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“Architecture is not a vain attempt toward something unattainable that when it is materialized loses most of its initial inspiration. Very much to the contrary, if the idea is valid, the culmination of the work tends to surprise us with a final result that actually strikes us. Then – we hope! –the poetic breath appears, that ‘breath of soft breeze’ that architecture sometimes attains and that is not reserved only for the gods.” - Alberto Campo Baeza


Spark Architecture is a testament of our collective drive toward developing and improving our civilization and our human nature. It serves as a vehicle for our collective pioneering spirit to construct the ideas that allow our built environment to reconcile and reflect our relationship with the Earth. Our ability to construct and translate ideas into built form is fundamentally the keystone of our civilization. The opportunity to learn how to construct and translate ideas into built form (to make) are compromised when unending social media prompts, universal connectivity, and the difficulty of finding separateness challenges our ability to be alone in thought. In his lecture “Solitude and Leadership”, delivered at West Point Military Academy, essayist William Deresiewicz talks about how the act of ‘thinking out loud’ is a way of discovering one’s particular position on things; how being forced to articulate makes ones ideas more particular, more concrete. To articulate an idea in thought and form is a provocative act that provides the foundation blocks for civilization and is something only achieved through great resolve, concentration, and sustained deliberateness. One of the most fundamental acts in the development of mankind is the making and keeping of fire. The act of making fire through friction taps into a contract we have with our survival, our prospects, and our human integrity. In the deepest sense, creating fire means we have taken a primary step toward satisfying our contract with sustaining our lives on Earth. Consequently, to make a place for fire is sacred. The crew of pioneers that made the woodland classroom exhibited in this booklet did so with the notion that the construct of their thoughts would result in a lantern to signal to others to take the primary step toward becoming a maker; to learn to make fire through friction.


STAR

The STAR program, stands for “students taking alternate routes�, and provides an alternative school program for Northfield, Vermont high school students who are seeking a more experimental classroom setting. The program is led by Luke Foley and Judy Knapp, who seek to embed relevance and purpose to their students educational growth. Luke, Judy, and all the STAR program students contributed immensely to 802 Lab in the funding, planning, and construction of the experimental woodland classroom.

Luke Foley

Judy Knapp


Jamie B.H.

Keith Stipe

Jesse Gillette

Andrew Dubenetsky

AJ Bavaro

Kyle Niehaus

Deandra Musial

Shaili Patel

Tim Bain

CAST

Prof. Matthew Lutz

OF C H

ARA

CTER

S

Eleazar Rausseo


I see an ugly carpet. I see 5 teenage boys sitting on the couch. I feel cramped. I see a M a variety of books. I feel tired. I see snow! I feel confused. I feel awkward. I see a cool b t h e a i r. I s m e l l n a t u r e . I f e e l e n c o m p a s s e d b y n a t u r e . I s e e b i r d s . I h e a r b i r d s . I s m e l l f r e s h the trees. I see dear tracks. I see splitting trees. I hear the crackling of the snow with eac of trees. I feel a sense of relaxation. I hear the sounds of nature off in the distance. I fe views off in the distance. I see fallen limbs from trees. I hear the shoveling of snow. I h stinging from the cold. I see a house. I see cars. I see trees. I hear Andy laughing in the fr I hear myself. I see a car I do not like. I feel the ice beneath my feet. I see a building w that remind me of my grandmother’s house. I feel the age in the wood door frame. I sme right on time. I see appliances. I hear people talking in the other room. I feel the tempera I see a seat I like. I see a variety of colors. I see a view. I hear opinions. I hear my thought down my leg. I see a green chest with the paint chipping off. I see plants. I hear differen covered up with brick that does not match the original colors. I see mountains. I see ano pile of shoes. I feel my laces tighten around my ankles. I see more cars. I hear the transm a i r. I s e e T i m ’ s g l a s s e s h a v e c h a n g e d c o l o r. I s e e a t r a i l . I f e e l t h e c o l d a i r. I f e e l t h e h e a t I see a stump. I hear the wind breezing past my ears. Meow? I hear the snow crunch bene I see notebooks. I feel how cold the tape measure is. I see a camera. I hear a phone be getting cold. I feel my jacket against my body. I taste my own breath. I see footprints to s h o v e l p r e s s i n g o n m y s h o u l d e r. I s e e a n i m a l t r a c k s . I s e e o u r s i t e f r o m a d i s t a n c e . I h e a r disappearing as we drive away. I hear myself think about the afternoon’s adventure. I he the Subaru. I feel the cold sting on my ears as the wind rushes past my face. I hear the c smell the musky sweetness of the house and it reminds me of a grandmother’s house. I conscious all of a sudden, will these high school students think we’re cool? I hear a teac are dripping with sarcasm. I taste the rubber of my pencil’s eraser as I read the button on beneath my feet as we depart the house. I smell the pungent aroma of a clutch burning in between my foot and my shoe as we begin walking into the woods. I hear the sounds o me forward towards the clearing. I see bits of concrete peeking out of the snow. I hear occupy. I see old furniture. I hear chatter about Facebook. I taste some fried chicken from traces of wildlife everywhere. I sense some uneasiness. I hear a lot of sarcasm. I smell pi smell redemption. I hear nervous pens tapping. I feel a draft across my feet. I feel my n trees. I see Christmas lights. I smell old boots. I taste Big Red. I feel my feet getting da p l a n t e d i n n e a t r o w s . I s m e l l f r e s h c o o l a i r. I s m e l l b u r n t o i l . I s e n s e a f e e l i n g o f b o r e d o m laughing ridiculously at nothing. I hear the crunch of the hard cold snow below my feet. a spring. I see excitement in peoples’ eyes. I feel the crunch of rock salt under my boo crunching under a heavy foot. I smell nothing. I taste nothing. I see the brown trees sta branches. I feel the bitter cold against my skin. I smell the cool winter breeze. I taste min as it makes contact with the ground. I feel my leg slowly sinking. I see this breath against of others behind. I feel the cold send chills down my spine. I see everything. I hear nothi see white. I smell the sky. I see opportunities. I feel motivated. I hear discussion. I taste m y p h o n e v i b r a t e . I s e e t e n s t u d e n t s . I h e a r o n e p r o f e s s o r. I h e a r t h e s t u d e n t s s p e a k . I f e to work on site. I hear myself going over thoughts in my head. I feel my brain thinking. I slip on the ice. I see the mountains off in the distance. I feel the light breeze touch my fa digs into the ground. I see my breath as it escapes my mouth instantly turning into fog. I the cold. I feel my nose hairs start to freeze. I see the multitude of trees as we walk throug footsteps of people once traveling this path. I smell the distinct smell of bark from the tre I see the site, imaging the structure that we will create there. I touch the cold pillars sun


a y a n s c u l p t u r e . I h e a r c a r s d r i v i n g o n a s a l t y r o a d . I s m e l l f r e s h a i r. I s e e a b o o k s h e l f w i t h irch tree. I feel cold. I see snow. I feel freezing cold. I see nature. I taste the moisture in h a i r. I f e e l o p e n . I f e e l f r e e . I f e e l o n e w i t h m y s e l f . I s e e s t i c k h u t s . I h e a r t h e w i n d m o v i n g h s t e p . I s m e l l c o l d a i r. I h e a r c h a t t e r i n g a m o n g s t p e e r s . I s e e d e e p i n t o t h e l e a f l e s s a r r a y eel the different textures of the trees. I smell the bark of nearby trees. I see mountainous hear complaints about the cold. I feel my face going numb. I feel the tips of my fingers ront seat. I feel the heave in the pavement. I see a hill. I hear the vehicle exhaust system. ith a rich history. I see a small threshold. I see five cars in two driveways. I see materials ll musk. I smell wood. I smell my feet as I take off my boots. I see a kitchen. I see a clock ture change from the tile to the carpet. I see people I do not know. I see groovy furniture. s. I feel my phone in my pocket. I hear questions. I see a new seat. I feel my socks slipping nt voices. I feel how comfortable the arm rest is. I hear a phone vibrate. I see a fireplace t h e r c l o c k . I s e e p e n s a n d p e n c i l s w r i t i n g . I h e a r s o m e o n e c o u g h . I h e a r l a u g h t e r. I s e e a mission. I see a hill. I see a soccer field. I see pine trees. I see snow. I taste the woodland t leaving my body. I see our site. I see dead trees. I see the same mountains from before. eath my boots. I feel the string beneath the snow. I see apple trees. I hear conversation. eep. I feel the land slope. I see a dugout. I see a bridge. I see a hat I like. I feel my toes step in. I see our cars. I see large rocks. I see the sun setting. I see dirty snow. I feel the cars start. I feel myself begin to slip on the ice. I see Luke wave goodbye. I see the site ar a performance tuned engine pumping premium gas pull up behind us as we get out of crunch of my feet on the ice and snow as we approach the rectangular white building. I see a glimpse of teenagers in the living room in the midst of conversation. I feel selfher who is so well connected with his teenage students that the majority of his sentences one of these kid’s shirts. I see “I’m Straight, but I’m Not Narrow”. I feel the spongy carpet as we back out of the driveway and head to the site. I feel the snow slowly work its way of feet breaking through the layers of snow. I see the mountains across the valley, pulling r the sound of a shovel piercing the icy snow. I feel like I have arrived, at a spot I can m lunch. I feel matted down carpeting sticking to my wool socks. I smell smelly feet. I see ne trees. I hear high school memories being formed. I see endless views all around me. I nose stinging as I inhale. I smell the rug. I hear the crackling of snow falling through the amp from walking in the snow and melting in my boots. I see an evergreen tree farm all m. I hear a lot of giggles. I see apple trees. I hear coats wrestling. I hear Jesse and Andy I taste pen ink. I hear a lot of good honest people making differences. I hear a trickle of ots. I feel the cool breeze against my face. I see the white all around. I hear the snow anding against the fresh fallen snow. I hear the breeze brushing against the sturdy tree nt chap stick on my lips. I see boots sinking into the white powdery snow. I hear each foot t h e c o l d w i n t e r a i r. I t a s t e t h e b i t t e r a i r a s i t e n t e r s m y l u n g s . I h e a r t h e h e a v y b r e a t h i n g i n g . I s m e l l w i n t e r. I f e e l n u m b . I s e e m y b r e a t h . I t a s t e C h a p S t i c k o n m y c h a p p e d l i p s . I victory. I feel like an architect. I see through my camera. I hear the camera click. I feel el myself conjuring up ideas. I see an idea. I see what we have to work with. I feel ready see white everywhere. I smell the exhaust leaking form the cars. I feel worried as I might ace. I hear the trees swaying back and forth. I hear the crunching of the snow as my boot hear a car as it drives by on the road. I hear the mumbling of people complaining about gh the woods. I see the tracks of many animals, wondering what these animals were. I see ees. I see yellow snow, wondering who or what did that. I feel my hands starting to freeze. ken into the ground. I see other shelters created by humans.


What could it be? What could it be? Right now, all I see is snow. I think it’s down there. Where could it be?


I c a n ’ t f e e l m y t o e s . I s e e S h a i l i s h o v e l i n g a s n o w p i l e a s t a l l a s h e r. I f e e l h u n g r y . I f e e l s i c k getting stuck. I see a camera hanging from a tree. I smell wood burning. I smell something b my eyes. I can’t see because of the smoke in my eyes. I feel tears running down my cheeks t h e c o n c r e t e . I s e e a h o l e i n t h e c o n c r e t e p i e r. I f e e l t h e c a r d b o a r d d i s s o l v i n g i n m y h a n d . feel relieved that we started building. I feel the wetness of the snow. I still can’t feel my toe evaporating off of his boots. I feel sick of talking. I feel the desire to go home. I taste the d hitting my face as I look out into the valley. I hear the snow crunch beneath my boots as I c of heavy snow. I taste the cinnamon burn my mouth is delightfully receiving from the Big Red of smoke and am reminded of the warm fire blazing next to the site. I hear the chatter of m stick to wipe off the excess around the bolts. I smell the pungent and sour fumes of the epoxy into a grin as I acknowledge the hopeless humor of the situation. I see Jesse run over and s hill. I feel the weight of the generator digging into the snow as we drag it across the soccer hear tree branches cracking as we gather firewood from dead trees. I see orange embers. I t h e f i r e . I f e e l t h e s u n a g a i n s t m y f a c e i n t h e c o l d w i n t e r a i r. I s e e s n o w b l o w i n g i n t h e a i r a runs to buy a new one. I hear Professor Lutz making a frantic call. I see Keith holding the epo my face. I see team bonding. I see progress. I see white. I feel the warmth of the fire aga crackling of the fire. I see the bridge appearing slowly from underneath the piles of snow. the fire. I hear myself coughing. I smell the wood burning. I see the flames dancing and the crackle as the vapor is released in sudden bursts. I taste the distinctive smell of campfire. I se keeps flowing to my extremities. I see the wood slowly turn in to ash and float off towards th congregate. I feel the sense of urgency as we rush to beat the cold from ruining the epoxy perfume of combustion. I taste the distinct flavor of snow as my tongue reaches out. I see no I hear discussions over the smallest of measurements. I feel the sting of cold steel as I pick u fire that I am focused on. I see the columns are not in per fect line with one another and I v a r s e n a l o f s h o v e l s m o v i n g t h e c o l d m e d i u m . I s m e l l s m o k e i n t h e a i r. I h e a r a b s o l u t e l y n o d i s t embers. I smell the wood burning. I see the flames dancing and the embers flying. I feel th released in sudden bursts. I taste the distinctive smell of campfire. I see the snow crystallize extremities. I see the wood slowly turn in to ash and float off towards the sky. I smell the pier sense of urgency as we rush to beat the cold from ruining the epoxy. I hear the whirling of sumac and maple syrup. I see disappointment after the boards are trimmed. I smell fire-roa w o r d ‘ d o p e ’ o v e r a n d o v e r. I h e a r i d e a s e v o l v e i n t o a s t a t e o f b e c o m i n g . I f e e l t h e c l i e n t ’ s polite, I hear the birds chirping a beautiful melody in the background. I see measurements s h e l t e r. I f e e l m y h e a d s t a r t i n g t o g e t c o l d . I t o u c h m y h a i r m a k i n g s u r e i t ’ s l a i d c o r r e c t l y . I tiny stream that is frozen. I see where we started our journey and wonder is this the end of o y o u a n d g o o d b y e s , t h e t r i p i s o v e r. I f i n a l l y f e e l t h e w a r m t h o f t h e h e a t f r o m t h e c a r h temperatures. I see coffee mug rings on the table. I hear a computer fan whirling. I see reflec chair creak under pressure. I hear someone saying fuck in the distance. I feel a slight draft. a b o v e m e . I f e e l a r u s h o f w a r m a i r. I h e a r c a r s b r a k i n g a n d a c c e l e r a t i n g . I h e a r a f i r e d e t e c m y b o o t s o n t h e f l o o r. I s e e p e r f e c t s h a d o w s a c r o s s t h e w a l l s . I h e a r a m u f f l e r i n d i s t r e s s . I s m f i n g e r. I s e e a t r a f f i c l i g h t c o n t r o l t h e i n t e r s e c t i o n . I h e a r a c o n s t a n t b u z z i n g o f a p p l i a n c e s . the page. I hear a guitar tuner’s approval. I see a virtual mountain on my screen. I hear bird scent of pine needles. I taste the pungent odor of burnt clutch. I feel my saturated feet, crunching snow, only when I walk. I see dead branches supported by living trees, far in the only walls being trees and the only roof being the leaves. I feel the light shine on my face th t o f r e e z e i n m y b o o t s . I h e a r a s n o w f l a k e l a n d o n m y s h o u l d e r. I f e e l a s o n e w i t h n a t u r e .


k of re-measuring the poles. I feel the kick-back of the hammer drill. I feel the hammer drill burning that shouldn’t be. I feel annoyed that someone put plastic in the fire. I feel smoke in s . I f e e l m y g o g g l e s f a l l i n g o f f m y f a c e . I h e a r t h e g e n e r a t o r. I h e a r t h e d r i l l . I s e e m a r k s o n I feel the wetness of the cardboard. I feel accomplished. I feel excited about the project. I es. I see the water evaporating off my boots. I see Eleazar put his foot in the fire. I see water dinner I’m planning on cooking. I feel my legs hurting. I feel the desire to sit. I feel the sun climb the snowbank. I feel my muscles aching as I thrust the snow shovel into a crusty patch d gum I’m chewing. I hear the sound of a drill fighting concrete in the distance. I smell a wisp my classmates as I approach the construction site. I feel the viscosity of the epoxy as I use a y and can almost taste it. I hear somebody say “shit, the drill is stuck.” I feel my mouth curve ilently reconcile the problem. I see the struggle that is carrying the generator up the snowy r f i e l d . I s e e s t u d e n t s k n e e d e e p i n s n o w . I h e a r s h o v e l s h i t t i n g i c e . I s m e l l s m o k e i n t h e a i r. I I feel warm. I feel the vibration of the drill. I smell the cardboard from sonotubes burning in as a tractor creates a path. I hear the generator stall. I see AJ break the caulking gun as he oxy close to the fire to keep it warm. I hear the click of a camera. I smell smoke blowing into ainst my legs. I taste the mint of my gum. I feel the smooth metal of the shovel. I hear the I f e e l t h e c o o l w i n d b r u s h i n g a g a i n s t m y n e c k . I h e a r t h e g e n e r a t o r. I t a s t e t h e s m o k e f r o m e embers flying. I feel the fire steadily extend its warmth to the site. I hear the fire pop and ee the snow crystallize around the fire, turning chaos into beauty. I feel the fire assure blood he sky. I smell the piercing scent of pine needles. I see one person working while the others y . I h e a r t h e w h i r l i n g o f t h e d r i l l , e v e n o v e r t h e s p u t t e r i n g o f t h e g e n e r a t o r. I s m e l l t h e r a w o ground, only snow and ice. I smell the sharpie as it lays its guided ink along the concrete. up a bracket and secure it with a nut. I see the heat move whatever subjects are behind the view this as a problem-solving situation. I hear birds chirping, a sure sign of spring. I hear an ractions. I hear tree branches cracking as we gather firewood from dead trees. I see orange e fire steadily extend its warmth to the site. I hear the fire pop and crackle as the vapor is e around the fire, turning chaos into beauty. I feel the fire assure blood keeps flowing to my rcing scent of pine needles. I see one person working while the others congregate. I feel the f t h e d r i l l , e v e n o v e r t h e s p u t t e r i n g o f t h e g e n e r a t o r. I t a s t e p i n e - n e e d l e t e a w i t h s t a g h o r n a s t e d M c I n t o s h a p p l e s a n d h o t d o g s . I f e e l l i k e t h e y d o n ’ t c a r e n o w , b u t w i l l l a t e r. I h e a r t h e apprehension. I hear Jamie talk about childhood. I hear a high school student being overly being made, making sure what distances we will have to use when creating the woodland s e e p i c t u r e s b e i n g t a k e n , t h u s c a p t u r i n g a n i m a g e f o r e v e r. I s e e a l i t t l e w o o d b r i d g e o v e r a our trip. I feel exhausted walking across a long field covered with a lot of snow. I hear thank hitting my face. I feel my toes, fingers, and ears beginning to thaw out. from the chilling ctions on the walls from car headlights. I see items strewn across the room. I hear the rocking I hear music I have never heard before. I see a screw missing its host. I hear footsteps stomp t o r b l i p . I h e a r t h e f i n g e r p i c k i n g o f a g u i t a r. I s e e a l i g h t b u l b f l i c k e r i n g . I f e e l t h e d i r t u n d e r ell new pages of a book. I feel the books page’s rough texture between my thumb and index I hear the rustle of my clothing. I feel the water refresh my mouth. I feel my pen slide across d s c h a t t e r i n g a w a y a t e a c h o t h e r. I s e e a l e a f g e n t l y g l i d e d o w n t o s a f e t y . I s m e l l t h e s h a r p held captive by wet socks. I feel snot drip from my nose and linger around my lips. I hear canopy. I hear gravity moving the small steam down the mountain. I feel protected with the hrough the shadows of the trees. I hear the breeze softly blowing. I feel the sweat beginning I feel like I can think clearly.


Envision a classroom Distill the ideas What does it need? A place to write, a place to read, a place to discuss? What is the most important part of a classroom? A place to learn


Muck and mud, Sawdust hay, Sweat in sun, Work all day.

Wasn’t it just snowing?


Keith is unsuccessful, Professor Lutz cracks the whip, try again next time


Our universe is built on the premise of order,


it extinguishes nothingness and allows us to be.


Being able to inhabit the lines you dragged around on CAD or glued together in models


is spectacular.


every day the job-site ignites a fire


devoted workers as heat, building materials as fuel, and imagination as air


readily available, dimensional lumber, the building creates an exciting space within a tight budget


held trees in the air for roots at home to revisit after years to see weather


At the end of each workday when there is no more fuel, the fire is put out. But, only temporarily. The next day the will fire return and continue to burn


Trees in the wild Fire burning in our hearts A place of our own


Special Thanks Northfield STAR Program, Northfield High School, Professor Matthew Lutz, Professor Edwin Schmeckpeper, Barre Tile Inc., Gerry Cotter Photos All photos produced and edited by 802 Lab Special Features from Anthony Bavaro & Keith Stipe Writing & Poetry All writing produced and edited by 802 Lab In order of appearance: Spark by Matthew Lutz STAR by Keith Stipe Five Senses One by 802 Lab Excerpt from On Active Listening and Interpretation by Jamie Berkeley-Hartjen Excerpt from Construction Fun(ction) by Jamie Berkeley-Hartjen Anderson Guster’s Last Muster by Andrew Dubenetsky Excerpt from Why Order? by Jesse Gillette Excerpt Courage of the Fearless Observer by Andrew Dubenetsky Integrity by Tim Bain Exerpt from On Fire by Anthony Bavaro Tight by Shaili Patel haiku by Matthew Lutz Exerpt from On Fire by Anthony Bavaro haiku by Deadra Musial Rough Hands by Shaili Patel Book Design Composed and edited by 802 Lab, Spring Semester, 2015 Printed by L Brown & Sons Printing Barre, VT Font set in Century Gothic, regular, bold, italic


Rough hands, covered in ridges and valleys with small mountains, show pride in making. They are the hands of makers. Hands filled with moved skin and callouses show wear and tear of holding a hammer, driving a nail, moving rough sawn wood, heavy pieces of wood, among other things. These scars on the hands show the effort one puts in to create a masterpiece, these are the hands I am envious of. That is what this studio is, it is not about knowing how to actually build or having those skills; though if you do, that is great; it is about adapting to the situation, it is about the willingness to learn, it is about learning to be confident in your ability to power through any situation; it is about achieving the pride one gets when making. Though I have no experience in building, I am learning what it takes to have valleys and ridges on my hands; learning what it means to build; learning what it means to become a maker. -Shaili Patel


Dutch angle pages draft  
Dutch angle pages draft  

Norwich University Design Build Project 2015 Outdoor Classroom STAR Program Northfield Vermont

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