Traveler's Joy

My backyard is plagued with Clematis Vitalba, also known as Old Man's Beard or Traveler's Joy.  For a brief moment, the flowers open in a profusion of white, but mostly the vine is persistent and invasive, growing so heavily that it breaks branches of the trees it envelops.  It's clear why it's called Old Man's Beard: as the flowers turn to seeds, they become puffballs that grow increasingly scraggly as the fall wears on.  I haven't determined whether the name Traveler's Joy comes from the fact that the seeds disperse widely, or that the vines grow so quickly over everything, or that the plant seems to travel underground - when I pull it up by the roots, I trace along my fence line to the next plant, as though it's rhizomatic.  It grows natively in English hedgerows, though, so I suspect that some people have been happy to see it; particularly those who didn't need to take care that it didn't overwhelm their gardens, but could perhaps shelter under its thick cloak for a night.

On moving to Portland last winter and early spring, I had this amazing sense of momentum, excitement, openness.  I would meet people everywhere on my travels, and I wanted to carry that through into my daily life in my new city, and I did, for a while.  Months later, I've just had a refresher course in what that openness feels like.  This, I think, is something that should really be called Traveler's Joy.  What is it made of?  How do we feel it?

As the many friends I've made traveling will attest, there's spontaneity at the heart of it.  I set out in my travels with a clear path, many pilgrimage sites, a few milestones, and a return ticket all prepared.  Things were never set in stone, though - I gave myself permission to skip Notre Dame, I stayed extra days with a lover in Switzerland, I knew I could change my return ticket if I changed my mind.  Life would not derail if I followed the path I hadn't known I wanted to take until I came upon it, rather than the one for which I'd prepared.  

Permission to deviate led naturally to a curious happiness with unexpected travel "problems."  Given that I knew this was all an adventure, and one that would be fascinating no matter if I made it to the next stop or if I stopped and just lived wherever I missed the train, I could revel in the unknown of travel delays, road blocks, and technical problems.  These were not inefficiencies, these were the main event.  How would I have met my lover, if not for a broken cell phone that miraculously fixed itself the next day?  I wouldn't have absorbed that valley and those mountains without him there to keep me past my expected stay.  Long lines became great opportunities to look and listen carefully to what was happening around me, and to meet fellow travelers.  Wrong turns led to places that, like reading the book next to the one you were looking for on the shelf, provided depth and context and sometimes a treat better than the one I was searching out.  All of these moments built to great gratitude that the adventure continued.

Last week/weekend's reminder of this came from two directions.  Struggling with today's birthday, I reread "It's Not You: The 27 (Wrong) Reasons You're Single."  I don't recall how I found this book, other than probably the NYTimes, but I can say that despite the title, it's a pretty excellent book about life and love and the complications of our modern expectations.  I was in Chapter 24, wherein the author, Sara Eckel, talks about Loving-Kindness, when I realized that this is the natural mindset and daily meditation of the traveler.  When you give yourself permission to follow either the prescribed or unanticipated path; when you give yourself over to loving the moment for what it is, rather than where it might get you; when you build gratitude with every tick of the clock you're still on the ride; then you also remember to love all those around you, even and especially those you don't know.  It's easy, at that point, to look at a stranger and know that they are also living in the same world, with things that go wrong and things that go right, happinesses and sadnesses and eases and tensions.  When you get to that recognition, you can't help but love them, and I believe that love is felt, and I know it's more frequently returned when it is more freely given.

Friday I played golf for the first time in my life.  Learning new skills is like traveling - it's an adventure in which you must relinquish some control in order to move anywhere.  I left my keys at work, and had to go far out of the way to retrieve them - I was reminded to appreciate the ride, rather than rue the detour.  I conversed deeply and lightly, and sat through silences with a new friend.  And then, when the evening should have stopped, I offered a minor generosity and stepped into a swift river of connection, twisting though unforeseen banks.  I was reminded that in even more practical terms, eye contact, vulnerable sharing and intimacy, and appreciation develop directly into those moments of intense connection, those times when we feel we're seeing and being seen by others.

Why did I start this essay with Clematis, other than the name (which, I'll admit, was the main reason)?  I wonder to what extent we have to loose commitment in order to gain connection, and to what extent we limit our ability to develop a deeper reciprocity without it.  I know that loosing the weight of further acquaintance frees me to be more fully with someone in the moment of meeting them.  Discarding the duties of life gives me the time to appreciate the detours.  I know less about the other side of the equation.  My Clematis is committed to my garden, though, and I come back to it again and again.  I clear it out - one less thing to deal with - for a few weeks.  Then it returns.  With vigor that might appear to be rage, I cut it back, yank it off the fence, tear it out of the ground.  But the more I pull it, the more I appreciate how strong it is, how deep it's sent roots, how wide it's grown.  It's not a practice if it doesn't take some work.

As usual, I've gotten to the end of an essay and I'm not sure it's where I wanted to be.  Of course, in the multitude of possible worlds, this is the one I'm in, and this is what I've written, and it's late and I'm not in the mood to edit it, so I'm posting.  I'll give myself permission to come back and change it if need be.  

In Case You Were Wondering

I am still alive

I am in Barcelona until Monday, at which point I fly to Brussels and probably take the train to Ghent.

I am having a pretty awesome time on my trip.  Recent highlights - visiting the Alhambra thoroughly; all of Seville (except perhaps the Metropol Parisol, aka the main reason I went); playing with the Grulitas in Lanzarote, both on and off the field; walking around Sagrada Famiglia and finding both Modernista and pre-modernista gems in random Barcelona streets.

The best food I have eaten is the Bon Bon tapas from that awesome restaurant we visited on Sunday night after a nice walk from our apartments on Lanzarote (wherein I explained linoleum and everyone listened with apparent interest).  The bocadillo here in Barcelona the first day I arrived.  The cake-first meal I had with A and J in Cologne, with possibly the best berry cake in the world, then cabbage roulade with delicious pumpkin mash.  Also, the meal they cooked me with orange-garlic salad, duck with orange sauce, and fruit cobbler.  Pastries in Paris, pretty much without exception.  Jamon Iberico.  Tinto de Verrano.

Seville is beautiful, walkable, full of interesting buildings, laid back, and sunny, and if I'm not married in 3 years I'll learn Spanish and move there because it's full of the most handsome men I've ever encountered in one place, and I've played in a lot of frisbee tournaments.

I have met so many wonderful people on this trip, which is something I was really worried about.  I never feel really good writing about them, though...suffice it to say, sometimes it's quite difficult to say goodbye to someone you've know for really only a few hours, or someone you're getting to be with again after many, many years apart.

Blogging while on a trip is hard to do - when I have a thought, I'm usually out walking around, and don't want to stop to record it; frequently I'm without good internet connection; often there's too much to say.  Occasionally there's not enough to say.  Some places are disappointing or require more processing or are overwhelmingly awesome.

You can see a through-line from the vernacular architecture of the area around Chur and Peter Zumthor's buildings.  I wish more buildings were like his best works.

It's an amazingly difficult thing to keep architectural pilgrimage sites maintained.  So many hands want to touch, feet walk through dirty from the trek there, gum and trash magically accumulate, birds poop, sun and rain and snow fall, stones and mortar fall, metal expands, times change.  Sometimes, these days, it's also difficult to see anyone enjoying them in real time.  Everyone has their cameras out, to the point that I wonder what is actually coming through, but nonetheless/and, I feel compelled to take my own pictures to fit in.  Sharing the space with so many camera faces can be very odd - it's not exactly what I imagine when I think of creating great buildings for people to enjoy.

I kept up with photo documentation of my trip until I arrived in Paris.  I have Milan, Cinque Terre, Sagogn, Lauterbrunnen, Basel, and Lyon (including all side trips) through rough edit, but Paris gave me a huge backlog.  Cologne, Barcelona, Lanzarote, and Seville will be up someday. Maybe.

East of Eden is a fantastic book.  99% Invisible is an amazing podcast.  I was a little annoyed by but also quite enjoyed the Alchemist, and enjoyed without reservation the Book Thief.  Wait Wait Don't Tell Me is almost too funny to listen to on public transportation.  I am so grateful for podcasts.  They are free, insightful, entertaining, easy to get and delete, short, and they give you a dose of English whenever you want one.

My French helped me survive, but is not conversational.

My portfolio is under construction.  This whole website is under construction.  Sometimes you start projects at really inopportune moments, but at least you have started them.

I'm very happy to find myself eager to start on my Portland adventure.  I'm not hurrying through this part of the trip, but it's been very reassuring to have conversations with people where I tell them where I'm from and I know that I'll have as much exploring to do when I get "home" as I am doing here.  I'm still keeping my ears open for places that call my name here, though.

I think I'm staying within my budget.  I have occasionally skipped something I wish I hadn't, but such is life.  I feel like I've had some really excellent luck on this trip.  I've stuck quite closely to the plan I made ahead of time.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm drifting around too much, not engaging enough, and sometimes I realise that I haven't been going out on the weekends much - only when I'm with friends, really.  Then, I try to listen hard to what I'm really feeling.  Mostly, I'm not sure what it is, but it's good practice and every now and then, I hear something.

Work In Progress

I loved Gertie’s post the other day.  She is always an inspiration, but what I liked about this post wasn’t so much that it was inspiring, (which it definitely was) but that she made the comment:

I didn’t start my blog until after I turned 30, and I’ve recently been feeling so inspired creatively, like I’m getting closer to what I’m supposed to be doing. When I’m 40, maybe I’ll be even closer. I’m a work in progress, no doubt.

I think that as a young person, it’s hard to know how great getting older can be, especially in our youth-obsessed culture.  I don’t know if I’m noticing the trend of respect and, more than respect, admiration of age more because I feel like my age suits me in a very different way than it used to, or if there really is a trend.  I’ve enjoyed TLo’s posts about some of the beautiful older women gracing the pages of the fashion magazines.  I’m excited for my housemate, who’s quitting her job and moving across the country to go work on a farm, and just heard about another 30something who recently did the same thing and found the experience very rewarding.  Although my review last week at work was a little rough, this week went very well, and with the boyfriend and job going so well, and my decision last year (which I thought I blogged about, but I guess I didn’t) that I really like the way I look, I feel like it’s good to get older.  It’s not all about growing up, it’s about doing the things I want to be doing, and knowing that I’m doing the things I want to be doing.

Anyway, that being said, I’ve been spending all sorts of time on ancestry.com making a family tree (which I know my parents have done before, but it’s so cool to find ancestors in very old censuses, and I love seeing that although my family was always extremely working class, we were on occasion ribbon makers, silk weavers, engineer’s pattern makers, bakers, and green grocers).  I have lots of projects, including the new logo for our frisbee team, and my Lady Grey Coat – if I ever finish it it’s going to be too warm to wear – but I’m getting things done slowly but surely, like my new kitchen worm bin.  So, even though I know that sometimes I’m not doing my projects, I am doing the things I want to be doing.  Oh, and I really will take pictures of the party dress soon, because it turned out so well that I bought the Bridal Couture book that I had been renewing from the library!

So, with that little brain dump, I’ll go put some laundry in and get back to some of my works in progress, including me!

Waking up from hibernation

Another two part post – some musings on generation divides to follow the life update.

It’s funny that I just bought furniture for my apartment, since I’m planning to move.  If that move is to somewhere on I-5, I’m good, if not, I’m probably contributing to the awful amount of particleboard in our nation’s landfills.

I cleaned a lot this past weekend, and with the organizing and the beautiful weather, I feel a bit like I’m waking from hibernation.

I realized that I’d sort of been snowed under, with things all over my floor literally preventing me from moving freely.  I subscribe to the idea that a real housecleaning can do wonders for the psyche, and that making doors fully operable and floors clear to walk on can help to make paths in our lives clearer, too.  I realized, too, that the snowed-underness is somewhat chronic for me, but that it might be worse because there were a few things I’d never really taken care of from graduation, plus getting back from LA added an unfinished unpacking to the pile, plus entering into the Cavin Family Traveling Fellowship delayed the cleaning another week.

So, I finally took my car to get washed, which was really so easy that I will totally do it again, and I finally replaced my little old art tacklebox with a set of clear plastic drawers that also hold my office supplies and my sewing supplies.  It’s on wheels, and it almost makes me glad that my desk doesn’t have drawers because it’s great to be able to roll it around as an extra work surface during intense sewing/architecture moments.  I got a new trashcan for our bathroom, our first of which mysteriously disappeared a few months ago.

I also got a bookcase.  I have two wonderful little white bookcases that are painted wood deals from a vintage store in Springfield.  I’ve been watching craigslist on and off, and considering that I went to every vintage/antique/goodwill store I know of in Eugene and Springfield this summer to get those beauties, I knew that chances were slim of me finding a third.  Oh, it was sad to put those plastic dowels through that laminated skin, to nail that cardboard onto the back of that board, but it is amazing to have my books off the floor.

So, I’m set up to conquer the world, by which I mean update my cut sheet and send out applications, redo my last IDP installment, send in my taxes and census form, and finally file away the little bits and pieces that have been floating around wondering where they belong for oh so long now.  If only it wasn’t so beautiful outside.  And, if only I didn’t realize that I’ve been spending way too much time by myself… although with a lot of folks on spring break and a promise of rain next week, I might be successful yet.  Wish me luck in taking on all of those looming tasks – I think it’s going to feel pretty great to knock them out, just like it felt to finally finish furnishing my rooms with the things they were lacking.

Oh, and I didn’t get all new things.  Doing that laundry in the basement, I checked to see if the trashcan had somehow walked downstairs and discovered a somewhat homely but perfectly serviceable coffee table behind what appeared to be an entertainment center.  Yes, it’s got a laminate top, but parts of it were wood, and it was free, and it will go back in the basement when I move.  After six months without a coffee table, it’s awesome to have one.

OK, on to my ponder.  Today I was looking at the Harvard Business Review for graphic design inspiration.  I know, it sounds as bad as it was, but really, I needed to see how they set up their cases, since the cases we’re writing for work are based loosely on their model.  They may not have the best designer on staff, but man can they write a case!  I got distracted by the task at hand by actually reading the article, which was about differences in Gen X and Gen Y approaches to the workplace.  What’s somewhat funny to me is that I think I’ve read the article before, and it’s totally cheesy, and it’s definitely based on caricatures of the stereotypes of the two generations, but nonetheless I was hooked.

I frequently find business writing compelling for several reasons.  I want to be a good employee, and if it’s in my cards in the future a good employer or manager.  I also think that there’s something fascinating about the way that business writing hovers between applied anthropology, sociology, psychology, and economics.  I guess the third reason I find business writing compelling is that the people doing the writing know that they’ve got to be compelling, so they generally relate interesting stories, make clear assertions about those stories, develop catchy ways to remember their information, and keep it brief – in other words, they write to be compelling, and the good ones succeed.  Oh, and generally, they don’t go off on tangents like this.

That first reason, though, was what I first thought of when I read the case today.  I saw some similarities between the situation described in the case and my own situation at work, and thought that I might adjust the way I was considering certain parts of the situation.  I also thought that I might be more sensitive to some of the things the case brought to light in my job search.

Then, I thought about that job search, and how this whole internal discussion I’ve had about taking advantage of the downturn to do something more innovative and interesting totally reflected the attributes of the Gen Y thinking presented in the case.  I realized that part of my hesitancy in pursuing that kind of new “job” or whatever it would be that would make living possible as I was doing awesome architecture stuff that was good for people and the environment and let me draw and build and talk to people – that hesitancy comes from my uncertainty that Gen Y thinking is all that good at making stuff in the real world.  It seems clear that it’s got some benefits – open source techniques work for my friend who makes shoes and for some of the bike companies I admire greatly.  Certainly Gen Y thinking is effective in the realm of ideas and technology.  Yet I wonder if Gen Y thinking, as outlined in the article, is compatible with building things, which takes a long time, requires a lot of players and investors, and is meant to last a long time, too.

Here’s the thing.  Part of me is on board with the revolution.  I’m ready to use better platforms to collaborate more effectively.  I’d like to keep drawing by hand, to keep talking in person, but I also think we’re on the verge of having way better modeling software – software that incorporates more of the benefits of hand drawing while it dramatically increases the ability of the modeler to make excellent, easy-to-construct building – and I think that videoconferencing will become more accessible, but more to the point, hard and software will improve our face-to-face meetings, helping us record our thoughts better and launch from those thoughts more effectively.  I also think that design must be at least partially open to the crowd’s influence if it’s going to be relevant, and I think things from coordinating construction to monitoring energy use will all transform in positive ways if we think about them differently.

But part of me thinks that there’s something to be said for putting in your time and going through the established routes.  There is something essential to me about knowing the fundamentals.  And even as I write this, I realize that in some ways, it’s knowing the fundamentals and being tied to those “proper routes” that loose us the ability to look at problems freshly, to hear the voice of the novice that revolutionizes the game.  Fundamentally, I think the same thing is happening in architecture as in environmental change – the status quo is difficult to disrupt.  Building codes and contractual setups change slowly, protecting us from rash decisions, but they can also stymie valid change.  With environmental change, the political and physical obstacles are deeper and wider, but again, they slow change that we can envision, even if we have difficulty implementing it.

Anyways, in the end, I wonder if us Gen Yers, with our impatience; disrespect for pecking orders, lines of authority, and proper protocol; need for feedback; with our life experienced through machines and need for entertainment and instant gratification, I wonder if we can really make great things.  Will our things forever be left unfinished?  Will they be two-dimensional?  Will they speak only to the now?  Or, will they be made faster and better by people who have more time to spend with their families and friends, by people who find that their work is fun and rewarding and challenging, and who tell each other when they’ve gotten it right?

I also wonder if there even is a real, measurable difference, or if it’s just the idealism of the young rubbing up against the conservativeness of the old, dressed up in new phrases, with the specter of technology floating around to scare us all a little.

Well, that’s not where I thought this would end, and not even close to what I thought I would say, but it’s time for me to get off the couch before the day ends.  I’m glad that spring is coming here, complete with adorable little birds at my window, and I hope that it brings even a tiny bit of resolution on the pressing matters in my mind.

A Strange Place

Here are a few things that are rolling around in my brain:

Accumulation and accretion, with the world just getting more and more full of things. And then, the passing on, too.

Desire becoming reality, and other things also becoming real – with my growing perfume collection, I am sampling many scents, and sometimes feel as though there’s something real there. When I taste wine, I often get very physical words coming to my mind – wine for me can be round, soft, or tall. I’m not getting that the same way with perfumes, but I think that if I smell for long enough I’ll be able to articulate things a bit more. I’ve been enjoying the strangeness of them, the leather and sweat and smoke. My favorites are the ones that surprise you over and over again, making you think that there’s a corner somewhere close by that you’ll turn and find something real. The one I’m wearing right now, though – Patou 1000 – I lean in to get a deeper draw, and it smells like someone peed on me. Weird. I can’t get enough from 5 inches out, but right up close, whew! Yet, I’m going to put a bit more on before I go out.  Wherever that corner is, it’s a strange place.

Plus, trying on all these perfumes is probably just a little bit of an intensification to that who am I and what am I doing here feeling that I haven’t been able to shake, even when for a little while, I thought I might have that answer. Today I was useless, and far from figuring out any answers, I just avoided the question altogether. Thought I was making some progress, but still pretty lost on the whole subject of what to put the majority of my energy into. I can’t help but think, though, that at some point this question will be answered, and that a bit of psychic reworking never hurt anyone in the long run. Watching a lot of the videos at the99percent.com has/hasn’t helped.

The conversations that we have with ourselves – I saw Moon last night, and that little phrase kept rattling around in my head.  It’s a must see, and I felt like it was perfectly resolved, despite what many of the reviewers said at the time.  It made me very sad, but then, I also felt very appreciative afterward.  I imagine that’s a part of what I liked about A Serious Man, too.

I’m heading out, and already running late.  I’ve been thinking of several of these things for a while, now, though, so had to get a little ramble out.  No doubt you’ll hear more about perfumes, accretion, and life courses soon, whether or not you wanted to.

Oh, and props to the President for a sweet speech on Wednesday, and for finally having what NYT liked to the Prime Minister’s Question Time, (the reference to which seems to have disappeared from this article) which I have always hoped would happen in our own country.

Who are these buildings anyway?

I’ve been reading Sweet Juniper like it’s my job, and I just had a realization while looking at this, and also thinking about what my mom said the other day.  I’ve long thought about writing about buildings, and I know that I’ll do “real” writing about buildings like I did in my Architectural History classes.  I’ll write about the way that light enters a room, I’ll write about the juxtaposition of materials, I’ll write about the spaces they enclose and the spaces they occupy.  But I also want to write building fiction, and I think I know a little more about that now.

These days, we talk in our profession about how buildings should be built to last.  How they are investments, or ways of sharing our values across time.  We say, or the Europeans say to us, that in Europe, you don’t build with the idea something will come down, you build so that it can stay up, even if it needs patching and fixing.  Buildings are bigger than us, and I think that it makes sense that they would have a longer life span than us, the same way very large trees and whales and elephants do.  And, they’re even less able to care for themselves than plants, which are immobile but have some pretty kick-ass ways of feeding and repairing themselves.  So, as long as we’re in a symbiotic relationship with buildings, we keep them warm and weed-free, and they keep us safe and dry.  But, they also observe us in a way we sometimes notice, and they watch each other and the part of the world that they can perceive (I don’t really believe that real buildings do any of this, these are now my fictional buildings, and maybe, a little bit, what I’d like real buildings to do, too).  They are our memory keepers.  But, I think they’re memory keepers that keep the full experience within them.  A photo album is full of snapshots, a treasure box full of the little objects, but a house, it’s inhabited by ghosts, and those ghosts are both what is good in life and what we would normally like to forget about in life.

So, I think that’s what these buildings in my stories, whenever I may eventually write them, will be – the keepers of the ghosts, the large and sort of helpless, but intensely wise by the time that they’re abandoned, beings that see everything that we do, all the objects we cherish and the arguments that we have and the plants and animals that we don’t really understand, and the way that we’re mostly confused, and keep most of their opinions to themselves.  Maybe that’s a little why we get sad when we knock them down, even when we know they have to go – we know they’ve seen a lot and have stoically endured it.

What my mom said – “It seems as if for most people, like myself, buildings once created become things, possibly very lovely and appreciated things, but still things, whereas for you, buildings once created become creatures, beings, alive and organic and able to act upon other creatures, interact with them being to being.”  What do these ones think about us?  Do they miss their neighbors?

Putting things out there

Warning: next three paragraphs deal with the intractable issues of work and social life.  For something actually interesting and new, skip to the photo.

I don’t know how long it’s going to last, but for quite some time to come, I think my main job is actually putting myself out there.  It’s actually been a lot of fun to put together the portfolio and teaser and resume…and I’m sure the cover letters will be fun in hindsight, too.  Now we come to the part where I actually send them all out, though, and that’s a whole other story.  I’m less than excited to send them into the abyss, to ask for jobs that don’t exist and to profess how wonderful I am to people who can’t really care.

I can’t help but feel a reflection of this work life issue in my personal life, too – I may know all sorts of people here, but I’ve yet to rebuild a group of friends of the sort I had in Oberlin, Vermont, or, in fact, that I pretty much developed here, pre-graduation.  Not to mention that there’s a good chance that I’ll move to a whole new place and actually have to make an even bigger effort towards friendship than I do here now.

I’ll admit, part of it is a problem of commitment.  I’m not sure where I want to move, not sure what I want to do, not sure who I want to spend my time with, so in some ways I’m not making a strong case to anyone, let alone myself.  Howard’s recommendation of actually writing out a five year plan or two seems like a great one.  I vaguely know where I’m going and what I’m doing, but defining things a bit more, while having an alternative plan, seems like a good way to stop faffing and actually move confidently towards doing the things that I want to do.  I feel like I’m back in high school with all this self definition and worrying about who I’ll be friends with.  Thought I was over all of that.

On another note, I saw this today:

Along with five other lamps, it’s part of an impressive graduation project, Light Movement, by Noam Bar Yohai.  Each of the lamps employs wood, elastic bands and heat-shrinking tubing, with metal components to weight them.  They are each adjustable because of the friction of the tubing, weight of the metal, tension of the elastic bands, or flexibility of the wood.  I think Yohai has done an excellent job of exploring this object as a series of mechanisms.  For me, they come to a pleasing level of refinement – they seem like abstracted models of joints: skeleton, sinew, muscle, and nerve poised before some action.  Tell me what you think, and perhaps, if you’re ambitious, compare and contrast with Moooi’s Brave New World lamp.

You can write, but you can't edit

I was walking down the street the other day, when my bike had a flat. It’s almost unheard of that I’d make the walk in to work, since the bike ride takes just about 10 minutes. However, at this time of year a morning walk can be really wonderful. There are puddles and sunshine and there’s that good old crisp fall air. In a poetic mood, I drafted this poem in my head:

The trees grow from golden pools
or red skirts dropped to their ankles
in lust last night

And immediately thought of posting it to my faceybook page, where just the night before I had posted:

The late night laundry/agitates in the basement/soap in a dark tub

and

warm from the dryer/knits, delicates, and denim/so many colors

As I believe I’ve mentioned before, I generally believe that the poetry that I write mostly in my head doesn’t do so well once it’s written down, and even those verses that translate to physicality fairly well don’t always last for me. Almost as soon as I had written the little tree ditty down, I realized that what sounded lovely in my mind was really trite/derivative/uninteresting. Nice to think, but not so necessary to share. (I do realize the irony here.)

On that line of thought, and what with walking into work, where all I do all day is edit, I pondered for a moment the fact that much of our communication these days is unedited. I imagine that was always the case – kind of like buildings that were designed by architects, communiques that were edited must only make up a small portion of documents, and an even smaller portion of all communication. Kind of interesting to just ponder for a moment all the communication in the world. But, I digress. While this has always been the case, now we proudly share these mostly unedited thoughts in a public and fairly long-term manner. I don’t wish to make this another post about the problems of our modern world, but I couldn’t help but thinking that editing is sorely missing from our world. I am excited and interested by our vast new opportunities for self expression – I’m here, aren’t I – but I wonder what we loose when we don’t review, rewrite, and on occasion, censor ourselves. In particular, what are the political implications to this manner of comporting ourselves?

****

On a different note, I’ve failed recently. I intended to write something wonderful for Blog Action Day, and to participate in 350.org’s giant day of climate action. In fact, I begged off the first one and casually ignored the second to go watch a Ducks game. If I’m not taking climate action, who is?

I have succeeded, on the other hand, in enjoying life a good bit more than I was before. I’m sewing and making other projects. I am cooking delicious food, going out with friends, reading books, and actually finishing my portfolio. I’m trying to capture the lovely sunny moments before it all goes grey for months on end.

****

A final note on two recent Harper’s articles: this month’s Notebook and September’s article “Dehumanized.”

In this month’s notebook, entitled “The Cold we Caused,” Steven Stoll returns to the theme Mark Slouka wrote about in September. Stoll sums up Slouka’s position quite well, despite the fact that he’s applying his criticism to climate change rather than what happens “When math and science rule the school.” Stoll says, “By confirming the human role in climate change, and by declaring a warming world injurious to the public good, the EPA has swung a club against perhaps the grandest capitalist conceit of the twentieth century: that society forms part of the economy, not the other way around.”

On reading Dehumanized, I was certainly convinced by Slouka’s statement that we cannot forever argue for the humanities based on an economic basis, but that we must be able to find other values useful in our society. Slouka’s call for a return to the civic, the political, and the societal concern struck me as important, but difficult to undertake, as any paradigm shift is. Yet while reading Stoll’s article reinforced Slouka’s position, it also made me consider that this argument seems particularly applicable while our economy is in shambles. I wonder to what extent the downfall of the economy influenced this perspective, or revealed this truth, and to what extent that same downfall might allow us to approach these seemingly intractable problems in a different way. Could there be some sort of progress on these matters?

Mail Room

There’s a rumor going around that Eugene is going to lose a post office.  Not just any post office, but the one I go to, University Station.

No big deal, right?  There are other POs in town, even quite nearby.  In fact, I now live closer to the main station than to University Station.  No one is going to be prevented from sending and receiving their mail, in no small part because, as Obama recently reminded us, there are many private companies now willing to take part in that transaction who are “doing just fine.”  Yep, “it’s the post office that’s always having problems.”

Be that as it may, I would be greatly saddened if University Station is closed.  Fundamentally, I think that every university should have a mail room.  In fact, it surprised me to find that the University of Oregon had a post office, not a mail room, when I arrived, but I guess there’s a matter of scale that makes the mail room at Oberlin viable, and that at Oregon a post office (Though perhaps the problem lies somewhere in that inequality).

The mail room of a university or college serves its students tirelessly, providing a stable address for those orbiting campus.  It is a place for paying first bills.  It’s where really good things happen when you’ve been away from home for a while – a care package arrives, or just a postcard, when you thought you had been forgotten.  It’s a portal to a place far away.

Amongst the little cubbies or up at the window, you have the sense of really being in a physical place.  You see the postman heft a box of letters dropped into the slot for the 1:45 pick up.  You’ve written on paper with pen, folded that paper, tucked it into an envelope, and licked the envelope closed.  Now you lean against the counter with the envelope in hand and ask for stamps.  You look in the folder proffered – you select from the objects at hand.  You’ll drop your letter in the empty box, they’ll wheel it out with the 5:30 mail.

Perhaps it’s a relic of things past, but I think that’s why it’s so valuable.  There’s no scrolling through options, imagining the shapes and sizes and weights of things.  Here, things are measured, they’re displayed in their corporeality.  Keys are turned and doors are opened, objects are filed and sorted.  That’s not to deny the electronic scale or scanner, but it is to say thanks for the man behind the counter, wearing his blue ringer polo shirt, affixing that label to that package.

I think students need to have a place so connected to objects, since many times they’re living a life so overstuffed with ideas.  They need a place that is neutral in the way that government places are; where freedom of speech is practiced in a dramatically different way than in their classrooms.  They are lucky to have a place devoted to their physical connection with those far away, and a place that so effortlessly combines responsibility and spontaneity.  When all of that is at the heart of campus, it becomes an important place for chance meetings or reality checks amongst the craze of finals; when it’s that convenient it doesn’t take away time from studying or socializing.

Against the realities of the federal budget, my fondness for and belief in the importance of University Station will probably weigh naught.  Yet, for that foreign student, or for the man in the blue polo, I’m hoping that my thoughts are worth more than their weight.

Childhood

Today I had the overwhelming feeling that despite being 26 years old, I am still firmly within a personal era of childhood.  Not a childhood of skipping around on the playground carefree, but one of being somewhat powerless over the circumstances of one’s life.

In this way, it seems that childhood extends throughout our lifetimes.  What does it mean to be an adult?  I have the wherewithal to cope effectively with this powerlessness, despite the fact that it is frustrating and sometimes painful to me.  Hopefully, I also am able to use the shifting ground of circumstance to my benefit, by taking opportunities as they come and seeing the potential in each situation.  Although that’s not the carefree life, maybe it allows me to lessen my cares as I remember that I’m not in charge, nor do I know the ultimate solutions or answers to each question.

In fact, the childhoods we experience transform over our lives, I think.  I have responsibilities now that go beyond keeping my room clean, but I still have this powerlessness, and oftentimes a feeling of vulnerability.  Powerlessness and vulnerability ebb and flow throughout our lives.  So too, I hope that I can say that sometimes I have moments of uncomplicated thought, moments of wonder and joy, moments when someone else takes care of me.  Those moments may come sporadically or infrequently, but they are a part of the ongoingness of childhood.  Now, with those moments, I have an adult appreciation of what I am experiencing.

I wonder, with the gaining of skill and the establishment of a pattern of living that’s not based around the paradigm of school, how the childhood that I inhabit will transform.  I know that in a new job there will be plenty of powerlessness and vulnerability, plenty of moments of discovery, and hopefully an encouraging amount of wonder and help from others.  Does the feeling of childhood eventually melt away altogether, as responsibility and the constant consciousness of thought expand, or does it always remain, even as the thinnest residual film?  Perhaps one day I will be able to answer my own questions, and at that point I will know I’m no longer a child – but it seems to me that day is illusory, and happily so, since the reliance on others we learn in childhood is one of the greatest gifts of that age.

Going Home

I thought I’d write a bit about the act of going home; its peculiarities, its necessity, how unattainable it can be. Little did I know how much I might have to say.

I’m in approximately my 26th hour in the airport. The one I’m in now is Phoenix. I spent last night sleeping on the floor of the Las Vegas airport. I’m pretty sure it’s the first time that I’ve slept overnight in an American airport waiting for a flight.

My flight back to Eugene from Orlando didn’t start well. When I got to the gate in Orlando, I found out that our plane was delayed just over an hour for maintenance. Not to worry – my layover was long enough that I would make it to Las Vegas in plenty of time. I wasn’t looking forward to the 2:15 arrival, but I had a cab already called and I knew I’d be just fine.

Las Vegas proved to be much worse than Orlando, though. Already, by the time I arrived on the scene, the action had started. Our flight was canceled, and the crew reassigned to another flight. Almost immediately, though, our flight was reinstated. Without a crew, though, we were stuck on the ground until a new crew could join us. They’d come quickly from elsewhere in the airport … no, they’d come flying in from Tuscon … no, the plane from Tuscon was missing a part, so they’d arrive in a few hours after the part was installed … no, the flight was cancelled.

Strung along through the night, my 62 fellow travelers and I had set up camp in the A terminal of McCarran airport with thin blue blankets and pretzels past their expiration dates. I found a secluded spot with a plug, plugged in my computer and set my pillow on top of its warm cushioned form, and created a little nest of blankets and woolen hats and bags. I tuned out the slot machines and drifted in and out of sleep each time a new announcement came over the PA.

With the final announcement of the cancellation and a hasty handing out of meal vouchers, we trudged down to the ticketing counter, moving in the opposite direction of the first early morning passengers. In line for another hour and a half, we overheard stories and exchanged rumors; we tried not to stare at the man going to visit his dying sister and the man about to miss his son’s wedding; we wondered what we would do if we were stuck in Vegas for two days, when all the hotel rooms in town were probably booked.

Then, with the good news that there was some space on the 1:09 flight from Vegas to Phoenix that would connect with the 5:56 flight from Phoenix to Eugene, the waiting began. Since then, I’ve pretty much been sitting, or, on occasion standing in line. Now, the cheer has just gone up: We’re Going Home!
Boarding is about to start for the final flight of the journey, so I’ll have to report on the outcome and give a more meaningful ponder to the more existential aspects of going home once I’ve arrived there. For the mean time, I’ll say that I flew through The Road, which was weirdly appropriate reading to have with me. I appreciated that my request for a lunch voucher was filled by the counter agent with no questions. And, I enjoyed some of the moments of conversation with my fellow travelers quite a bit, although perhaps not quite as much as I enjoyed conversations with longtime friends over the phone. I’m going to get on the plane now (only 45 minutes late this time)!

Jens

Last night I headed up to Portland to see Jens Lekman in concert.

It was amazing, better than I could have ever hoped. The wait outside the venue was cold and I missed the chance to meet up with the Portland crew – it turned out that their midterm was 5-8pm. Inside, though, the opening band was good (Throw Me the Statue), and I slipped forward into the crowd as they played. 

Shortly after they finished, Viktor Sjoberg came out and started to mix a bit on his laptop – it built up until Jens and crew came out with piccolos and flutes flashing and started off the set with Into Eternity. Here’s the rough setlist (the order is a bit jumbled):
Into Eternity
Opposite of Hallelujah
Your Arms Around Me
Sipping on the Sweet Nectar
The Cold Swedish Winter
Maple Leaves
Postcard to Nina
You Are the Light
A Strange Time in My Life (partial)
A Sweet Summer’s Night on Hammer Hill
Friday Night at the Drive-in Bingo
You Can Call Me Al
Shirin
Pocketful of Money

I danced along to all of it, throughly enjoying the matching outfits, amazed at how faithful to the albums the performance was, but even better, which I didn’t think was possible.

I’m not sure how to put into words how happy it all made me, but, it did, beyond all reason. Here’s one reason, which the happiness is beyond, but which it rests squarely upon: I had the sense that as polished as the performance was, mistakes were ok, and more than that, being a little goofy, and able to laugh at the world and one’s self in a non-depricating way was really important.

That may not make a whole lot of sense, and I thought I was going to be able to write about the experience a bit more coherently, but I’m not sure that I can. Suffice it to say, it was entirely worth the very low ticket price, and the gas money and time committment of driving up from Eugene.

And now, off to sleep, having decided against the study abroad option, as hard as it was. Wish me luck on my structures test tomorrow…and wish me even more luck in getting through the rest of the semester – I think its really going to ramp up from here as we move towards the final.

Search for Meaning

One of many. We had our midterm on Monday (actually, we have a second one coming up in a week and a half – its nice to be able to re-scheme and have it reviewed before the final, so that you have some time to develop more fully). I got some not particularly clear feedback, but the gist is that I’m thinking about fairly drastic changes to my project. The project is a wetlands education complex on the western edge of Eugene. You can see actual information about this place and project here.

My basic scheme will remain the same, I think. I’m running site circulation up from the bike path on the southern edge of the site, through my linear hilltop grouping of buildings, and splitting it between an observation “telescope” and back down to the bike path. Three main buildings interface with the path – a staff building to house the office functions of the the various wetlands protection partners; a community building to provide a meeting place for citizens involved with the wetlands; and an education building where the school programs they currently run will have a permanent home.

Really, what’s in question is the making of the buildings. In my presentation, because of how schematic it was, it appeared that structure would run through exterior walls, and activities would take place within little boxes all related to each other through a single, thin interface.

My concepts, though, are much more about layering, about a switch-rich architecture. I’m not sure how to express this, though. In my desk crit today, Don and I discussed the method of creating simple superstructures with boxes inside that shape the overall shape and offer convenient ways to define specific rooms within larger, catchall spaces. However, there’s something about this method that I’m resisting. In some ways, it just seems too simplistic. It doesn’t have very much more depth to it than a more traditional room arrangement – although I guess that has in part to do with how the boxes themselves are constructed. 

One of the other thoughts is to use the somewhat complex roof structures that I was beginning to develop and bring them to a more tight configuration that spoke clearly to the spaces they defined. There’s something I’m a bit uncomfortable about with the potential for not just exposing the primary structure, but making it do acrobatics. I don’t think this place wants to be ostentatious. I think this method has a lot of promise, since I’m not sure that it necessarily becomes ostentatious…

Thirdly, there’s an idea that I’m floating around with that I thought might be a bit Fay Jones, but when I looked at his work, it didn’t seem particularly relevant. Its a more delicate use of structure – a bit more on the stick framing side of things – but without the sheet-rock. I looked again at the Viikki Church and I think that its a good start. This is what I’ve been trying to get at with the Radical Tectonics, but I’m really not quite sure what I’m aiming at. The Atlantic Center for the Arts has some of it…and the building I took my original inspiration from, the Institute for Forestry and Nature Research in the Netherlandsalso has it in certain ways. I guess I’m trying to find something with a bit more depth to the wall than the first and a bit more simplicity than the second.

Well, I’ve fuffed on, and I’m not sure any of it is particularly clear. What it comes down to, though, is that I’m ascribing this great meaning to this doubling and tripling of the walls. That I want some kind of depth to these spaces, but I don’t know how or why.

Lucky Dog

Hey, it all comes together -
I just read that with 2006 being the year of the dog in Chinese zodiac, I was bound to have a rough year, since I am a dog. Evidently, when your year comes up, you’re in conflict with the god of ominous, so you have an unlucky year unless you take precautions in the first 15 days of the year. So, watch out every 12 years for your unlucky year…

Actually, the year went well overall for me, despite the rough patch this last semester. After all, I had a fantastic time in Vermont, got into grad school, drove safely across the country, settled into life in a new part of the world, and made lots of new friends. This time of the year you remember how many good old friends you have, too. Last night Ryan called, and I’ve recently talked to Hans, Joe, Stefan, and Tad. The list of folks to call is even longer, but I can’t help but feel warm and happy about getting a bit of time to catch up with friends. I guess it’s my fault for not being on MySpace, but I feel a bit old fashioned about that whole thing with the unreality aspect of it all, plus I think I’m a bit squeamish about being too accessible.

Which leads me to a recent two-part revelation: 1) I just want everyone to love me. Therefore, when boys ask me out or make a move, I get nervous that if I go out with them, other people won’t be able to love me as much (an irrational fear, I know). 2) I just really like to spend time by myself and not be accountable to anyone else for that time. That means that when boys ask me out or make a move, I get nervous that they are the type of person who will want to spend significant amounts of time with me and have me think about how I ought to spend time with them.

These two qualities lie at the base of my perpetual singledom, and they’re in my power to change. What a nice Christmas present to self. Yay for overanalysing situations. We’ll see what this revelation means for my future love life…

Ok, and the other topic I wanted to cover today: the rough draft of my playlist.

1. Wayside (Back in Time) – Gillian Welch – Soul Journey
2. Passing Afternoon – Iron and Wine – Our Endless Numbered Days
3. Pink and Blue – The Mountain Goats – All Hail West Texas
4. Swansea – Joanna Newsom – The Milk-Eyed Mender
5. The Stranger Song – Leonard Cohen – Field Commander Cohen Tour 1979
6. Girl in the War – Josh Ritter – The Animal Years
7. Ship out on the Sea – The Be Good Tanyas – Chinatown
8. Homesick – Kings of Convenience – Riot on an Empty Street
9. Bed is for Sleeping – Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – Superwolf 
10. Whiskey in the Jar – Belle and Sebastian – 
11. Santa Claus (Instrumental) – Bill Monroe – Bluegrass 1959-1969
12. Train, Train – Dolly Parton – The Grass is Blue
13. Just to See You Smile – Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – More Reverie
14. Wagon Wheel – Old Crow Medicine Show – O.C.M.S

It’s my Countrified playlist, and I’m in the process of cutting down my Citified playlist, which is more ambient/indie. I was going for a mix of traditional and indie folk, but it’s got a bit of tweaking before it’s ready to run – particularly whether I’ll keep “Just to See You Smile” or trade it out for another Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy song.

Coming soon: the final cut of the two volume set of musics that I like very much, plus, reflections on the last semester, and maybe even the whole year.

Final Review, Finally

So, another long time coming post. It’s been hard not to write more here, but clearly not hard enough – I’d say stressed is the word of the month.

We had our final reviews yesterday, and I thought it went surprisingly well for me, perhaps surprisingly less well for everyone else, based on what others have said to me. I was pleased that the reviewers generally liked my scheme, despite the fact that part of it was aptly described by the first reviewer as looking like a double-wide. I felt like my insistance on exploring a few ideas was reinforced, and the reviewers had helpful ways of how to make some decisions more readily in order to push the ideas to the forefront. Primarily, one reviewer explained to me a process of diagramming that seemed like a revelation, and I’m excited to try it next term.

I have to admit, I was pretty depressed about my scheme before the review. Adding the landscaping definitely regained some of the cohesion of the scheme, and brightened the outlook a bit, but I was still not as proud of my work as I was this summer. In considering why, I started to think about what I had learned in the semester, and realized that this course seemed much more about editing – about floating an initial idea and then sticking with it to sculpt it into something viable – than about exploring – questioning, coming at the project with a deep curiousity, trying many different approaches, and then settling on one. I’m sure I’ll be thinking about that more as I have my exit interview, but my hunch is that I’m of the second school, dispite how valuable it is to learn this method.

Ok, lots more to say about personal life and other bits of school life than I can really digest right now. I’m getting excited for the break, since I still have three more projects to push through. Those projects should be lots of fun, though – a website and brochure, a small cabin for a camp, and an abstract transformation from a 2-D pattern to a 3-D building.

I’ve got to keep writing, it’s amazing what this does for the sanity level…expect to see more soon.

Oh, and weigh in if you have an opinion – do I go see Thom Mayne lecture or Joanna Newsom sing on Saturday?

An Actual Architectural Musing

So, since we’re designing our studio project in heavy timber, I’ve been thinking a lot about the material. I’ve been caught between two ways of making: the neo-timber glue-lam and steel bolted connections with tensioned cables, and the shipbuilding-inspired Greene and Greene/Japanese Joinery all-wood connections.

Here’s the question. Both are beautiful in their own ways, and both are problematic in their own ways. But, which one conveys more precision?

Is it the steel connected glue-lams, which can be made to have the exact strength and load bearing capacity they need, and can be connected with plates forged specifically for the job?

Or, is it the hand-crafted all-wood connections, which require precise planing and measuring, and a deep appreciation for the limits of the natural material.

Environmentally speaking, I suppose that these days it’s more responsible to use glue-lams, unless you happen to be rich and lucky and stumble across a large pile of reclaimed timbers that are in good enough condition (specifically, not too hard) to remake into the structure of your building. Or, if you happen to be building on a wooded lot, and can mill on site, carefully picking your trees from the stand – the way we did at Oberlin when we built the strawbale farm office there.

Still, I want to repeat the question before I head off: which one – glue-lam and steel or wood-joined timbers – conveys more precision? 

Oh, and I guess, if you happen to know, which one is actually more precise?

****
Part 2:

After a discussion this morning in Building Construction, I gained another related question.

How much is precision conveyed by specificity?

For example, is the reason that the all-wood connections convey precision because you know that not only was each connection designed conceptually, but also that each connection was refined when it was actually made in the wood, and that none of the other connections were the same?

Must get back to class, but had to add that bit in – oh, wish I could keep hashing this out…

October 18, 2006Replies 2

Wish I were getting more (Science of) Sleep

OK, super fast post:

Science of Sleep was amazing, especially since we went to The Sweet Life whose web site looks dorky, but which is actually so frickin good and really hip. We went as a goodbye to our temporary housemate, Karen, who’s going on a Mission to Salt Lake City this winter.

That set a good tone for the past few days. We had a pin-up yesterday in Studio, and I’ll have to get some photos up soon of my two proposals, although I already started to rip into the one that I’m going to adapt for Friday. I’ve done lots of diagramming, which has been good fun, and my next diagrams are going to be of the flows of water, air, light, and heat on the site. It’s a good chance to get some of that environmental responsibility in.

Sunday disc doesn’t seem to be working out for me – it’s just too hard to tear away from the studio at that time. So, I’m going to have to make an even more determined effort to catch another workout time.

Saturday night I went to my friend Jake’s house and played “He Said, She Said” with a small group of folks. It’s one of those write a phrase, fold it over games. The format is

[Male Name]
Met [Female Name]
At [Location]
He Said “[Quote]“
She Said “[Quote]“
And the consequences were [consequences]

Very simple, but absolutely hilarious. We were rolling around with laughter. It is important to limit the names to people that everyone in the group knows, but other than that, anything’s up for grabs.

We had our first exam today in Building Construction, and we’ve got lots going on – precident studies, cube building, and ever more projects for digital media. You can see my Photoshop explorations at my other website. They’re not quite as outrageous as a lot of other people’s, but I think they look pretty good, and a bit more realistic, if not in scale then in how they’re blended.

Ok, that’s some updates as to content of life, even if not any serious musings. I’ll get some photos of work up soon, and perhaps even add more photos to my Flickr account. Oh, and maybe one day I’ll respond to your comments – thanks, btw.

October 17, 2006Leave a reply

Cloudy gray times, you are now a thing of the past

I had a really fun weekend, and I just finished up a new assignment for my digital media class, so I thought I’d pop up a note.

We got our program for studio, and we’ll be designing “Agate Strings Workshop.” It’s “a place for the making of violins and fiddles, teaching and learning how to play these instruments, and live performances. A group of violin and fiddle makers have joined with several teachers to build a facility where they can share workspace and have a shared interior and exterior place for live performances. They imagine holding recitals for students here, performing here themselves, and inviting other musicians to join them.” The program came with a pretty inspiring speech about the process of design, and articulating the spirit of the place.

Lots of work on the table, but I’ve also been making plenty of time for play. I’ve got two leagues going, and even though the Sunday level of play is a bit more chaotic, it’s still lots of fun. I went to the class potluck on Friday night, and to our Denial team party on Saturday night, both of which were relaxing and entertaining.

I’ve got to get to class, which is a shame, because I wanted to write a bit more of substance, but I’m going to post a poem that popped into my head yesterday when we got the program.

Daily

These shriveled seeds we plant,
corn kernel, dried bean,
poke into loosened soil,
cover over with measured fingertips

These T-shirts we fold into
perfect white squares

These tortillas we slice and fry to crisp strips
This rich egg scrambled in a gray clay bowl

This bed whose covers I straighten
smoothing edges till blue quilt fits brown blanket
and nothing hangs out

This envelope I address
so the name balances like a cloud
in the center of sky

This page I type and retype
This table I dust till the scarred wood shines
This bundle of clothes I wash and hang and wash again
like flags we share, a country so close
no one needs to name it

The days are nouns: touch them
The hands are churches that worship the world

-Naomi Shihab Nye

October 10, 2006Reply 1

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

Today my friend Rima died.

I hadn’t talked to her in about a year and a half – last time I saw her we were playing together at Gender Blender, the tournament in Canada that was my stop off between graduation in Oberlin and adult life in Vermont. She got married this summer to her longtime boyfriend, also a good friend of mine. She had cancer, though, and today she died. I didn’t know that she got married or had cancer until one of our mutual friends called me today to tell me the news. The weird thing is, though, that today as I was biking home, I thought I saw Rima, which was strange, because I haven’t thought about her all that much since closing her last email with pictures of that tournament in Canada. I was thinking about a number of friends, folks I wanted to call and get in touch with, as I was biking, but I wasn’t thinking about Rima, and then I thought I saw her. So I just wanted to record that bit of uncanniness, and say that I will miss her.

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I felt so sad and alone as I sat in studio. My design groove is definitely not back yet, and as I sat there being discouraged by that fact, I started to enumerate all my flaws, and feel entirely inadequate and very unhappy. I felt unfashionable, frumpy, clumsy, and smelly. I felt like the one person I had started to really become friends with was angry with for some undecipherable reason. Thank goodness I had frisbee league – as I ate an apple in the studio and tried not to cry I thought about skipping it, but as soon as I set foot on the fields my spirit was lifted and I felt whole again. I was most certainly frumpy and smelly, but it was of no consequence.

I dressed up today, wore my black heels and a fancy sweater and some mascara. I looked at myself in the mirror, and for the effort, I didn’t think I looked appreciably better, but I thought at least I gave it the effort. I made it through the day with significantly fewer negative thoughts, I talked to my formerly close friend, and decided that I will gently work my way back to being friends with him, and I figured out that I do really have some free time on my hands.

I want tomorrow to go well in the studio, because I need some encouragement from actions, and not just from the kind words of friends.

I’m so glad you’re here, dear diary.

October 5, 2006Reply 1

Being Here

Wherein the author explores her surroundings, both physical and mental.19202122232425262728293031 17181112131415161067895 1234Nov » « SepOCTOBER 2006MTWTFSS

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Public Service Announcement

Thinking and Making

I had a Mostly Successful trip to IKEA on Monday, and during the drive remembered just how much I love NPR. On the way up, my iPod plug-in alternative to an iTrip broke, so I started to listen to the radio. As the stories went on, I listened to a section on organic farming/land trusts that described a lot of permaculture techniques; a section discussing “small schools” that emphasized that the quality of teaching is the most important factor in education; a section on “The Beauty Academy of Kabul;” a section on Christians United for Israel; a section about the new set of TV shows for the fall season; and a section on how Saturn’s moon Titan is actually a desert with ice as sand and mercury as rain.

So, I made it up to IKEA, walked around for 4 hours, bought a whole lot of furnture, and drove back down to Eugene. I ate dinner at the IKEA restaurant, which was sort of fun, and much of the time I wished that I had a companion, since the whole thing would have been considerably more fun and considerably easier with someone else to chat with and help me roll the two carts I had. In the end I chose the more expensive chest of drawers, but the quality leap was apparent and I felt like I could put together a more complete feeling room with them. (Here’s my table, chair, and stools to make my bookshelf) I also ended up buying soft items that they won’t ship, so I spent about as much as I would have spent ordering online, but got $250 more stuff, rather than $250 of shipping. 

Anyway, I got to think about Thinking and Making, and how those two activities are totally central to life, the sort of yin and yang of my personal existence, but also universally an important dialectic. In particular, the organic farming, bread making, and small school segments on the radio inspired me to ponder the relationship between Thinking and Making. It sort of seems to me that high-quality Thinking demands high quality Making: when you make, for example, a computer chip that processes information with lasers (as I learned that Intel has just done, thanks to the trusty radio), you’ve thought a lot about this and you must make it well to test your theory. But beyond that, more in the sense of the Diamond Age – the Victorian phyle, a group of people who are well-educated and brought up in a neo-Victorian environment, demand high quality workmanship and “real” goods, not compiled with matter compilers, but crafted from natural materials, which the Dovetail phyle create for them. There’s even a discussion in the book in which Nell confronts a woman in Dovetail and asks her about Making vs. Thinking.

It’s clear that individuals can be vastly more talented at one facet than the other. You have a skilled craftsperson or an academic genius, and perhaps they are just terrible at feats of logic or construction, respectively. But, it seems to me that to be a great Maker, you have to be a pretty decent Thinker. On the other hand, I’m not sure that the reverse is true. In architecture, you must be able to make things with some degree of competancy to become a great thinker – your thoughts depend on constructed objects. But in discreet math, which I believe could be used to reason through some of the same problems that architects deal with using design skills, you don’t need to be able to make at all.

When you Make – when you build or tend, plant or teach – you must actively respond to your material, your environment, perhaps a budget: in any case, multiple dynamic influences. Those influences require that you think. You must decide, strategize, and reason. Making demands Thinking. In my definition, Making includes the manipulation of physical objects with the goal of creating a finished product, albeit using finished in the art school sense of the word (a project is never really finished. You reach a point at which you can no longer improve upon the work you have done, and you call that finished, despite its imperfections or potential for further change).

I think where I was going with these thoughts in the car was towards some sort of value judgement. It looks like I was leaning in favor of Making…I see a future in Design-Build. But it’s not that simple. I think that for me, perhaps it’s positive that I’m recognizing my desire for Making, a desire which makes me feel that if I weren’t an architect, I’d be a farmer/homesteader, just because I would be able to be so much closer to the process of making a life with my own two hands. Thank goodness I’m allowing myself to do what I love now, when I’m 23.

Yet, when I consider it objectively, everything I’ve been taught, all of my values, lean towards Thinking. Making is in service to Thinking – it’s what we must do to sustain our bodies so that our minds can soldier on, eventually perhaps reaching enlightenment, but at least coming up with some great ideas until then. The Idea is more important than the Object. The Object is temporal; the Idea is timeless.

So, a value judgement is of no use – I value the temporal as much as I value the timeless, I value the abstract as much as I value the concrete. I value Making and Thinking equally. I make no claim to do so in a constant manner: at noon I may value Making over Thinking, and at midnight the reverse. Nonetheless, right now, at this political and evolutionary moment, when Siberia is melting and we’re embroiled in war in the Middle East, with midterm elections looming, excellent television shows about to air, and the housing bubble deflating, I choose Making.

I don’t want the Making to become mechanistic, I don’t want the Making to edge out Thinking, and in fact, if Thinking doesn’t inspire the Making, then the Making is worthless. I do want the Making to be action taken towards grounding our country. Let’s put up lightning rods and pour strong foundations. Let’s craft things again, take a deep breath and slow down, reorder the economy. I’m not saying much different from Slow Food, Small is Beautiful, etc, but I’m just having a moment of rerevelation, where something you know to be true appears as such before your eyes.

I’m not sure that this is the conclusion I was working towards – my fascination with the Making/Thinking dialectic is still shimmering in front of my eyes, and I still want to get up close and squint at it a little longer, because I’m not ready for a conclusion. I guess I’m so used to coming up with conclusions when I write that I automatically arrived at one. There’s still a lot to consider though. Where does music, poetry, or visual art fit in? What’s up with the dialectic, when we know that anything you can set up as a dialectic is more likely a continuum? What about that whole quality question, and the question of the personal abilities of a Maker and a Thinker at Thinking and Making, respectively? So, I won’t conclude, instead I’ll invite thoughts in response and keep thinking my own.

Which is what I did today as I put together the IKEA furniture. I was disappointed to find that the lampshades didn’t fit my lamps quite right, but I’ve come up with creative solutions that satisfices. I was upset when the left side panel of my new dresser was broken in the box, but pleased when everything else was finally assembled and I could tell that when the replacement part arrived, I would have a lovely, comfortable room.

My two housemates and I made ridiculously fudgy brownies tonight, which three of our architecture school friends stopped by to taste, and it capped off a successful day. I don’t want to jinx myself, but I think I’m on the other side of the rough spot. No more losing things, no more looking and not finding. Back to being receptive, successful, mindful, and at peace with the world. Thank goodness for the rough spots though.

Photos: Tomorrow! The show to watch on TV: The Wire which is actually in its third season. And what else?: My [Christmas] wish list is coming any moment now.

Reflections

I’m going to put a bit of concerted effort into thinking about my first term of grad school.  First, let me whine for two seconds – I miss my PowerBook in all its speed and beauty!  At least I have a computer to be going on.

So I broke my cardinal rule of blogging, which was that it doesn’t matter how long, you should have a post up pretty much every week.  But, while time managment got a little close there, I actually learned pretty precisely how long it takes me to do certain tasks, how much faster I can go in some situations than others, and how I can be wiser with my time in general at school.  Also, how much I feel like doing anything else when I’m done with work, to which the answer is not very.

Watching all of the married students, I definately had a revelation that I was spending way more time at the studio than was really necessary.  In part, I get social time there, and really enjoy hanging out, poking around at other people’s projects or doing work that could be done elsewhere in that social situation.  But, towards the end of the semester, I realized that studio needs to be studio time – aka, when I’m there I’m focused on my work.  Once I’ve completed my goals for the day I can go home, even if the project as a whole is not done.  Steady work does actually turn out to be more effective, since my mind needs time to percolate, as my 11th grade English teacher used to say.

I think in large part that revelation came about when I headed up to Kleinman.  I still had to edit my paper and add in all of the images, plus I was reeling over the Wednesday night redesign of my cube house, and gearing up for the final haul.  But I went to the tournament and had a great time and didn’t end up in any worse of a position school-wise (how likely was I to catch up on drawing homework that weekend anyway?). 

At the same time, I realized that I don’t have the energy to do much more than retain important friendships that I already have, and that with smarter use of my school time, I should be able to do the phone calls and emails that I really enjoyed this past year in Vermont. It’s been tough to join the frisbee team and not have time to really become friends with my teammates.  I definitely still feel like I’m outside the scene, even though I always feel welcomed.  So, keeping up with the Oberlin crowd, the Brattleboro crowd, and those folks I deal with day-to-day in Eugene should be enough, and I’m not going to go looking for new folks in the fall. Oh, and keeping up with the workouts will doubtless take up lots of time too, and is really important since it feels dreadful to be so out of shape.

Some of the other technique oriented things I discovered – when working, it’s always good to keep moving.  There is a pace that’s natural to maintain, when you’re in flow, and it’s not that you can intentionally get there, but you can do a lot to help yourself get close.  I found that as I did my final presentation, I made work circles: I got my model mostly done, so that if I had to turn it in I’d only be partially mortified, then I got my drawings almost all the way done, then I finished the model, then I put final touches on the drawings.  All the while I was making design decisions. 

That way of working turned out to be really effective – you spend all of your time doing something and none of it worrying about how much there is to do.  It came out of the feeling that I don’t play enough with the problems before I go ahead and attack them (which is why I keep doing total redesigns at the last minute) and the advice to constantly switch media.  If you’re drawing, make a model, if you’re modeling, write a narrative, if you’re writing do some diagrammatic analysis, if you’re diagramming, go look at precidents. 

One thing that Mike (my professor) wasn’t helpful with was process work.  I found that the way I interacted with him most successfully was by asking him very direct and specific questions, and that led me away from taking the time to explore and process. I’m reading Graphic Thinking for Architects and Designers now to try and get a bit stronger on the open-ended sketching and analytical diagramming, because I think those two skills could help me out a lot on doing my own process work.  My summer at Harvard was invaluable if only for their emphasis on generating designs from the process work, and thus their instruction in different angles of attack.

Process work is prehaps the most fun part of school, but it’s by far the most daunting.  You sit down with a clean desk and your new assignment and you have two weeks to turn that vague idea you had during the presentation of the assignment into presentation drawings.  You know that you’ll need time to do those final drawings and craft the final model.  You’ll need time to get the structure and the concept working together.  You’ve got to work pretty fast to get something out on the page, but it can’t get fixed too soon.  I think that, in fact, other than noting initial reactions, I perhaps shouldn’t be “designing” anything for the first day or two.  That’s the time for exploration.  There’s so much to understand in any of these projects that two days isn’t close to enough time to explore, so I should at least be giving it that much time.  I guess that in the fall we’ll have one project for the entire semester, and I’m not sure whether that will be broken down or not.  If it is, I’m vowing, right here and now, to note my initial reaction then make a concerted effort not to try to design anything for quite some time.

There’s a sort of pressure to have something on the page that comes from both the looming deadlines and the other folks in the studio who are all talking about what they’re doing and asking what you’re up to.  I want to be a part of that conversation, but I’m realising that it needs to remain constructive.  There are some people with whom you can have really great discussions and get wonderful ideas, but when they ask you what you’re up to, it’s ok not to have a floorplan to show them.  I think I’d actually feel even more like I was doing my work well if I instead showed them some serious site analysis or a great set of sketch models.

Which, by the way, were one of the great triumphs of the final project.  Towards the end, I finally got the idea of how to make quick sketch models.  One of the reviewers at the final review (not one of mine) suggested that one should make at least six sketch models before you get anywhere near choosing a scheme to work.  While I don’t think they meant to imply a magic number, it’s an indication of how important it is to work in three dimensions from the beginning of the design project.

It was also gratifying to hear that my final scheme seemed “comfortable” to both of my reviewers.  They both seemed to like the design very much, and I think that a lot of that came from trying some of the ideas from Synthesis 9.  I guess I’ll put more up about my final once I’ve got a way to upload the photos.

Actually, this is probably way too long and I should shut up.  I’m not sure I got to the real meat.  As usual, a few thoughts before I hang up the towel: I’m focusing on the work and ideas next semester.  No matter how frustrating the professorial or organizational situation, no matter how annoying my classmates, I’m in school to have the pleasure of interrogation, to form opinions and explore alternatives.  I talked to the boys of South Main last night, (which was great and I’m very excited about visiting VT), and felt like that level of intellectual conversation is vital to my life and I need to transfer it out to Oregon if I’m to feel at home/like I’m getting what I came for there.  And on that note, the other book I’m reading right now?  The Bible.  A little light summer reading.

More soon, as always. 

Study Break

Taking a quick break from writing a paper to say hello to myself, remember that I am a real person, not just an automaton that goes from task to task, doing whatever she is told.

Actually, I’m quite enjoying writing the paper – the one about the Glasgow School of Art – as I did a sizable amount of research and got a feeling of actually being there. Strange, though, that I know how different it must be to visit than to look at photos and imagine. It’s a good exercise, though, because it’s fairly analogous to the design process. Yes, I make models, but a fair bit of what I do is sit and look at what I’ve drawn and imagine the reality it implies. Each drawing brings me a step closer to what that reality might be like.

Drawings become like notes on the imagined places in my head (in fact we have a book called Visual Notes which I recommend, and want to get more thoroughly familiar with, but which addresses more the notation of actual real places). Yesterday, I did just go outside and sit with my eyes closed, imagining that I was approaching the site of my Cube House (the third part of the compound we’ve been designing). I felt kind of dorky, but it worked. I’d become familiar enough with my rough plans and sections and my sketch model that I could start imagining the places that they enclosed, complete with patterns of light and material choices. Pretty cool!

The drawing class we had was very helpful, and perfectly timed to make that envisioning exercise totally worth the slight embarrassment I felt. They told us how to trace over pictures to get perspective shots of an imagined building. It’s sort of like a collage, you just take the lines you want and then add the rest from your brain or from another underlay of a different photo. I made some very convincing drawings of my buildng, and called it a day.

This whole thing was in part inspired by Mackintosh’s moves on the facade of the Glasgow School of Art, and by that building in general. I do hope that I always have a history class to feed me inspiration! I’m planning to really start a scrapbook sometime soon…

Speaking of inspiration, I bought plane tickets for a trip home to Florida, then up to visit Grandparents in Massachusetts and friends in Vermont. The South Main gang will be on the verge of moving out of their house by the time I head their way, so I should be in for another lovely, melancholy saying good-bye party. The trip as a whole has been inspiring me to keep plugging away – I’m so close to being done with my first semester! I’ll finally have time to change addresses and close my old bank account! 

Also, I’m heading to Kleinman, a tournament in Portland, this weekend, which is my main inspiration for trying to finish my paper tonight. We all know how much work one gets done at frisbee tournaments.

Also, I just added a link to Practical Action, the British group that works to get appropriate technologies out there, in use. Check out the gravity ropeway on their front page. All my designs should be so elegant.

So, I was thinking that I’m not feeling challenged enough by the school, but then, I was thinking harder, because that’s what Rachels do best, and I realized that I need to meet the challenges they are giving me head-on, and then I can see how I feel from there. Basically, that means no more whining about anything, ever, and the resoluteness to stand up for what I believe to be true and right, coupled with the intelligence to know when I haven’t got a clue and the flexibility to hear and enact valuable changes to my opinion.

Doesn’t that sound like a set of traits that everyone would be better off displaying?