Thanks to Mairatea, Steve and Will for making this project possible.
“Get some sleep. Your hair starts falling out. I’m not joking, it’s not funny.”
“You’re not nonchalant. Make some friends and be more social.”
“Don’t hide at home. Your best work will come when you talk to those you were intimidated by. Comparison is the thief of joy.”
“Don’t buy Rhino. You’ll never use it again.”
“I’ll get around to it next year.”
“Stick to decaf, and having to build a model is not the end of the world. Get that camera, you won’t regret it.”
“Hey girl, a healthy body and a happy mind are assets in your uni toolbox. The ~grind~ is short term gain for longterm damage. Keep journaling and slaying. Also get good at BIM asap!!!!”
“Do not procrastinate modelling until the night before your crit, you will end up finishing it at home and breaking it on the bus to school! Also please get a driver’s license. (I still don’t have it.)”
“Take it easy. It’s not that deep. You don’t need everything figured out. And let go of that energy drink.”
Simon Jo
Isla Turner
Evana Chan
Hailey Kwak
Ben Griffiths
Lukas Milicic
Danielle Caballero
Daniel Lu
Ava Shields
“an advice to my first year self?”
Rest, Ideal vs Reality
A peek into a girl’s journal and her tension with rest.
Non-architects on Architecture
Illustrating how non-architects express their opinions and perspectives on architecture.
Final Crit. Final Feedback.
A look into final crit. How could it condition our creative mindset, and what could be done?
Site-Specific?
Is architecture actually site-specific?
Artificial Timelessness
Our frail attempts at discovering the style of the era.
Thoughts in Progress...
Book Rec! : The Thinking Hand
An inquiry into our personal understandings of two antithetical philosophies reveals that maybe opposites do attract *6 *16 *22 *26 *30 *42 *46
A review of Juhani Pallasmaa’s essay Embodied Thinking, and how your architecture mark your place in the world.
Portraiture by massively talented William Xu @tzmedia.nz
“Corpse Bride” photographed by Evana Chan
Evana shares a snippet of her raw thoughts on the idea VS reality of rest, and the value of rest as a tool.
Writing and graphics by Evana Chan
Pile o' work behind me, but carved time for trying welding yippee! Worth it.
Cooked yummy food on a sunny day, W. Unapologetic youtube binge
There is more that I want to yarn about, like how neglecting rest and choosing to grind is almost.. a high for (archi) students, and more about how peer comparison is the killer of joy for rest. However, there are already 10 pages, so we will stop here for now.
These thoughts are an accumlation of learnings from my friends, chats about our worries, and evidence of growing together.
So, special mention to:
Trish, who always shows me that we don�t have to sacrifice our hobbies.
Zoe, who always reminds me that life is more than just grades.
Phoebe, Luke, John, and Sean who always remind me that there is always time for Roblox and Valorant (and gym too I guess).
Bill and Sahil who always remind me that I can have a drink and THEN go back to work.
(And of course) Andy who always reminds me that everything will be okay in the end.
Non-Architects On Architecture
By: Evana Chan, Lukas Milicic and Ava Shields
Zoya Qureshi Zara Ranchhod
Over the course of our architectural studies, we’ve heard all kinds of comments and views on the subject. It seems that no matter the profession or field, people have pretty diverse opinions on what architecture really is, and how relevant or important it is to the real world.
collaborative
Zoya Qureshi 2004, 20 Steve Lovett 1959, 65 Pakeha
Print Technician University of Auckland
Growing up in boarding houses in Ponsonby as one of the few Pakeha families among an indigenous population, and suffering a brain injury early on, this may have contributed to his dyslexia and influenced him to use imagery to understand the world. Interestingly, Steve never studied art in school but returned 30 years later to teach it. Despite his teaching role, Steve remains incredibly curious, like a walking encyclopedia, constantly soaking up information and passing it on to his students. His passion for understanding the world through imagery gives him a unique perspective on architecture.
Raised in a “brown household,” inequities affecting marginalized experiences, which she felt greater inclusivity, sparked a tackle these disparities. Her passion complexities of the human body her to excel academically, especially medical student, she channels meaningful progress in health medicine, her perspective on architecture
Steve Lovett
A big thanks to our interviewees for participating. This content wouldn’t have been possible without you.
We interviewed three amazing individuals from di erent educational and occupational backgrounds to gain further insight into the question: What do non-architects think about architecture?
Interviewees Field of Work
Fijian Indian Medacine University of Acukland
household,” witnessing healthcare marginalized communities. These should be addressed with deep curiosity and desire to passion for understanding the body and helping others drives especially in sciences. Now, as a channels this dedication into making health equity. Despite her focus on architecture is also insightful.
Note: This diagram uses a quantifiable framework to represent subjective perspectives on architecture. The data reflects the team's interpretation of interviewee opinions and should not be considered statistical. We encourage readers to draw their own conclusions based on the provided insights.
Zara Ranchhod 2004, 19 Gujarati (Fijian-Indian)
Pharmacology + Commerce Univeristy of Auckland
Growing up close to her family meant that older relatives became role models for her, along with the cultural and family pressure from her Fijian-Indian roots shaping her academic drive. Her father heavily influenced her studies in business, but her interest in science has been present since she was very young, making it a significant part of her studies and future career. When not at university, she spends a lot of time at the tennis club: her second home since she was five. As a well-rounded individual, Zara offers a broad perspective on architecture.
Illustrated by: Evana Chan and Lukas
Milicic
Zara - “ I like to admire buildings, admire houses, especially in the city where there’s a little bit more range.”
Steve - “The lowering of the aesthetic with each kind of wave of reproduction of replacement of buildings.”
Zoya - “Cultural appreciation and acknowledgment and pretty colours [makes good architeccture].”
Zoya - “When we moved into a house which was a lot bigger I could invite friends over, I fostered deeper connections with friends and held a larger social circle. I was a lot happier.”
Steve - “I noticed the really good and bad things about it, the spaces in which my grandparents lived in their older home”
Facets of Engagement With Architecture
domesticity
aesthetics
Zara - “I don’t think I interact with architecture emotionally, it’s quite surface level and there’s nothing beyond function.”
Zoya - “In the morning, you’re walking in refreshed, the light is streaming through the [OGGB] windows, and you’re feeling good.”
Zara - “I think architecture helps us to appreciate how people live differently and how to accommodate those different needs and lifestyles”
Zoya - “The freedom of expressing culture through your housing is important in order to connect with your roots and your ancestry in a passive way, which in turn leads to better quality of life and better health and wellness outcomes.”
emotional
self-transformation
Steve - “I could make pile of stu and just push it to the corner of the room because there was all this space... having all this space allowed me to think. And that was just an industrial building that was built with no kind of concept other than ‘lets just make a big open space to work in”
Steve Lovett Zoya Qureshi Zara Ranchhod
Illustrated by:
Note: This diagram uses a quantifiable framework to represent subjective perspectives on architecture. The data reflects the team's interpretation of interviewee opinions and should not be considered statistical. We encourage readers to draw their own conclusions based on the provided insights.
Zoya - “[Re: UoA’s marae] ...the (peelers) resonates with me, the escape room for women at the back. I love the designated space for healers to continue their craft of healing the body.”
Evana Chan and Lukas Milicic
Steve - “...it was a foundation for their architectural practice, which was to think about not to demolish and rebuild but adapting. ...Working with the existing structure and adapting, not this endless cycle of demolishing and rebuilding.”
Zara - “The architecture of the two campuses in conjunction with the huge changes in our lives have made us different people, and we move in a different way. ”
Steve - “The spaces in which my grandparents lived in their older home, where remarkably di erent from the new one they lived in and it took them a long time to adjust to it. I was about 13-14 and noticing their adjustment, kind of their delight but also there frustration.”
Zoya - “It’s important to preserve tradition, especially with the current government and their outlook on indigenous rights i.e. with housing.”
Steve - [Re: Early NZ products’ art] “Tanga Te Whenua are positioned right at the corner of the frame and then there is this big field that’s waiting to be settled, and these are the images, these are propaganda images that in New Zealand promoted people to come in this country, and so they had this pyramid buying scheme. They were selling land that they didn’t yet own to generate funds at which they could purchase more land.”
Zoya - “I engage mostly with university buildings.”
Steve - “When I travelled, I paid attention to things, I’m looking at stu the whole time. I’d see buildings, I’d walk into things.”
Zara - “Architecture helps us to appreciate how people live differently and how to accomodate those different needs and lifestyles.”
Steve - “Maybe if I had been better at maths I would have wanted to go to architecture school. I’m not very good at counting, whenever I run out of fingers I’m lost.”
Zara - “I feel that the creative field is very artwork-based and I wouldn’t consider myself a creative person.
Zoya - “No, I’ve never really had any artistic or musical abilities that I associate with creative fields (mostly because I wasn’t allowed to play music as a kid); I’ve never really had that side of my brain firing.”
Zara - “I don’t think I feel that deeply with with a building, or the architecture behind it. I don’t think I interact with architecture emotionally, it’s quite surface level and there’s nothing beyond function.”
Zara - “Meeting the needs of your clients is what makes good architecture.”
Steve - “When there is not a huge budget or an endless scope to just add all this stu we tend to think creativley about what the solution is.”
Importance vs Relevance of Architecture
Zoya - “In medicine we have a lot of cultural a liations with the marae, and I engage mostly with university buildings.” irrelevant important inessential
Steve Lovett Zoya Qureshi
Zara Ranchhod
Illustrated by:
Note: This diagram uses a quantifiable framework to represent subjective perspectives on architecture. The data reflects the team's interpretation of interviewee opinions and should not be considered statistical. We encourage readers to draw their own conclusions based on the provided insights.
Zoya - “Engineers don’t give a f*ck about cultural significance (ZR: concrete blocks everywhere!). It’s important to preserve tradition, especially with the current government and their outlook on indigenous rights i.e. with housing.”
Steve“Architecture is in it’s best version of itself when the people who encounter it have the opportunity to imagine themselves growing inside that space.”
Steve - “I could completley isolate myself and re-invent myself and that’s possibly one of the best things that architecture can do: give us the space to imagine somethng for ourselves.”
Steve - “Then I began travelling and seeing other things and other styles of architecture, I just became... it’s a thing to look at. And you know I just kinda want to vacuum this stu up.”
Zara - “I engage mostly with university buildings. I like to admire buildings, houses, especially in the city where there’s a little bit more range.”
Steve - “If we are talking about an influence it was images.”
Zara - “Working or living in any space will make changes to your life... The architecture of the two campuses in conjunction with the huge changes in our lives have made us different people, and we move in a different way.”
Zoya - “I think architecture is at the core of making cultural and societal benefits, especially when you take into consideration who’s land you’re on. I think housing is the most important in terms of what we interact with most on a day to day basis. The freedom of expressing culture through your housing is important in order to connect with your roots.”
Lukas Milicic
Zoya - First thing that comes to mind when I hear architecture: Buildings. “Particularly traditional architecture and cultural buildings.”
Steve - “I was aware really early , that there was a language of images that I made sense of the world through.”
Zoya - “Cultural appreciation, acknoledgment. And pretty colours is what makes good architecture.”
Zoya - “Housing insecurity has made changes to my life... with housing insecurity you tend to have a smaller social circle and poorer mental health, wheras when we moved into a house which was a lot bigger I could invite friends over, I fostered deeper connections with friends and held a larger social circle.”
Final Crit, Final Feedback.
I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase: “There is always something to improve.” It’s earned almost mantra status in architecture school; the importance of process has been stressed to us more than we can count because we never present the end product in our crit.
curatedby SimonJo
The final crit is only the most convenient point in time to pause and reflect because we are part of the larger institutionpedagogical that is the university. Until this point, our designs were only two- dimensional drawings. But in this moment, people begin to inhabit the drawings and imagine themselves in them, fostering interaction.meaningful So effectively, the final crit is where our designs really begin.
But as soon as it’s over, the curtains are drawn on us. The presentation rushes and highs that ran through our bloodstream settle, and a blanketing atmosphere of completeness relieves us.
We head over to Shads, get drunk, and then come back the next day to pin down. God knows what happens to those banners and posters. The project is then shortly resuscitated, taking on a digital life on our archigram for fifty or so likes; it’s now eternally forgotten until the OneDrive storage runs out.
Now, just imagine this repeating at least twice every year for five years. When our bodies are adjusted to the cycle of incessant creation and decompartmentalisation, how does this shape our attitudes toward any kind of creative production? Something critical seems to be missing here.
Yes, the feedback on the project itself is crucial. Itʼs the culmination of our whole semesterʼs work, so itʼs only fair that we celebrate this extraordinary achievement.
But if the process really matters (and we know it does because we are required to compile all of our work into a portfolio!), and the learnings from our designs are something that we carry with us throughout our entire design career, shouldnʼt we leave with something concrete about our entire progress and process to constantly look back to and remind ourselves?
The final crit feels like itʼs structured in stark contradiction to the design ethos being taught at the school, and it makes us feel like it is this final project that we are relentlessly working towards, when itʼs only a dismal portion of our future design trajectory.
Since my first year, my friends and I have been discussing the schoolʼs feedback structure. I think itʼs fair to say that creative degrees like architecture, verbal discussion and feedback are much more effective ways of engaging with a project because conversation happens both ways, whereas writing is a prescription. However, I am also aware that not every guest critic has the same level of understanding of the project as tutors do, so whilst most feedback is completely valid and applicable, it can also be challenging to interpret. Not to leave out the issue of language barrier for certain students. Learning a language is one thing but studying architecture while still adjusting to the cultural shift is totally different. As a bilingual myself, I can confidently attest to the stress and self-doubt this brings.
I think some of the most successful crits that I have been in, or have seen, are the ones where the tutors masterfully summarised different feedback into one coherent message for the student to easily understand and learn from.
Not all the students get to receive this kind of feedback though. This then creates a huge void in learning. Too often, Iʼve seen students receiving their final grades in absolute shock because itʼs not what they expected at all and there is no accompanying feedback from the crit. They could only faintly remember being told ‘itʼs all goodʼ in the studio, yet this is what they get. There is nothing to draw from, nothing to reflect upon; you spend the next few years in this void, occasionally wondering why this kind of surprise happened, which can be demoralising and frustrating.
Itʼs
also
important to note that the nature of verbal feedback is inherently ephemeral. It only exists and bears the same quality in a particular moment.
Itʼs good if one could remember them all, but we canʼt, and thatʼs why we write them down or voice record them to reflect on them later. But what if you were flustered in the heat of the moment and forgot to do this? What if you donʼt remember what the feedback was about? It seems that we, as students, could benefit from a framework or buffer to counteract this.
What kind of framework, you might ask. One of them, I can imagine, is comprehensive written feedback. This feedback would be similar to the portfolio that we submit, outlining our individual strengths and processes, then tutorʼs thorough feedback on these matrices. If we receive our mid-semester written feedback, I assume the same could happen for our final crit. This will give us a concrete reference point to our design process.
In fact, I advocate for the need for final feedback more than the mid-semester one.
After the mid-crit, students have more than enough time to continue developing their design and discussing it with their tutors, which is far more valuable than written feedback.
If, for some reason, written feedback is not feasible, then a post-crit debrief session or two could be just as beneficial. In this one-on-one session, the student and tutor can unpack the final presentation, reflect upon what was successful and what was less so, perhaps, and do this without the pressure of the presentation environment.
Indeed, the final crit is an overwhelming yet exhilarating event for us architecture students.
However, as future designers, we should participate in this event with the appropriate realisation that this is only part of the life-long process, however inconceivable it may be at the time.
I believe the school can also implement some changes to the current pedagogical system to improve their role as an active facilitator of this design ethos.
valuable insights.
This piece was written following two separate conversations with Jack Wu and Ethan Chung, who shared their personal opinions and
What if Fallingwater was on top of:
Are we giving Site Specificity too much credit it doesn’t deserve? Simon Jo explores what it might mean for architecture to be site specific.
ahhhhhhh...
Curated by Simon Jo
I remember coming across a particularly thought-provoking lecture once which made me question: ‘ what is site-specificity? Is it really a thing? ’
The term ‘site-specific’ is generously ambiguous, and it wears a lot of different dresses for different occasions. In art, according to the definition from the Tate, it denotes to works that are “ designed for a specific location, if removed from that location it loses all or a substantial part of its meaning. ” I would assume this is what we mean by site-specificity in architecture too.
Note how they use the word ‘ meaning ’ to describe the relationship between the work (in this case, a built work) and the land it sits on. We’ll come back to this.
For now, let’s look at the example of Fallingwater, one of the greatest trajectories of the modern architecture. Wright designed this house for the Kaufmann family, who owned a department store in Pittsburgh. The building sits by the Bear Run river, southeast of Pittsburgh, and it is, dare I say, the most gleaming example of sitespecific architecture. The architecture that can only exist in one spot, loses all its meaning when displaced so. But is it?
Just imagine the same house, picked up and relocated to some other nameless waterfall. You probably won’t notice a huge difference from the outside, it may even look like the site is merely going through different seasons. So is this all there is to it? Fallingwater can exist anywhere in the world as long as it’s by a steadily flowing water body? That Fallingwater is no longer site-specific?
But hold on. The essence of site-specificity, by Tate’s definition, is in its ‘meaning’. What is this meaning? In my eyes, this is architecture’s specific relationship to the site, and an inherently immaterial, intangible one too. The Kaufmanns must have visited this site frequently during their summer vacation. Edgar Kaufmann Jr, who must have swum in its chilling waters growing up, must have established a unique relationship with the site.
Theoretically, yes, you can pick this building up and put it next to any other waterfalls in the world, and it would look exactly the same. But it would mean a completely different thing, right? Because it’s no longer the Bear Run that flows beneath it. Because the journey to this house no longer considers driving down the Mill Run Road. Because you no longer see the extensive deciduous forest fostered by the tributaries of these rivers. It might look the same, but it would no longer be Fallingwater.
I think this is what is significant. Anything physical can be replicated precisely to the same extent. It’s the immaterial, the poetics that we try to shape in architecture, right? Because we know what it does to the physical. Because we know how it touches the soul .
Consider the emergence of different culture, for example. There are countless cultures that vanished in the sands of time, and cultures that will re-emerge time again and again. Numerous maritime cultures around the world’s coastlines who have formed their own unique set of behaviours, traditions, and tools respective to their environment. Imagine relocating one of them to some other coastline. Their culture would largely remain unchanged, except that now everything has changed. The scent of the new place is nothing like what they’re used to. The colour of the sky in sunrise and sunset, the pattern of constellations, the animals, the kaimoana, the warmth of the water, the sound of the eroding sand by bubbly waves, nothing is the same.
There are so much more to architecture than what can be seen from the outside looking in. Architecture is merely a vessel for cultural expression, the unique relationship with the land. As much as architecture changes this relationship through its built influence, there are also things that remain unchanged, and I think that’s what site-specificity is.
Thoughts in Progress...
in defense of minimalism
Words by Daniel Lu
During a studio session not too long ago, our tutor showed a collection of photos to engage us in consideration of tectonics for our own designs. The cadence of images was interrupted by the stark minimalism of John Pawson’s house in London, Pawson House.
Amid our internal discourse, we were questioned how anyone could realistically live like that. Where were the leftover dishes from the previous night? Where were the remnants from breakfast? Where were the crumbs on the table?
Any identifying qualities of the former interior had been stripped away and replaced with an unsympathetic successor. The spartan design of what appeared to be a kitchen and dining area simply consisted of an uninterrupted countertop that spanned the length of the property into the garden outside, complemented by a dining table and chairs.
Does minimalism mean bareness? Or is this bareness a signal of luxury within the urban density of London? The reductive design was seemingly fitting of its neutral name - House, not Home. Whereas the latter connotes warmth, the former simply suggests a place for inhabitation. There was no sign of life or inhabitation, no personal photos on the surfaces, no art on the walls, let alone an indoor plant. Maybe it was for the purpose of photographs, yet the thought of sharing the space with some unsightly piece of rubbish, like a discarded wrapper, is enough to induce some sense of anxiety at the thought of disturbing the serenity found in the simplicity.
Yet, despite all the unrealistic expectations of cleanliness that living in such a liminal space would embalm on myself, I cannot help but deny that there is a part of me that is captivated by the visual parlance of Pawson’s works, whose harmonious spaces have become a fixture of my screenshots folder.
That same part of me finds some transcendent beauty within the barren, light-bathed space. The omission of any furniture on the floor or decorative miscellaneous objects seem to direct the attention towards the tactility of the material and the qualities of light that define the space. A veiled layer of complexity is found through varied patterns of the wood grain and variances in the appearance of the stone surfaces, and that the austere interior is to frame the chaos of nature outside whose colours permeate into the space through the glass.
These organic irregularities, albeit minor, are perhaps reassuring in what is otherwise a space of strict control and order. Perhaps it is these elements that could not be controlled that bring a reminder of life into the confines of the interior, and maybe it is this small detail that could bring the warmth to turn this house into a home.
Living in a space like this that eschews anything beyond the barest of necessities seems to embalm a greater sense of importance on the objects that remain. Every object then becomes an object of significance, and whilst the same could be said for maximalism, in removing the temporal disturbances of inhabitation, these items are allowed to shine.
Musings of Ava Shields and Daniel Lu
For someone who desires more, and rarely less, the masochist within me might force myself to change my ways of living and adapt to the minimalist primitivity of the space just for the ‘aesthetic’.
I think my yearning to live in such a space is empowered by my inability to conform to a true minimalist lifestyle, and just experiencing it might be enough to turn my aesthetic appreciation into a proper change in lifestyle.
Maybe I am seeking an escape from the su ocation of everyday life, for a spiritual cleansing in the solitude of the pictured space. But I’m conflicted when I realise, I could not live without the comforts of things that would inevitably become clutter – a plague upon the ethos of the design.
But for now, a space for me to call home should let me comfortably allow sheets of paper to be strewn over tables, a thin layer of dust to accumulate on stacks of clumsily arranged books, and forgotten objects thoughtlessly shoved in corners, out of sight.
It could be that it is only the image of minimalism that I aspire for.
Photography: Todd Eberle
Thoughts in Progress...
ongoing, intermittent discussion column
CAN I BE MAXIMALIST?
Words by Ava Shields
I feel that I have always vehemently come to the defence of maximalism, but have never been able to tell if it came from a place of genuine intention or pure, pessimistic reactionary response. Minimalism to me is exactly as aforementioned; unrealistic. Unattainable. Unrepresentative. Too clean, too smooth, too empty. To be frank, it feels a little o . I’ve always been someone who wanted to experience the textures of life, and I find a great comfort in the complex eclecticism that seems to emerge from a maximalist mindset. But do I fully realise what that entails?
There is a significant lack of academic discussion surrounding maximalism, relative to its dialectical opposite, minimalism. I find this deeply surprising considering the cacophony of strong feelings I have heard amongst students. In the academic world, it seems to be widely considered that maximalism is a vague term that is frequently thrown around without being readily defined, as if there is a reluctance to define it entirely. The majority of resources that do exist only do so in direct correlation to minimalism, and seem to be in endless search of definition. Does anyone know what maximalism actually is? Can it exist as something more than vague term, or antithesis?
It should be acknowledged that the birth of minimalist ideas, such as ‘less is more’, is steeped in eurocentrism. Early minimalist thinkers deemed qualities such as a colour as belonging to a ‘less-civilised’ people. Combined for the need for an economical mindset in an international post-war society, and the desire for objective truth after such an intense period of uncertainty,
it was much easier to design with scarcity. And so it began, fuelled by the modernist movement and continual technological development.
I came across a very interesting point in my research; that the assumed opposition of minimalism and maximalism was born from an inverse relationship between clarity and content. Minimalism, of course, has less content. Clean, simple lines, homogenous materiality, and surfaces laid bare. Thus, it contains more clarity and purity in purpose and message. On the contrary, maximalism and its deluge of content compounds into a product of undeniable complexity. You might argue that the meaning is lost. Perhaps, it just becomes more di cult to find, and depends entirely on how your perception is challenged. Minimalism reduces to the fundamental, whereas maximalism challenges the fundamental entirely. The obscurity of the clamour of content denies all attempts of total comprehension, and all that is signified, symbolised or readily defined is entirely obfuscated into something new. Maximalism provides the conditions in which all present meanings are fragmented, destabilised, and juxtaposed in such a way that you are encouraged to challenge your previous dispositions and reengage with enough apprehension for reimagining.
Minimalism, in its very nature, strips away all that is deemed unnecessary; not only is this a privilege, but can involve the loss of personifying attributes when you are forced to pick and choose defining features. This level of control can spill into the realm of restriction, especially when each individual
Musings of Ava Shields and Daniel Lu
component is assigned a specific value. There is undoubtably detail and depth in this individualistic approach, but the stark clarity can be highly confronting. It leaves little room for the collateral interference of ideas when everything is compartmentalised into its essential form. Comparatively, maximalism forces you to explore the grey areas and unpack the details in the deep complexity of the collection. There is a unique crosscontamination that creates intrigue and ambivalence. Revel in the juxtaposition. Hear the harmony and the dissonance of this weird little orchestra all at once.
The sheer amount of content involved in maximalism doesn’t make anything less evocative. It’s almost as if minimalism requires every participating factor to be individually significant, whereas maximalism is presented as a cohesive image made whole by all of its tiny, individual components. Though I see the appeal in such simplicity, the complexity of maximalism is what makes it so attractive on a personal level. It’s by far a more accurate representation of how we live; with complexity. Ours is not a simple existence. There is ambiguity, and a certain intangibility that we find in emotion and experience, and through the constant murk of everything that is happening, we find our moments. Moments of intensity, of quiet, of deep feeling and of numbness. The maximalist immensity reflects how we, in ourselves and our lives, can be immense also. I like to think of it as a carefully curated, complex patchwork that makes up the fabric of self. Those crumbs on the counter, the stains on the chairs and the shoes thrown haphazardly in the corner is all evidence of existence, and proof of the additive nature of living.
Is there such a thing as being too maximalist? At what point does careful, sentimental curation become gratuitous hoarding? Could we ever truly adopt a maximalist mindset within design? Even if there is a little too much happening, I feel that it is still the most reflective of the current human condition; to me, maximalism will always be the most honest. I’ll keep collecting my trinkets, saving my tickets, and pinning scraps of paper to my wall. Somewhere in between the commotion lies my very being.
In reflection, I have come to the conclusion that minimalism and maximalism are a lot more similar than I first realised. They both strive to achieve the same goals of ambiguity, to widen the human imagination and challenge your perception of the world around you, but do so in entirely di erent ways. Minimalism seeks ambiguity from within the individual object, separated from definition and reduced to its most essential form. Maximalism, comparatively, seeks ambiguity from deliberate confusion and all-encompassing noise. It’s impossible to measure either of them on an arbitrary scale, or place myself somewhere between the orbit of each idea, but I’ve always been happy to exist in the grey area and oscillate between it all.
an ambiguous scale | drawing by Daniel Lu
thanks to Henry Qiu, Daniel Lu, Yeyeon Kwak and Simon Jo for your invaluable discussion.
BOOK REC!
Here’s a brief overview of what he explores:
* Calls on existential knowledge to inform the projection of your reality. You can take comfort in knowing that existential knowledge is not something to need to learn, or better; it has already developed from your intrinsic experience of life, your perspectives, your sensibilities, tendencies and thoughts. * Embracing
Chapter review by Ava Shields
A wise man once told me that all architecture students go through a Pallasmaa phase; currently, I’m deep in it.
Juhani Pallasmaa is a Finnish architect, profound writer and professor, whose books have been recommended to me on many occasions. His essays are so densely packed with knowledge that I am forced to focus on a specific chapter of his book The Thinking Hand (2009). I highly recommend that you read the whole thing cover to cover if you ever have the time and mental capacity to unpack it all.
the beauty of uncertainty in the creative processes. It is with the careful and relentless labour of searching for answers that we may unearth our ideas and discover the essence of our projects.
* Take pride in the dirt of your work. Every scrawled sketch, not matter how unintelligible, every scribbled list and every rubbed out line.
* Pallasmaa pulls at every thread of what it means to design and ties them all together into a neat little bow of clarity. Nonetheless, he leaves just enough ambiguity to allow for endless questioning; a vital skill for any and all architects.
The tectonics of our buildings are our artistry, just as the paintbrush is the artistry of the painter, and provides the outlet for us to share our unique understanding of what it means for us to be alive, right now. You can literally construct your philosophies on life, and what it means to exist.
‘Buildings are not abstract, meaningless constructions, or aesthetic compositions, they are extensions and shelters of our bodies, memories and minds. Consequently, architecture arises from existentially true confrontations, experiences, recollections and aspirations’.
If you are someone who feels lost with their project, uncertain of your place within the realm of architecture, or looking for answers on what it means to design and how to do it, then I believe you’ll find this chapter highly insightful. Truly, it has changed my idea of architectonics (not that I had much of an idea of what they were to begin with), and my outlook on grappling with a project without allowing it be fluid first .
Sometimes things need to be intangible before they come into focus. extracted from page 117.
The dirt of work on a draughtsman’s hand.
photographed by Evana Chan
On 6th of August, our debut issue of behind the skin has been released. It took less than a couple days before they were all taken by fellow students who have been overwhelmingly supportive of the work we have produced. We would like to just express our immense gratitude for your support. You are the reason we are able to do this, and we would like you all to be part of this. We are currently working out how we can collaborate with everyone, so keep an eye out for the updates. Again, thank you for your support! -behind the skin team
