professional minds in the Louisiana Tech SoA to see that the architect or interior designer is a special kind of individual.  I've heard it said that architects and interior designers tend to be "eccentric."  Also, according to Mr. Caldwell during my first year in the SoA, it's pretty much prerequisite to own quirky glasses to be an architect.  It seems to me that my professors and my peers do think differently from other average people.  We see colors, geometry, organization and craft in ways that no one else seems to get.

I also agree that architecture cannot really stand on its own as strictly "pretty," but that the form MUST follow an inherent functionality to be appreciated.  The context and purpose of a building must be clearly understood before that building can then be considered beautiful architecture.  I believe it requires a certain finesse to incorporate both utility and aesthetics in a building, without sacrificing either aspect in favor of the other.  To me, the function of a building is its soul, and form without the function is merely decoration for the sake of decoration.  If someone points to a part of your design and asks you "Why?" and there is no reason beyond "it looks good," then it has failed as architecture.

My favorite quote from the passage is: "Expression is part of the realization of inner life, the making intelligible what is otherwise ineffable and confused."  Genius is worthless if it cannot be transmitted to others. Without the ability to express yourself, your ideas and intentions stay locked up inside your head.  This quote inspires me to go big this year and truly express the ideas I have rather than restrain myself for fear of rejection or criticism.