CARDBOARD CONVICTION
This logo from DAAPworks 2012 represents the journey that I have taken in my first year of architecture school at DAAP. Starting college as a bright-eyed freshman, I had heard about the infamous "studio", a place where designers lost track of time slaving over their projects in a building occupied at all hours. However, I did not take these warnings seriously and believed that the difficult coursework I had done previously in high school was adequate preparation for whatever lay ahead. By the end of the first week of studio, I realized that I had been extremely naive. I quickly learned that in the design process, I was not working to find an answer for a textbook problem but replying to an assignment with no definite solution . I felt like I was working blindly, trying to incorporate unfamiliar concepts like contrast and proportion with no idea if it was "right" or "wrong". On the fourth day, we realized that one of our studio members had already dropped out, and by the end of the first semester, we had gone from a studio of 21 people to 16, left by those whose frustration and exhaustion in studio had defeated their desire to stay. With their departures, I began to question my own decision to study architecture. Even though I had enjoyed the projects that we worked on, I debated whether I loved studio enough to deal with the exhausting workload that I knew would continue. At that point, I decided that I was passionate enough about the work to at least finish the year.
Second semester, I constantly questioned my decision until one night working on our last group project before Spring Break. The assignment was to design a unit that could be multiplied to create various screen walls equally of solid and void. Although the professors had encouraged all to do material exploration, my studio ended up being the only one to not use wood for the units. My group and I designed a unit of multiple components and decided to use alternating materials of cardboard and MDF board, seemingly uncomplicated to build. Our unit prototype took several hours to complete, from gluing individual sheets of cardboard together to ribbing MDF board into one inch strips and gluing dimensions of that into frames. Guided by ambition and naivety, we decided that with an assembly line, we could create 20 of these units for a screen wall within a week even though it had taken about 12 hours to finish two with eight people working. Our group quickly grew frustrated and desperate as our desks were lost under stacks of cardboard rescued from places around campus and we realized that human errors in cutting and gluing pieces made the assembly line difficult and inefficient. As we worked into the early hours of the morning, we envied the completed projects of the other empty studios around us and wondered why we had made the assignment more difficult than it needed to be.
It was during the third all-nighter finishing up the units that a new, foreign emotion broke through my exhausted state. It dawned on me that I was proud. I was proud of our idea, proud that we stuck with our design concept, proud that we didn't give up. Surrounded by stacks of cardboard, I realized that I loved its texture, that our design and use of materials was truly beautiful. Our craft needed improvement, but in its imperfections our handiwork shone through. We had used cardboard, recovered from numerous recycling bins in a way that showcased its ridges and worn edges in a innovative, sustainable, and beautiful way. At six in the morning, two hours before our installation and following critique, I realized that I was glad that we had been ambitious and naive. Although we had only managed to complete 15 units, we had put all of our best efforts into them and could only hope that everyone else could at least respect that. I didn't know if what stood in from of me was "architecture" at all, but I didn't care. It was the most exhausting project that I had ever done, but it also brought me the most satisfaction. That night, I made the decision to stay in the program. I knew that I would still face moments of doubt when I felt like I had no clue what I was doing, no clue of what was good or bad about an idea, no clue if I was any closer to understanding architecture. However, as I realized that night, exhaustion could amount to something that I was passionate about.
I know that I am in for a bumpy ride this fall where I will learn to design an entire building in 15 weeks before my first co-op. I know that I will be in studio long nights and encounter frustration when good ideas elude me. I know it is likely I will once again question if I have made the right choice. Because of this, I will keep close a reminder of the cardboard and the joy of creating something beautiful with its texture, of feeling extremely passionate about my role as a designer. I have done more than simply survive my first year; I came out of it knowing that I am here to stay.
Return to Year-In-Review
Second semester, I constantly questioned my decision until one night working on our last group project before Spring Break. The assignment was to design a unit that could be multiplied to create various screen walls equally of solid and void. Although the professors had encouraged all to do material exploration, my studio ended up being the only one to not use wood for the units. My group and I designed a unit of multiple components and decided to use alternating materials of cardboard and MDF board, seemingly uncomplicated to build. Our unit prototype took several hours to complete, from gluing individual sheets of cardboard together to ribbing MDF board into one inch strips and gluing dimensions of that into frames. Guided by ambition and naivety, we decided that with an assembly line, we could create 20 of these units for a screen wall within a week even though it had taken about 12 hours to finish two with eight people working. Our group quickly grew frustrated and desperate as our desks were lost under stacks of cardboard rescued from places around campus and we realized that human errors in cutting and gluing pieces made the assembly line difficult and inefficient. As we worked into the early hours of the morning, we envied the completed projects of the other empty studios around us and wondered why we had made the assignment more difficult than it needed to be.
It was during the third all-nighter finishing up the units that a new, foreign emotion broke through my exhausted state. It dawned on me that I was proud. I was proud of our idea, proud that we stuck with our design concept, proud that we didn't give up. Surrounded by stacks of cardboard, I realized that I loved its texture, that our design and use of materials was truly beautiful. Our craft needed improvement, but in its imperfections our handiwork shone through. We had used cardboard, recovered from numerous recycling bins in a way that showcased its ridges and worn edges in a innovative, sustainable, and beautiful way. At six in the morning, two hours before our installation and following critique, I realized that I was glad that we had been ambitious and naive. Although we had only managed to complete 15 units, we had put all of our best efforts into them and could only hope that everyone else could at least respect that. I didn't know if what stood in from of me was "architecture" at all, but I didn't care. It was the most exhausting project that I had ever done, but it also brought me the most satisfaction. That night, I made the decision to stay in the program. I knew that I would still face moments of doubt when I felt like I had no clue what I was doing, no clue of what was good or bad about an idea, no clue if I was any closer to understanding architecture. However, as I realized that night, exhaustion could amount to something that I was passionate about.
I know that I am in for a bumpy ride this fall where I will learn to design an entire building in 15 weeks before my first co-op. I know that I will be in studio long nights and encounter frustration when good ideas elude me. I know it is likely I will once again question if I have made the right choice. Because of this, I will keep close a reminder of the cardboard and the joy of creating something beautiful with its texture, of feeling extremely passionate about my role as a designer. I have done more than simply survive my first year; I came out of it knowing that I am here to stay.
Return to Year-In-Review