The poems in Such Places As Memory by John Hejduk seem to me to be one of the most complete works that we have read in terms of translating architecture into a form of text. Hejduk accurately takes an unknown piece of architecture in his first few poems and places it within a surrounding or an environment. One good example of this is his contradictory, yet highly informative, description and use of the term “spring snow”. It reminds me a lot of the many discussions we have had in lecture that spoke of architecture in terms of the seasons. Many of these discussions revolved around how a work of architecture needs interior function, but the way the structure works with different seasons is just as important. Similarly, the way that it interacts with the day versus the way it interacts with the night is also important.             Another interesting component to Hejduk’s work is the way that he begins to ask questions that perhaps can only be said best through text. Descriptive questions that bring forth vivid images are used thoroughly. One example of this is in his poem “On a Bridge”, where Hedjuk asks “at what point do feathers become flesh”, as well as stating that “it is difficult to paint the back of heads”. While these statements might seem trivial, they serve to bring forth a vivid image of something that perhaps can only be done through words. To pose at what point feathers become flesh through a drawing or some other medium would be a very arduous task indeed. But the use of the literary medium allows for an infinite number of drawing and thoughts to rise up within the one who has read it. I think this applies clearly to architecture, because the description of a building through a poem or text is the same way. It is not one view, nor is it one shade, nor is it one season. It can be many things at once, if the poem dictates it to be so. That is why I have found the use of poetry and text to be of great importance in learning how architecture is wholly conveyed.
05.08.12 /10:08
Atmospheres, by Peter Zumthor, had several common themes of writing that were evident throughout the work. Essentially the work served to ask not only what architectural quality is, but also why this high quality architecture has the ability to move us. Zumthor is very capable to convey to the reader some wonderful answers to this very important question. His writing essentially revealed a large common theme to me as I read it. This was the extreme importance of flow and the building relation to sound.             Near the beginning of the work, Zumthor uses a very accurate and very relatable metaphor. He uses the idea of being moved by music to relate the reader to the idea of being moved by architecture. Seeing as how most of humanity has presumably enjoyed some form of music in their lifetime, this analogy works quite well. It is off this basis that much of his further statements become relatable.             For instance, Zumthor makes a very important distinction regarding the materials in a building. First he talks about the materials individually and how this can have an affect on the environment, or atmosphere, of a piece of architecture. But then he goes in depth and discusses the material compatibility within a building. This is very connected to the idea of music because of the notion of flow that it is trying to point out. For instance, the notes within a song can in and of themselves be pure notes, but the compatibility of these notes together is what makes a true song. In the same way, the flow and compatibility of materials together within a structure is just as important, if not more so, than the materials individually.             Lastly, Zumthor ties in the literal “sound of a space” and how it applies to the way a building moves us. This obviously works to tie into his musical metaphor that he has set up from the very beginning. He even says interiors are like “large instruments” to be played and heard. Overall I enjoyed seeing the connection within Zumthor’s style of writing and how it so accurately portrayed and convinced me of the ways in which architecture has the ability to move us.
05.05.12 /12:21
I thoroughly enjoyed reading The Eyes of the Skin for multiple reasons. Of course, the main enjoyment came through reading the different sections that specifically addressed how our senses perceive the things around us. But I believe the larger inspiration for my enjoyment of the reading came through the introduction given by Juhani Pallasmaa and Steven Holl. While the rest of the text was very informative, the words and style of both men’s introductions drew me in to a different mindset.             The first thing that my mind focused on was the analogy given by Steven Holl of a car driving across the ice in Finland. He describes how the car breaks through the ice and sinks into the water. But more importantly, and more effectively, he uses the contrast of colors to create a vivid image in my mind. The ice is not just ice, but rather is “white” ice. The water is not just water, but is described by Holl as “black” water. He describes the vision of seeing the white ice and snow disappear as the car is filled with the blackness of the water. The style in which he writes this beginning section not only was effective in bringing my mind into the scene, but also captivated it enough to focus clearly on the stories he tells afterward.             Similarly to Holl, Pallasmaa places an emphasis on colors. His ideas for how our skin, or really our skin tissue, enables us to see bring a new way of thinking about the senses. But specifically regarding his connection with Holl’s imagery, our skin enables us to see colors. As Pallasmaa says, “our skin is actually capable of distinguishing a number of colours.”             Lastly, I enjoyed the way in which Pallasmaa used his own style to describe the two-way relationship between a human and a building or piece of architecture. He described a lending between the two, one giving emotions and the other its aura. Just as one gives a personal association to a space, so the space itself has a way of affecting the way the person sees, thinks, or even feels.  This is a way that his idea of seeing with the skin tied back into the realm of architecture and described a common relationship in a vivid and personal way.
05.05.12 /12:18
I am often concerned that I waste too much time during the day. It is not as if I lie around and do nothing all day, but somehow I feel as though I am not using it properly. Strangely enough, an equally concerning idea to me is that even if I applied myself constantly throughout the day, I would still not have enough time left in my day to do all the things that I want to do. There are many books that I wish I had the time to read and many other things still that take more time. Every day my body feels as though it shuts down for the night earlier than the day before.             It is because of this already existing trouble with time that I found myself very intrigued with the ideas seen in J.G. Ballard’s story, Chronopolis. I try to imagine a society that chooses not to be bound by time constraints. Unfortunately, the results I see are equally as drastic and harmful as the one’s seen in Chronopolis. But I think these results are obvious consequences of not abiding by time. Time keeps society functioning and moving properly. And time can also be a fantastic thing when we have plenty of it to spare. So as much as time has become my enemy, it is, in my mind, an extremely necessary aspect of life in and of itself.             Therefore, my personal problem with time is not its existence or its piercing infiltration into our daily lives. My issue with time lies in the amount of time each day actually lasts and the amount of work my mind can do within certain time constraints. I do not know what it would feel like if I had the ability to not need to sleep every night. It would be a large change, but I believe the rewards could outweigh the negative aspects. Sleep is a marvelous thing and I would not want to give it up completely, but the amount of meaningful work that I could get done, if only given time, is a very tempting thing for me indeed.
03.12.12 /23:09

An artistic perspective can be, and usually is, a personal perspective of one man or woman as opposed to a collectively accepted idea. Each of us sees the world a little bit differently and thusly we each can potentially take something unique out of the world around us. My experiences with the world are different from others. But even if they were similar experiences to someone else’s, there is no guarantee that we would interpret these things in the same way. This is an integral part in what develops a person’s own artistic conscience.

            This concept of perspective can be applied to drawing as well. In Michael Graves reporting and analysis of drawings in Le Corbusier’s Drawn References, this connection is brought to light. Each one of Corbusier’s drawings, whether it be sketches of Rome or of the pyramids, displays a certain perspective that he carries with him regarding the things he drew. Graves describes the significance of this perspective is that it “allows the artist to identify with the image and causes it to have special meaning for him”. Not only does this contribute to a person’s artistic conscience, but it also has the ability to be what Graves describes as a “shorthand reference” for the theme or idea of the building.

            The idea of one perspective is one that is partly contrasted within The Italian Journey by J. W. Goethe. Goethe writes within the novel, “as soon as one sees with one’s own eyes the whole which one had hitherto only known in fragments and chaotically, a new life begins.” The idea of seeing a building as a whole as opposed to fragments is something that we have discussed in both discussion groups and lectures in this class. The idea perceives that one perspective drawing of a building is only a mere fragment of what that building is. In The Flatness of Depth by John Hejduk, the thoughts regarding how well a building can be fully captured by perspective drawing are well written. Also, as said in discussion groups, the closest artistic representation of a building other than the building itself might possibly be a movie or a collage, but certainly not a perspective drawing.

            While the two readings this week contrast in some ways, they do share some similarities. Although they seem to pose different ideas, each is making a different point. Perspective sketches and drawings serve very well to give a shorthand reference to an artist. They also help establish the general theme of the building in the drawer’s mind and artistic conscience. As for the way the building feels and looks in the real world, much more than a sketch is needed. Visiting the landmark or building is much more necessary to develop a personal connection with these deeper aspects of what a building can be.

02.28.12 /11:07
In the past, I have always considered learning for young children to be focused on more factual topics as opposed to a topic such as drawing. Perhaps that is because of how we talked about children being forced to put down the pencil in school and learn math and science. But I have learned that the process of learning how to draw can be measured just as easily as any other topic, if not more easily. It is seen visibly how a child’s concept of shapes and images takes a more realistic form as time goes on.             In Rudolph Arnheim’s Growth, he explains the early nature of this development in a child. Arnheim states how the figures a child draws when they are very young are abstract. One reason for this is because children are not yet bound by some of the expectations for drawing that we must hold to. Whereas someone older might focus on realism more intently, a child is strictly focused on one line after the next. Even more so, drawing for a child can be about the basic motor skills and arm movement that takes places on drawing zigzags or circles.             These thoughts of being so free with how one draws tend to take me back to my own days sitting in the playroom at my house. As a child, my favorite thing to draw, or attempt to draw, was a tree. Granted, my tree trunks were mostly scribbles and my treetops were mostly circles, but I suppose that is the point. I did not have to worry about every line being realistically perfect. My only concern was the experience of the drawing process and the enjoyment of watching the colored crayon make marks on the white printer paper. I have gotten much better at drawing since those days, but, ironically, I do not have near as many drawing hung on my fridge at home as I used to. It was when I expressed my freedom to draw as I pleased that I saw my drawings hang on the fridge.
02.23.12 /14:45
Modern society seems to be moving faster than ever before. With all of the new technology out there, communication with those around you is easier than ever. Many times people will learn of a news story or some occurrence through a social networking sight or through a text message. With internet browsing, learning what we need to know, whether it be academic or personal interest, is easier than ever. But my concern would come when addressing how meaningful these interactions really are. Obviously a face to face conversation is more meaningful than a text message, but I think we are possibly missing much more than just meaningful conversations. In Michael Ondaatje’s In the Skin of a Lion, I believe a more meaningful way of learning and communication is represented. In the first set of stories, we see a young boy named Patrick and how he learns about the world around him. Patrick’s father, Hazen Lewis, has many jobs such as farming and logging. As Patrick accompanies his father to do various tasks, he makes himself useful and pulls his own weight. Several times, despite his younger age, we see Patrick perform great tasks, such as swimming out in the water to place dynamite next to a log and then lighting the fuse. Surprisingly, Patrick does these tasks with great ease. But one important factor is when Ondaatje writes how Patrick has not learned these things through verbal instruction from his father, but rather through a consistent and silent observation.  In another story, we see a young man named Nicholas Temelcoff who is in the process of building a bridge. Through a series of events, he is aware enough to realize a danger and save a nun’s life. The interesting part is the way the Temelcoff and the nun connect. Much of their connection to each other is attributed to a silent understanding and awareness. This also served to influence my thoughts on the role of silence and observation over today’s immediate response, automatic information society.
02.15.12 /14:28
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Philip Glass Ensemble
Glassworks- Opening
02.07.12 /01:44/1425 plays/♥ 1
“A writer, or any man, must believe that whatever happens to him is an instrument; everything has been given for an end.  This is even stronger in the case of the artist.  Everything that happens, including humiliations, embarrassments, misfortunes, all has been given like clay, like material for one’s art.”        -   Jorge Luis Borges   This class is deals a lot with building an artistic conscience and establishing our personal inspirations. Sometimes inspiration can come from others experiences or writings which we see, and sometimes our inspiration stems from a very personal experience. It can be a hard thing to start developing a personal taste for art and literature mainly because I feel as though I must develop a strong feeling or respect for something before it can influence what I do, much less how I think. In other words, I find it hard to maintain a love or appreciation for something long enough to let it influence me. I actually have longed on occasion for an experience so abruptly influential that it forces me to never forget its meaning. For instance, Jorge Luis Borges blindness may be tragic in terms of his physical inability to see well, but he speaks well when he shows the artistic benefits of not being able to see. Tragic happenings have proved to produce some artists’ best songs or best writings. That being said, I do not think that it is necessary for something terribly tragic to happen in order for an artist to be so influenced. Rather, it is a skill to find one’s artistic conscience through the simple things as well as the complex. It is a skill that I believe is necessary to develop if pursuing a career where one must express individuality. So as I read of Borges’ blindness and walk across campus in a blindfold, I am appreciative of all the other senses that I still have, but more importantly I am aware that I will probably never be blind. I may never have any one experience that defines who I am as a person or as an artist. So I look to the things that I do have and try to soak in as much as possible. Perhaps this is to compensate for no severely inspiring personal experiences, but I think maybe it is also a first step on a journey to understand the importance of all things, not just the ones that affect me outright. After all, anyone could probably find inspiration in the story of an artist who was struck with a slow, receding blindness. But I am out to find what personally inspires me and creates an artistic conscience unique from others around me.
01.31.12 /10:53/♥ 1
            I was born in Knoxville in 1992 at the UT Medical Center, ironically very close to where I now attend college. Some of my favorite activities growing up involved sports. I played everything from baseball to soccer to basketball. I spent most of my time at home either playing these sports outside or attempting to play them indoors. Another of my interests that I found early on was an enjoyment of the movies. Walt Disney was someone that I thought had the business savvy and personal ambition that I would want to similarly show someday in whatever job I would have. My favorite part about Disney was the way both he and his team designed their theme parks to fit the needs of visitors, staff, events, and rides. I believe that a lot of what I enjoy about functional spaces in architecture today stem from this early enjoyment that I found in the Disney theme parks’ ability to provide for the basic needs of so many people in an organized manner. Another large push towards where I am now was also that my first love of sports was not as practical a job outlook as that of engineer, architect, or another related field. During middle school and high school, my favorite subject was math. It made more sense to me than history or other subjects in general and I found I was pretty good at it. I felt as though math was applicable enough to be used in real life, even at an early age. It was this practical application that I found I needed in order to consider something to be useful. Early on I believe I saw architecture as a combination of these personal things I enjoyed such as functioning space, math, and a physical application of a type of science. I did not consider a lot of the aesthetics and subtleties of architecture that I am still learning about today, but I am hopeful for their future incorporation as the fourth item that helped lead me into this field specifically. As with the Disney parks, mathematics, and applying learning to the physical world, it takes some time to not only learn something, but also to let it inspire the way that I think about the world around me.
01.24.12 /07:10
Canvas  by  andbamnan