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AUTUMN 2014 / ISSUE 009

We live in a Fantastical world filled with the illusions of daily life. Photoshopped ads, hyper-real renders, even food dye cushion a notion that we can skew and manipulate anything to make it something. Why do we seem to be bracing ourselves with these falsities against the truths that made them? Hell, if it looks good, who’s to critique how we got there? This year, 1:12 has taken this observation and the subsequent question and is producing two complimentary issues that celebrate, antagonize and critique our love affair with processing realities into fantasies. For now, The Fantastic coming to you live in Techni-Color...

- One:Twelve

O N E :T W E LV E Issue 009 / Volume 005 Autumn 2014 One:Twelve is produced by a small group of Undergraduate and Graduate students at the Knowlton School at The Ohio State University and is published bi-annually. For inquiries, please contact us at: 275 W. Woodruff Ave. Columbus OH, 43210

E D ITO RS Jeff Kipnis Faculty Advisor Dustin Page Managing Editor Jessica Sprankle Managing Editor Samuel Fudala Graphics Chair Philip Niekamp Web Designer Tom Reifenberg Editing Chair Stephen Steckel Treasurer / Design Chair Cheyenne Vandevoorde Public Relations Chair


The Creative Process Michelle Schneider


Blend Game Samuel Fudala


...and we’re still unsure Syntax


Two Sides to Every Story Cheyenne Vandevoorde


Blue Contrapposto Jake Pfahl


Playboy Jelena Loncar


Delirious Disney: A Closer Look at a Theme Park and its Context Anonymous


Venice: A World Away Dustin Page


Not Only Are We Not Infinite, We Are Not Even Finite Curtis Roth


An After Dinner Chat with Preston Scott Cohen Allison Drda


The Color of the Future Stephanie Sang Delgado


Hi Hilarity Cory Frost


Graphic Weave Kristy Balliet


Intentional Decay Tom Reifenberg


The Alluring Salton Sea Jessica Sprankle


Dishonest Objects: Fluid Authenticities in the Conservation of Art and Architecture J. Riley Cruttenden


Michelle Schneider


Follow these codes to guarantee your creativity is creative. (Do not share with others.) 1. Copy old ideas. innovation is unnecessary to contemporary creativity. 2. Gimmicks produce creativity. not thinking. don’t think. 3. Follow trends! 4. Adopt “ fake it ‘til you make it” as your life’s motto. bullshitting is learned 5. Forget about the “create” portion of the word creative creative is an adjective, not a verb of course. 6. Exert minimal effort. 7. Remember natural talent is overrated. autonomy and equal opportunity is king. 8. Use social media. it definitely makes you smarter, the more you re-blog and contribute, the more creative you appear! Quantity over quality of course. 9. Forget theses rules. (Share with others.)

Blend Game






PART 2 OF 2 Cheyenne Vandevoorde

RK > Rem Koolhaas is the creator of Exodus AH > Is the fictatious Architectural Historian who reinterprets Exodus, advocating for the Old London CV > Third partythat blurs RK and AH to reveal an etirely different field where there is resolve in conflict between the two sides.



Jake Pfahl “She screamed at me!” I surrendered this, and only this, after moments of withdraw. This is exactly what I was talking about; Mother’s ignorant speech patterns dipping in and out of my tired brain like an ice cream cone in transformation from liquid to solid, but instead I was transforming from solid to liquid. But, I would not be influenced to ignorance. Not ignorant like the man in the elevator shaking his head as the foreigners spoke, probably of love, and of everything the man never had. Not ignorant like the woman at the store who had just so recently held back tears of her encounter with a mirror, walked into a very mediocre store, stripped the mannequin of its dignity, and gained none for herself. Not ignorant like the water that sits in the vase, giving everything to the long stems violating its boundaries, stolen from the atmosphere with no reparation, and believing it’s fair. As these thoughts came, I ignored the return of emotions from others. I had bigger things to worry about. I sat in the road, littered with debris of the walls I had created. There was no foundation to the structure, not a strong one at least. I had no time, and she, guilty of screaming, had no reason to jump to conclusions.

The space sank, contrapposto at its worst, personifying the man in the elevator after he returned home, and his ‘wife’ ended the discussion with “I’m tired of doing this”. Though, he wore a great shirt, a great tie, and a great smile. As I looked around, the space wore the same. The program was beautiful! Bars, shopping, love all awaited those who inhabited it. Forget that the walls had now fallen due to the inequitable destruction of my explanation of spaces, I had a great idea. “…can’t believe you’re upset when you know you sleep half of the time you’re at your desk, and you didn’t even have a precedent for the…” I cut off Peer Number 1. I was thinking. I was not paying attention, or even pretending, and she was getting in the way of my own critique. Back to me, in the street. The brilliant lights of the landscape crashed into the overgrown greenery scaling the broken walls. It was gorgeous, my idea. Though this did not reflect as my eager eyes


scaled the barriers, it did reflect in my mind. At least I think it did. No, it did. I’m sure of it! I think it was Peer Number 2 gasping between breaths, heaving biased thoughts into my adverse ear that made my picturesque scene hazy. Peer Number 3 was helpful. He sat without judgment, beaming from the constructive critique. He was going places. Back to me, in my place. My place still beamed with light, different from that of Peer Number 3, but oh how it beamed. It was fantastic, my idea. Leading its occupants through the streets, or street rather, into the rooms that I designed. There was so much fun to be had! How could Jurors not see that? Yes, maybe the form was a bit off, but I hadn’t the time! I could go on with excuses, but as stated earlier, I would not be ignorant. So, I must assume that I will be trusted in saying that I did have a great idea. There must have been a lack of attention when I was explaining all of the great things that one could do when inhabiting the space. I was tired of Peer Number 1, and Number 2 trying to explain. So, I returned to my neatly organized desk, locked away my belongings hoping that my distaste for the day’s results would be locked inside with them, and descended hastily down

the elevator. Two foreign girls spoke in a foreign language, and pushed my mind to foreign thoughts. I shook my head, as it wasn’t fair that they would disrupt my thought in such a way, but said nothing because I was not ignorant. My disbelief returned to the disapproval of my idea so expertly enhanced through renderings, and programmatic coloring of space. So bright, and beautiful, the thought that they would only focus on the origin of form, the experience of space, it was revolting. What about how it looked? They must not understand the true relation of architecture to reality. I exited the elevator in a blue contrapposto. Maybe tomorrow would be better. I would start on my new design. I would make the program much more entertaining, appealing. I would spend more time on the color, the editing process. I think tomorrow will be better. I think this new reality will be much more fantastic.


Jelena Loncar Spaces have long been understood as gender performative machines, and traditionally, interiors have been associated with stereotypical characteristics of femininity and exterior spaces have been associated with characteristics of masculinity. Even within the common home, the gender binary divides spaces into these categories. The kitchen and bedroom become female domains spaces of privacy, solitude, personal work. The garage, living room, and yard become male domains - public realms for company and activity. Put simply, over time, the male became associated with common spaces and the female became associated with the “other” spaces of daily life. The interiorization of women has been explored in countless works of art including Diego Velazquez’s Las Meninas (1656), Eugene Delacroix’s Les Femmes d ’Alger dans leur appartement (1833) and Pablo Picasso’s Les Demoiselle’s d ’Avignon (1907). While women have been historically represented inside the architectural space, the depiction of men belonging to private spaces was not popularized in America until the 1950’s. The contemporary understanding of spaces in oppositions such as private/ public, single/many, static/active, and outdoor/indoor, was a conception highly exploited during the post-war environment of the 1950’s. When soldiers were fighting abroad, women began to establish themselves publicly, holding jobs that men had previously held and actively participating in the public spaces of the world. At the same time, women had gained a stronghold on the domestic realm. During a time of a nearly all-female society, women had successfully established and maintained power in the domestic and public realms. Virginia Woolf ’s extensive essay, A Room of One’s Own (1929), which assumes the thesis that a woman requires her own money and place if she is to successfully write fiction, was finally realized amongst American women. While the exterior space became a place for the expression of power and self-sufficiency, it could not properly function without the interior space, one of privacy, contemplation, and personal growth. For the first time in history, World War II era women had both. When men returned home from the war - from the exterior - they reassumed their position in the public realm. The returning of men pushed women inside where they continued to dominate the supplementary spaces of daily life, the kitchen, the laundry room, the garden. The decade of the 1950’s is notorious



for the manipulation of the gender binary and the exploitation of gender roles. Today we are only beginning to understand some of the consequences of gender polarization on a collective level. Even in the 1950’s society saw a rebellion against the “good life” consisting of a suburban home, two-and-ahalf children, and a job in the city. This rebellion was made most evident by the creation of Playboy magazine, born in the kitchen of Hugh Hefner’s South side Chicago apartment in 1953. The magazine was largely responsible for the fantastical reformulation of interior space and its modified relationship to the exterior. Playboy can be read as an attempt to offer a domestic reality to men and to interiorize their lives as a means of protection against the exterior. After witnessing the horrors of the war and of the outside, Americans internalized their lives. But the interior was now fundamentally a female space and Playboy magazine proposed an alternate domestic reality for American males. This alternate reality was the Penthouse, an interior where man could be free from the insidious control and policing of his body and intellect. Echoing Virginia Woolf ’s plea for female independence and a room of her own, Playboy argued for the male’s “quarters of his own”. It is important to mention that in its rejection of the cult of domesticity, the Playboy lifestyle did not intend to suit the average male husband and father. Instead, it fantasized a less mainstream prototype. The free-spirited bachelor became the hero who would reclaim the interior space and de-feminize it, thus adjusting it to revolve around the bachelor’s desires, fantasies, and needs. The aim to interiorize male lives seems, on the surface, to be a revolutionary action that deconstructed the boundaries that had long categorized interior and exterior spaces as either male or female. But upon close analysis, the interiorization of male lives was another attempt to remove power from women in the only space where they maintained dominance. While the housewife of the 1950’s was the manager and the technician of the domestic space, Playboy argued that males, the technologically-wise gender, were more suited to carry on domestic endeavors involving domestic machinery. Thus, in the alternate domestic reality, women were robbed of their power in the home, a space which was now filled with mechanical appliances controlled by men. The Penthouse was designed around the premise that women were only necessary for sexual pleasure and that their presence and power could successfully be diminished by the interior design of a space for a bachelor. Two interior spaces offered ultimate privacy from the menace of the female: the study, or the sanctum sanctorum, where women were rarely invited, and the lavatory, which Playboy described as the “throne room”, which protected the man from all outside forces. These two spaces inherently embody the


“ T H E F E M A L E BE C O M E S T H E R O M A NTIC IZ ED AM E RI CAN M A L E ’ S S E X UA L D R E A M – THE P IN U P, T H E B U N N Y, T HE G I R L N E X T D OO R . BY RE M OVI N G T HE FE M A L E FR O M T HE L AST P L AC E I N W H I CH S H E HAS C O N T R O L , T H E IN TER IO R E N VI RON M E N T, A N D BY P I G E O N - HO L I NG HER IN TO A P OSI T I ON O F M E R E S E X UA L FA N TASY, P L AYB OY STOL E T H E D O M E ST I C S PAC E FO R MEN AN D C ON SE QU E N T LY A L LOW E D WO M E N O N LY TO EXIST AS CON ST R UC TS O F T HE M A L E PSYC HE.” intellectual and intestinal workings of the body, both of which are protected in the Penthouse. The space of the penthouse made a show of the most common-place daily happenings. Furniture designed by Eero Saarinen and Charles Eames structurally doubled as objects for both work and play. The line between the two was blurred, as were oppositions such as night and day. In this scenario, the male becomes the single most important figure and the architecture and furniture around him assist him in his daily conquests, both banal and sexual. Thus, if the male is singular, the playmate, the only present female figure, becomes multiple and ephemeral. This interior environment is one where women, sexual objects, come and go and function only to cater to the male’s needs. The female becomes the romanticized American male’s sexual dream – the pin-up, the bunny, the girl next door. By removing the female from the last place in which she has control, the interior environment, and by pigeon-holing her into a position of mere sexual fantasy, Playboy stole the domestic space for men and consequently allowed women only to exist as constructs of the male psyche. Concisely, the Playboy fantasy, in its conquest of the interior, took the male out of the real world and reduced him to his boyish qualities of indecision, impermanence, intolerability, and selfishness. It took the female out of all parts of the world except for the bed and the interior of the male mind. The magazine’s rejection of the typical American conception of interior and exterior reformulated gender roles and the assumption of those roles in the public and private realms. However, the reformulation only benefitted the male and even in that case, did nothing but offer him a citadel of sensual make-believe. Even ideologically, the fantasy offered little relationship between the exterior and interior and offered no comprehension of how an entirely interiorized lifestyle affects the men and women and their role in society. Instead, in its rejection of the cult of domesticity and the exterior, Playboy ironically entrapped both genders in an escapist pornotopia.


Anonymous (Ok…it is by Matt Quijada)


Anaheim, a quintessential slice of L A , is the definition of a concrete jungle, of urban sprawl gone wrong. Luckily within this wasteland, there is respite: Disneyland. A plaque above its front gates declares: “Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.” What better way to introduce Disneyland as the embodiment of escapism. Here you can leave your troubles, or just the mind-numbing banality of the everyday, behind. Three elements, Main Street USA , The Hub, and The Berm, distinguish Disneyland from the real world around it. You enter the park onto Main Street, transporting you to small town America circa 1900. Follow Main Street to The Hub, the epicenter of fantasy. The park ’s eight themed lands radiate from this point and the iconic castle sits to its north. Against the regular grid of Anaheim, this radial system sets Disneyland apart as something ideal. Lastly, The Berm, a tree lined embankment, circles the park, separating Disneyland from Anaheim, and its consequent realities. On the surface Main Street, The Hub, and The Berm help establish Disneyland as a fantasy realm, isolated from its surroundings. But yet, on closer look, they reveal a different story. The distinction between the two worlds, Disneyland and the city, is more blurred than it first appears. When determining the location of Disneyland, Walt Disney gave into marketing demands. The park nests itself in the crossing of two busy arteries, The Santa Ana Freeway and Harbor Boulevard. The Hub, then, might feel like the center of its own world, but its location is subservient to the infrastructure of the city. Furthermore, The Hub sits on the same diagonal as the freeway off-ramps and is their same shape and size. How magical. Disneyland seems as if it were “zoned” according to this context. The futuristic Tomorrowland sits to the east, closer to the modern world of Harbor Boulevard and the freeway. The more organic Frontierland, by contrast, faces the strawberry fields that once existed to the west. Like the Hub, Main Street USA offers new insights when viewed as a part of the larger context. When considered together, Main Street and Harbor Boulevard retell the history of America’s roads. After the advent of the car, American towns built bypasses to relieve congestion in their downtowns. In a similar way, Harbor Boulevard bypasses Main Street USA . In Main Street to Miracle Mile, Chester Liebs describes American bypass roads as “places where Holiday Inns and McDonalds could set up shop.” 1 Not only does this describe Harbor Boulevard, but like most bypasses, Harbor is much wider and even parallel to Main Street. Main Street, in turn, reads as an earlier version of Harbor, perfectly preserved, frozen in time.


1 8 Legend 1. Park Entrance 2. Main Street, USA 3. The Hub 4. The Berm 5. Santa Ana freeway 6. Harbor Boulevard 7. Tomorrowland 8. Frontierland 9. Storybook Land 10. Matterhorn 11. Monorail 12. Castle





4 5 11 9 6









The Berm, then, is the last defensive front separating Disneyland from its context. The Berm is not always effective as a barrier. Consider this example: By the late 1950’s, hotels such as the Space Age Lodge and Galaxy Motel started springing up just outside The Berm. It was as if Tomorrowland, the futuristic area inside Disneyland, had spilled over The Berm and into the city. Yet these hotels occupy an ambiguous territory. They at once extend Tomorrowland and also take part in the Googie Movement. Spearheaded by John Lautner, Googie was the exaggerated Modernism popular in L A in the 1960’s. Think of the Theme Building at L AX or the Jetsons. Even architect Charles Moore refused that a barrier between Disneyland and the city existed. It is easy to see the utopian Disneyland as an alien entity that has landed in the city. By contrast, Moore sees the park as integrated into L A . In his book The City Observed, Moore considers Disneyland one of the city’s districts, like Downtown or Pasadena. 2 He makes no distinction between the “houses” in the park and those within the city at large. For example, Moore gives the Haunted Mansion ride its own heading, like he does for the Gehry or Neutra Houses. In several instances, Disneyland is connected to the city in a visual sense. A great example of this involves the Autopia ride. From certain views, the perspectives of Autopia and the actual Santa Ana freeway collapse. For that moment, it looks as if eight-year-olds could drive their Autopia cars off the rails and onto the Santa Ana freeway. Yikes! The Matterhorn Mountain also makes unique visual connections within the park and to the city. The Matterhorn is Disney’s 150 foot tall replica of the Swiss Mountain containing a roller coaster. People can see the Matterhorn from many vantage points both inside and outside the park. One such view is from Storybook Land, a boat ride past miniatures recreating scenes from Disney films. In the Pinocchio scene, a wall of tiny mountains pull the distant Matterhorn into the composition. At the same time, the mountain is the only ride visible outside the berm by motorists whizzing by on the Santa Ana freeway. From this view, The Matterhorn is like a pilgrimage church rising above the roofs of suburban sprawl. The mountain, then, at once addresses the entire city, while still responding to a scene at the scale of a doll house. Like the Matterhorn, the monorail is part of a fantasy realm, but at times looks to be part of the city. While in the park, the monorail circles the snowy Matterhorn Mountain, past waterfalls and the caves of the Yeti. The novelty of a suspended train makes it look right at home in such an exotic landscape.


At one moment, the monorail breaks through the berm and runs parallel to Harbor Boulevard. From the perspective of the cars below, it looks as if the monorail could be the public transportation system of Los Angeles. The public of L A is happy to entertain this idea of good public transportation in a city that has none. Recall Buzz Lightyear’s conviction that he is a real spaceman despite being just a toy. In a similar fashion, the monorail presents itself as a serious proposal even though it is a theme park ride. Let us return to the famous entry quote: “Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.” The minds behind Disneyland intended to create a world different from Anaheim, but created one connected to it. That was inevitable. For starters, the location alone succumbs to the logistics of the city. Additions like the Matterhorn and monorail have only further embedded Disneyland in its surroundings. The “here you leave” quote is not an outright lie, but suggests a polarity where a much more subtle relationship exists. Today, this dynamic between fantasy and reality is more relevant than ever. In the age of the iPhone, virtual and physical space are becoming intertwined. Disneyland shows that this phenomenon is not new. While the fantasy and reality dynamic is intriguing, it is at the point that these two become confused that is more compelling. Disneyland has, and will continue to be, the product of the city and even more interesting, the city a product of Disneyland.

Notes 1. Liebs, Chester. Main Street to Miracle Mile. Boston: Little, Brown, 1985. Print. 2. Moore, Charles. The City Observed: Los Angeles. New York: Random House, 1984. Print.


Le Grand Canal Oil on Canvas, 73.7 x 92.4 cm Monet, 1908 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston 1


Dustin Page

In Claude Monet’s painting of the Grand Canal in Venice, the sublime power of the city is caught with a church stoically dominating the center of the painting. However, the church requires a crutch to stand on, provided by the stable dark figure of the stick cutting across the canvas, picking up the church on its’ way down. Without this interloper, the painting would seemingly lose the leg it stands on and fade out of

existence. This figure also provides a dividing line that sets up an equation within the painting, revealing the structure behind the architecture on the right as the sticks bouncing around on the left. At the same time that the buildings can be seen as growing out of the sticks, the mass of the buildings could as easily be taken away, leaving behind whatever stray gondolas survived the event.


Instability The basis for the creation of this city could be construed in a similar light to how many people view it today: a way to get away. Of course originally, the purpose and means of the quick get-away was miles apart from the hordes of tourists that flock there in the present day. Back then, pound a few sticks in the mud and there you have it. Now, hop on a luxury cruise-liner, sip on a Bellini or two, and you can live the life of a Venetian. 2 When forming Venice, groups of people worked together to create small communities, clumping their structures together to create a haphazard array of islands within an island, scaled versions of the city as a whole. When Uvedale Price described picturesque as “roughness and sound variation joined to irregularity’ or form, color, lighting, and even sound”, this was it. 3 Skewed waterways, buildings jamming into each other, pathways cut hypodermically through residences, the smell of the briny water and fish guts. This amalgamation of buildings on sticks has thrown together the perfect mixing pot of stuff to create the picturesque. Changing Tides Venice sits at a crossroads, positioned in a lagoon that fostered the thriving banking and merchant population which, in turn, became

the city we see today. To take full advantage of the water on which it sits, an intricate canal system spread its fingers as the city grew. This has created a situation in which buildings have two main fronts – the traditional street entrance, and the new water frontage – prompting a questioning of what people are accustomed to. Merchants, using the canals for business, required the canal front to accommodate boats. In addition, these buildings acted as residences, further extending the function and often creating the impression of several facades clumped together, as in the Ca’ d’Oro, the House of Gold. The status of Venice as a primary trading city was completely changed with the “discovery” of the Americas. The cities relative location within the western world shifted overnight from being central to periphery. The city we see now is caught in the moment immediately prior in history, where it was the center of the world. A time when it was the place where the Western and Eastern worlds met, resulting in fabulous art, culture and wealth. They tamed the water and made this most turbulent mistress of the sailor into a glue that binds the whole of the city together. The water, once a means to bring power to the city, has been fetishized first through art, and further through the information age, where selfies are the new currency among the

Issue 009



hip adventurers. Every newly-wed couple must get the obligatory glamor shot within a gondola, or else, were they really there? A quick google search of “Venice” shows a world comprised solely of highly saturated canals, ignorant of the alleyways and campos that lay on the other side of the buildings. On a daily basis, cruise ships navigate their way around the island, allowing the thousands of passengers to ooh and ahh before diving into the city. The palaces and churches of the city, remarkable bits of architecture and engineering themselves, are dwarfed first by the incredible scale of the ships and then by the sheer number of people they

dump into the island. Expounding this are the bright yellow signs littering the city, guiding the masses to a small selection of key attractions. The foreigners are herded like sheep into areas of exorbitant culture and diversity, carefully curated for the most “authentic” experience of the city that once held such great power.

Notes 1. Monet, Claude. Le Grand Canal. 1908. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Beyeler Foundation. Web. 20 Oct 2014. < Monet, _ Le_Grand _Canal.jpg> 2. Two parts dry sparkling wine (preferably Prosecco), one part peach puree. 3. Price, Sir Uvedale, and Thomas Dick Lauder, Sir. Sir Uvedale Price, On the Picturesque. Edinburgh: Caldwell, Lloyd, 1842. Print.


Curtis Roth

-1. The Precondition of Research If a good idea would be to begin the description of a research project with a statement describing the research’s relevance, then a bad idea might be to begin the description of a research project with ontology. But in the case of the latter: the ubiquitous precondition that underwrites any research’s relevance is that the most fundamental function of a discipline’s research, further: the very grounds on which disciplinary research as a concept is constituted, is to: (-1.1) construct the existence of good ideas, (-1.2) to infer that good ideas can do what bad ideas cannot, and (-1.3) to set into motion a process by which ideas are transformed into good ideas through processes of examination, argumentation and ultimately instrumentalization.



0. [Hidden Architecture] But if research as a concept is underwritten by the enduring disciplinary valuesystems of the good idea, how are we to imagine a research project devoted to examining Superstudio’s 1970 performance piece [Hidden Architecture]? Superstudio’s performance is a project that (0.1) did or didn’t begin with the production of a plan of an architectural work, (0.2) copied the original plan which may or may not have existed and burned the original, (0.3) permanently sealed the copy of a plan of a work which may have never existed in a zinc box measuring 250x350x75mm, and (0.4) represented this performance through the display of fourteen photographs, Superstudio’s collective resume and a letter written by the Italian law professor Andrea Orsi Battaglini testifying that the project was, in fact, executed in correspondence with Superstudio’s original claim of execution. [Hidden Architecture] might be described as a bad idea in the very specific sense that the performance undermines research’s ontological backdrop. The performance’s existence will never coincide with the possibilities of its evaluation.


1. On How to Research an Event Which Only Half-Happened It seems reasonable then to presume that to research a project that’s existence explicitly renders its evaluation impossible, the only grounds on which an analysis can be constructed are around the somewhat more naïve assumptions which purport to constitute that existence in the first place: (1.1) that being an architect renders one’s work architecture, (1.2) that a plan (whether in the form of a drawing or the numerical script of an architectural performance) is capable of amounting to a work of architecture, and (1.3) that a lawyer is capable of certifying that an architect’s claims to have produced architecture are, in fact, correct.


2. The Logics of Argumentation If a good idea would be to tell you that I spent the period of August 2013 through May 2014 lying awake at night somewhere in the Italian Village while considering these three claims, a better idea might be to clearly illustrate how a rational conceptual line of thought might be drawn between myself lying awake at night and the collection of objects contained within the final exhibition. But to me, this good idea seems to be precisely the question at the heart of Superstudioâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s [Hidden Architecture] performance, that the foundational presumption of architectureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s underpinning of the good idea is structured by the fundamental demand that architecture follows certain selfreproducing formulae of argumentation that are (2.1) clear, (2.2) rational and (2.3) disciplined, and that architecture which does not follow these logics of the argument has, at its inception, already failed.


3. A Bad Idea So in the end whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s left is merely an exhibition that attempts to document the results of a research examining a 1970 performance that actively deploys the rhetoric of the bad idea in an attempt to render its own research an impossibility. I was asked to give a description of this work, to somehow account for what Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve done through techniques of argumentation that are clear, rational and presumably disciplined. So if it follows that a good idea would be to end the description of a research project with an affirmation of its relevance, then I hope youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll understand why a bad idea is the best I can provide, and perhaps all we really need: You are in the Banvard Gallery at the Knowlton School of Architecture at the Ohio State University in Columbus, Ohio USA . (3.1) Around you are 748 objects. (3.11) Some of these 748 objects are architectural models, (3.12) some of these 748 objects are architectural model stands, (3.13) some of these 748 objects are either architectural models or architectural model stands. (3.2) Along with these 748 objects are 89 prints. (3.21) Some of these prints are architectural renderings, (3.22) some of these prints are architectural plans, (3.23) some of these prints are either architectural renderings or architectural plans, (3.24) some of these prints have had their architectural contents erased and yet may still be architectural renderings or architectural plans. (3.25) The 89 prints all contain the color C:25 M:83 Y:70 K:13. (3.26) 32 of the 89 prints also contain the color C:43 M:30 Y:55 K:3, (3.27) 24 of the 89 prints also contain the color C:77 M:46 Y:53 K:23, (3.28) the remaining 33 of 89 prints also contain the color C:32 M:33 Y:95 K:4. (3.29) The three CMYK gradients correspond to points (1.2), (1.3) and (1.1) respectively.



This work would have been impossible without the incredible help of Abby Arnold who was invaluable both in the intellectual and physical construction of the work, as well as the efforts of Jon Beech. Additional support for the exhibition was provided by the Howard E. LeFevre â&#x20AC;&#x2122;29 Emerging Practitioner Fellowship and the numerous students and faculty of the Knowlton School of Architecture who contributed in diverse ways, both conceptually and technically, to the execution of the project. All photos by Phil Arnold.


Preston Scott Cohen is principle and founder of Preston Scott Cohen, Inc. He is the Chair and Gerald M. McCue Professor of Architecture at the Harvard University Graduate School of Design. Recently, Cohen visited us here at The Knowlton School as the Fall 2014 Herbert Baumer Distinguished Visiting Professor.


PR E STO N SCOT T CO H E N Allison Drda


Allison Drda: The notion of the fantastic reality has in and of itself a paradox which seems to be highly relevant to your work in that you deal with the presence of realities on the site but also invent your own when it comes to places that don’t have enough of a problem. Preston Scott Cohen: Right. Definitely. AD: Would you consider the invention or insertion of these problems to be a new reality for your projects? PSC: Well the problem is brought on by wanting something. There isn’t a problem unless you want something and you can’t have it. So desire is the essential issue here or is an imperative. Lets say the imperative that something is synthetically composed in a particular way, somehow rightfully following a logic of a pattern, like a progression. A is to B as B is to C if you want A to B to be the same logic as B to C and something won’t permit C to fully manifest itself, it has to blend with the D or it has to meld with the thing that is in its way or it has to become inflected in a meaningful way that starts to ricochet back on the other two, something. You have to make it meaningful, you can’t just destroy it. If you are trying to protect and defend the rights of the form to be what it wants to be, using Louis Kahn’s phrase about brick, brick being whatever it wants to be. If a room wants to be, you are imaging a room needing to be a certain way. The shape of the room needs to manifest itself according to a certain rule about, let’s say geometry. They all need to have something and they all need to have it in order to be part of one thing. You understand sometimes that you can’t. The obstacle to the desire. Now, is that an alternative reality?

I guess the alternative reality is the obsessiveness that you have, the priority you give it, and the obsessive effort to deal with it, which is unrelated to the reality that determines everything else you are doing or that you are supposed to do. I am supposed to make these rooms perform these functions or I have this many of them and they meet the codes. Whatever. There are all sorts of things people want that have nothing to do with my desire, so you could call your desire and the problem it causes another reality from the reality that necessitates the project, that pays for the project…


Fig. 1: Tel Aviv Museum of Art

Dustin Page: By inserting a problem, it seems that A or B may be an invention within itself that causes the sequence that then solves the initial problem. PSC: Yes, I have to posit something. I have to put something forward. But architecture is always a bit of an invention of a new reality that didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t exist. I think there is an element to the new reality argument. And yes, you assert the form that then you want to do something, and then it canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t, so maybe thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a third component, just putting it down. There is something that is just posited arbitrarily, then you follow course (according to) what it suggests it needs to do and you want for it to. AD: It seems like cases such as Tel Aviv are moments when the problem is not so arbitrary. It becomes something that is worked through with the same ideas of geometry, but the problem is more directly related to architectural discourse and to the city.


PSC: Yes, those things are given… the city context. We are required to deal with it. It’s mandatory. It’s not voluntary. Voluntary is arbitrary. Mandatory is not arbitrary. Mandatory is the unavoidable, the absolute authority. Involuntary and voluntary is an important distinction I would make. I don’t have to do this because, I can do this as I wish … Given-ness is not arbitrary to me.

Fig. 2: Tel Aviv Museum of Art

AD: Something that was a bit touched on today is the aesthetic of your building or perhaps the dismissal of the aesthetic, specifically on the façade. However, in the moments when the projective geometry is something that gives you aperture, is that used as a clue in order for us to read the building or is it some way of reconnecting what you would consider the hidden core to the exterior facade and to the aesthetic? PSC: I claimed tonight that Taiyuan was trying to encompass a lot of level changes that were caused by the promenade inside of the building, it’s not really true. That shape kind of came first. It was crafted to make the outside a promenade, but still it wasn’t like it was responding to what it was doing on the inside. I made the inside develop so that it would appear that it had responded to it. It’s kind of a reverse order. There is a lot of conceit involved, deceit and conceit. You kind of have to get the building to work itself out, it’s chicken and egg and you don’t know what came first. And you could read it either way and that’s what I want. It used to be that I developed these shapes with geometric procedures would be somehow recorded in the (project). Now I would say they are just forms, the law of the form is the behavior of the surfaces. Conics and cylinders behave in certain ways. Hyperboloids in revolution, hyperbolic paraboloids, all of these things have certain behaviors, and if you want to


make them tangent with each other they cause certain things to happen. The steepness of the curvature sometimes is too extreme we have to calm it by changing the tangencies. We have to keep reworking it if we try to make these tangencies to accommodate other things. There are pressure points between the geometry and the demand of the program.

Fig. 3: Taiyuan Museum of Art

DP: It sounds that at some point you start taking liberties, some artistic liberties, some architectural. You are the author of this happening. So at what point do you start to take over from the geometry and to pull back? What is the play between you as an author and this as geometry? PSC: There is something called re-engineering. Not value-engineering, you go back and change the initial geometry to be what it needs to be later, but it is still self-regulated after you change it. It still looks self-regulated, it is still behaving self-regulated-ly, just in a different way. There is a lot of contamination. There is a lot of violation and betrayal â&#x20AC;ŚMy definition (of architecture), nobody asked me what it was. Mine at one time, which I stand by to some degree, architecture is the betrayal of geometry.

Images Courtesy Preston Scott Cohen

Stephanie Sang Delgado

Fig. 1: Her. 2013.

Fig. 1: Her. 2013.


The scientific, fantastical worlds that sci-fi films bring to life are highly saturated in color to create relationships between the viewer and the narrative. From the discovery of fire to the first Tungsten Incandescent light bulb, society has associated a warmer color temperature with heat and the past. As lighting technology advanced with fluorescents and LEDS, cooler color temperatures became culturally associated with the future and progress, while warmer color temperatures became nostalgic. Directors use these cultural associations with color temperatures as techniques to create levels of attachments between the audience and narrative in the film, whether it’s a sense of nostalgia or distance. Take, for instance, the films Her and Oblivion, two sci-fi films that take two distinctive approaches to color temperatures to bring the viewer into two different futures. The film Her is a sci-fi romantic comedy-drama that takes place in 2025 and tells the story of Theodore Thombly, a professional love-letter writer who develops a relationship with his operating system Samantha. Director Spike Jonze uses a rich selection of oranges and yellows to allow the viewer to nurture a personal connection with Theodore and Samantha’s relationship. During one of the first times they interact in the physical world, Theodore and Samantha go to the fair. With

his eyes closed, Theodore lets Samantha navigate him through the world by his cellphone’s camera, creating a sweet and comedic scene that makes you believe in their relationship. This scene not only creates a relationship between the audience and Theodore and Samantha, but it also humanizes Samantha. Even the vehicle through which he communicates with Samantha, the operating system and cellphone, is orange. This motif is repeated throughout the film through the character’s wardrobe and the haze of the city, both dressed in warm hues. Their world is full of nostalgia and warmth, and by giving Samantha a vehicle of similar color to communicate through, the audience creates an association of humanity and comfort with her. The use of warmer colors in combination with the overall warmer temperature of the film engages the viewer as a narrative, while allowing them to believe in this future. On the other hand, Oblivion uses a cooler color temperature to create a distant future. Taking place in 2077, Oblivion tells the story of a postapocalyptic Earth ravaged by an alien race and a human veteran who is sent back to Earth to scavenge for remaining resources. Director Joseph Kosinski, a professor at Columbia’s Graduate School of Architecture, Planning, and Preservation, uses a cooler palette in the film creating a futuristic


Fig. 2: Oblivion. 2013.


atmosphere. Through the heavy use of cooler light temperature, Kosinki detaches the viewer from the narrative and de-emphasizes the nostalgia. Though Kosinki uses both warm and cool colors, he uses the warmth sparingly and only to create an emotional separation between the human resistance versus the alien enemy. In scenes where alien spaces are being depicted, such as Tower 49, Jack and Victoriaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s station, and various spacecrafts, Kosinki uses a blue palette to create a disconnect between the viewer and the alien landscape. From the beginning, before we find out about Jack â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s true nature as a clone, we are disconnected. His entire world is pushed into a future free from nostalgia until he first encounters the human resistance, when Kosinki brings the warm color temperature into the film. The audience starts to create a relationship with the human resistance and roots for their success. Another point in the film that uses a warmer color temperature is the flashback to 2017, when Jack and Julia are reunited which connects them to the imminent future and the

characters. All other flashbacks or memories that Jack experiences are kept in black and white with a cooler temperature to create a disassociation. The future that is portrayed in the film Her seems tangible; not only do the set and costume design, but the oversaturation of yellow and orange allow for nostalgia to set in with the audience and creates an emotional connection with Theodore and Samantha. On the other hand, the future of Oblivion is distant and cold. Through the overly saturated blue future of the alien-ravaged Earth, the audience is pushed towards a future that is intangible and fantastical. The realm of science fiction uses an overt saturation of color in film to bring these worlds to life in our imagination and to question what our future hold.


Her. Dir. Spike Jonze. Perf. Joaquin Phoenix, Scarlet Johansson, Amy Adams, Rooney Mara and Matt Letscher. Annapurna Pictures, 2013. Film. Oblivion. Dir. Joseph Kosinski. Perf. Tom Cruise, Morgan Freeman, Olga Kurylenko, and Andrea Riseborough. Universal Pictures, 2013. Film.


Fig. 3: Her. 2013.


Fig. 4: Oblivion. 2013.



Cory Frost Curious laughter, patchwork greens with spliced roses too. Running lines, of lines Swift movement, but not a clue, faster, wilder, hereafterâ&#x20AC;Ś Pursue the noise, haul me like a viral shell, fade through filterless abyss Onto uninformed difference, All games and ploys My day-dreams are killed by day-browsing. Increased distance, density too, so curiosities entwine the laughter. Expose the limbo, not the cloudy ash of Cormac, Not quite DFW â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s TN. Jets fly overhead, dropping fish bombs to this dammed up creek. Still I bite this organic apple, listen to tinny ergonomic earbuds, blaring cheap algorithmic sound. The scales have strange balance, the everyday fantasy, fantasy everyday. A fuzzy frisbee plays magic with the eye, the skies of blue, the clouds aglow with cold white silence.


Kristy Balliet

Graphic Weave, proposes a lightweight, inhabitable lantern-like threshold. Using a novel construction system of woven Mylar strips reinforced with epoxy resin, the project creates a kaleidoscopic partial shelter that is continuously animated by its translucent printed surface. The proposal illustrates how digital modeling, patterned materials and rapid prototyping can be connected to produce a graphically rich volumetric installation that connects to the architectural spaces beyond. The installation takes a closer look at the traditional enfilade, a series of aligned volumes, and excessively multiplies the rich thresholds affiliated with this architectural device. The contemporary enfilade tactically employs scale, medium, and choreographed patterns to create an assembled figure. The curvaceous shield-like shells intersect to allow convex and concave surfaces to both enclose volume and allow it to slip in and out of view. Oculi-like openings frame views and permit light to enter. Graphic Weave seeks the boundary and exploits the tension between contained volume and infinite space. The shells are made from 70 small milled “shields”, each composed of developable Mylar (polyester film or plastic) strips that are computationally calculated, precisely cut and manually woven together. Once woven, the shields are then joined together with a zippering technique that feathers the seams and creates two large composite shells. The shells exhibit both structural and spatial qualities, intersecting and connecting into a contiguous yet ambiguous volume. The Mylar and epoxy assembly can be illuminated from internal or external light sources generating multiple experiences. The shells visually connect multiple spaces—horizontally, vertically, and diagonally—and sites to audiences.



































Tom Reifenberg

With the drive of sustainability saturating markets and industries ranging from coffee cups to weapon manufacturing, a greenwash fueled by talk of pragmatics and refurbishment has rewired the process of design. While we clamber over the possibilities of revitalizing brownfields and retrofitting industrial complexes for commercial and residential use, what possibilities lie ahead for projects established on landscapes of minimal historic intervention, relatively blank slates for a designer to manipulate? With brand new materials and the latest technologies installed, certain projects may dazzle visitors with crisp visuals and fascinating interventions. The environment, though, makes quick work of our interventions. Concrete cracks, water scours, hoodlums go to work… no matter the thoroughness of a plan, external factors will inevitably best any intent of keeping everything orderly and clean. Instead of focusing on a plan’s initial execution, I propose a shift in perception to a design’s longevity. Rather than ignoring these destructive factors, or anticipating costly replacements within a deteriorating project, I believe a designer’s primary intent may revolve around crafting a site, of materials both new and old, that will break with ease and fall into a disrepair that one need not manage or rectify. As a technical example, I present a redesigned windfarm, sited off of the East Coast. Rather than wasting the space within this massive gridded infrastructure, a system of barges, anchored to the turbine supports and brimming with earth, might play host to all manner of coastal trees. Further into the depths, a network of netting, often utilized in oyster farms, will provide a safe haven for all manner of mussels to colonize. While such a notion undoubtedly carries risks and failures, which will be discussed in the future, the ideal of intentional decay will allow it to carry on decades past a standard maintenance regime’s need for overhauling or replacing components.



1901: The California Development Company begins construction on irrigation canals that connect the Colorado River and the Salton Sink, looking to capitalize on the agricultural potential of the expansive Colorado Desert in Southern California. 1904: Outlooks for the Imperial Valley are very favorable, “a great prosperous future”2 is almost certain. 1905: Heavy rainfall and melting snow cause the Colorado River to begin to swell and flood the surrounding Salton Sink. 1906: The entire volume of the Colorado River is flowing into the nutrient-rich Salton Sink. Continuous flooding lasts for sixteen consecutive months. 1907: The Colorado River is finally redirected to its historic bed, but the damage has been done. The Salton Sea had been created. 1927: The first resort, Eliers Date Plam Beach, opens along the Salton Sea. 1942: The Navy opens the Salton Sea Test Base along southwest shore of the Sea. 1958: Salton City is established.

1. Situation of the Salton Sea north of California’s Imperial Valley


PART 1 After the chaos of the continual flooding of the Salton Sink, when the Colorado River was finally re-routed in 1907, the resultant body of water was coined the Salton Sea. The potential of this body of water, essentially a puddle in the middle of the desert, was quickly realized, and the first resort was built along its edge in 1927. Date Palm Beach was the seed that would grow into a blooming tree of prospects. Cities such as Salton City, Bombay Beach, and Desert shores began popping up and selling housing on a speculative basis, because how could this new paradise provide anything but prosperity?



During the 1950s, Salton City was THE place to be. The North Shore Yacht Club became the hub of the Salton Seaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s most prominent visitors. With frequenters such as Frank Sinatra, the Rat Pack, Jerry Lewis, The Beach Boys and the Marx Brothers, Californians followed their lead and flocked to the new desert oasis. The fishing industry was booming, boat racing was becoming a common occurence on the sea, and tourism in the area was on the rise. This accidental collection of water in a remote part of the Colorado Desert was enroute to becoming the next Palm Springs.




Unfortunately, the dream of Salton City would not last. Within forty years, the Salton Sea had blossomed as a new paradise, thrived as a desert oasis, and perished in horrific beauty.

Lesson 1: If itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s too good to be true, proceed with caution. Lesson 2: Speculation is just that -- speculation. ( To be expanded upon in Part II.)




Notes 1 United States Department of the Interior. (n.d.). Salton Sink Map 1908 [Digital image]. Retrieved October 15, 2014, from _ Sink _1908.jpg 2-4 [Photographs]. (n.d.). Historic photos of the Salton Sea and North Shore Yacht Club, Salton Sea History Museum. 5 A 1950â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Hot Spot. (n.d.). Retrieved October 10, 2014, from 6 M . (n.d.). [Photograph found in Salton Sea]. Retrieved October 10, 2014, from com (Originally photographed 2008, February 2)


J. Riley Cruttenden

In a world saturated with digital illusions, photoshopped simulations, and less-than-tangible renderings, the art museum seems to be a rare refuge for authentic experience. As you wander through the Galleria Borghese beautiful objects and mysterious images are as ubiquitous as visitors. It’s quite possible to give Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Woman a perfunctory glance while making your way to see his more dynamic Deposition, in which case you may miss a charming enigma. The portrait is a formulaic, Mona Lisa-esque Renaissance image; its readily legible compositional devices along with the young woman’s penetrating gaze might distract you from the painting’s most fantastic element: the unicorn in the sitter’s lap. While the ‘maiden and unicorn’ theme was commonly employed by Renaissance artists,1 a unicorn of such small proportions is quite uncommon. A closer inspection reveals that the unicorn is doubly out of place. Not only is its scale incongruous in a portrait of this type, the unicorn also seems stylistically irreconcilable with the rest of the painting. For instance, the soft, clean, golden locks of the young woman seem to be from an entirely different hand than the rough, muddy fur of the animal in her lap. As it turns out, the painting has been heavily modified at least twice.


Portrait of a Young woman with a Unicorn Oil on Canvas, 67 X 56 cm Raphael, 1505-1506 Galleria Borghese 6


The gallery’s official guide explains: The canvas may be admired today in its original state thanks to the conservation of 1953 , which removed subsequent repainting that had transformed the portrait of a young woman into a representation of St. Catherine of Alexandria and hidden the landscape behind her. The unicorn...was, in fact, concealed by the attributes of the saint’s martyrdom--the wheel and the palm--while a cloak covered her shoulders. These alterations were probably made at the end of the 17th century when the canvas, according to the inventory of 1682 appeared to be “ badly flaking”. 2 In this brief passage the gallery guide intimates the difficult nature of art conservation. Attempts to keep the painting alive in the 17th century involved transforming the image into something entirely new by painting over the 200 year old Raphael work. Later art conservators saw fit the erasure of a 250 year old layer of paint (the St. Catherine transformations) to reveal the 450 year old work by Raphael. What the gallery guide conspicuously omits is the process of cleaning and the extent of conservation efforts in 1953. The paint removal likely involved the use of solvents and a good deal of scraping—of which neither process can discern 250 year old paint from 450 year old paint. This probably resulted in a good deal of image loss, the disappearance of fine textures and brush strokes, and a reduction in luminosity and color vibrancy, otherwise key elements of an authentic object. Is the Portrait of a Young Woman with a Unicorn therefor less authentic as a result of its conservation or did the 1953 conservation reveal a hitherto unknowable truth about the painting? How different the young woman must have been dawning a cloak, holding St. Catherine’s wheel, and lacking her unicorn. Though, what if the over-painting had been done by Andrea Pozzo or Francesco di Maria? Would the Pozzo additions not have had art historical merit of their own? However, that’s nothing but far-fetched speculation. Fortunately conservators deal with facts. Facts, however, aren’t always easy to come by. Facts, much of the time, involve more speculation and guess work than we are comfortable admitting. For instance, if removing the overpainting partially erased the original painting, how did conservators know there was a unicorn in the woman’s lap?



They didn’t. Recent multi-spectral analysis of the painting used a series of deep imaging tools to reveal that before the St. Catherine transformations there was no unicorn at all; instead a puppy sat tenderly in the woman’s lap3. Making the analysis further challenging, under-images of the original sketch reveal that, “Raphael never painted anything in the young woman’s arms; she held them folded on her lap.”4 This high-tech analysis proposes the following sequence of events: (1) a sketch was made of a woman with her hands resting on her lap; (2) the image of the woman was painted, also with her hands resting on her lap; (3)at an unknown point in time a dog was added to the woman’s lap; (4) attributes of St. Catherine were over-painted; (5) attributes of St. Catherine were removed by conservators in 1953; and (6) a unicorn was added in place of the dog5 (presumably by the same conservators). This is a distinct departure from the Borghese guide chronology that purports the unicorn existed before the 1953 conservation. Mustn’t these highly sophisticated imaging tools reveal a more honest and authentic history? After all they are the product of science and facts rather than subjective speculation. Perhaps they do help us understand historical moments from an objects past, but they are still not definitive. In the case of Portrait of a Young Woman with a Unicorn the multi-spectral analysis permits us to see the original sketch and the subsequent painting of a woman with a dog. The analysis assumes that the painting was first completed without a dog. It is not impossible to paint without a drawing, so why should we assume that the woman and the dog were painted at different points in time by different artists? Further art historical and physicochemical analysis could support or refute authorial claims regarding the puppy. If the imaging tools were instead used to map zones of probable authenticity they would likely reveal that roughly 25% of the painting appears today as it would have when Raphael originally completed the work. The young woman’s face seems to be the only part of the composition that has not been subject to dramatic transformations. Her situation unfolds over time as Jan van Eyck ’s Portrait of a Man in a Turban unfolds in composition; a flamboyant vortex of action envelopes her head while her torso retains a statuesque stillness and her visage remains impervious to the ordeal.

There is a tendency when visiting a museum or gallery to see works of art as static. They seem frozen in time like tidy artefacts plucked from a moment in



history. Art seems removed from time, too, as though the idea of a painting or sculpture is itself a legacy that will be carried forward in perpetuity. The notions of historicity and timelessness resonate when you experience an original work of art, inducing a sense of reverence and awe. While this is a valuable way of engaging with a work of art, historical authenticity is often more of an affectation than a reality and the significance of a work of art can never be fully captured outside of the object itself. Placing value on historicity and timelessness negates the time-dependent nature of art objects and removes them from the world of the living. The reality is that art is very much like us. Each work of art has a rich and complicated past, each work physically responds to environmental conditions, and each work must adapt to the pressures of time to which it will eventually succumb. Complexity and ephemerality directly conflict with a singular historical narrative and ideas of permanence. This dissonance is valuable to encounter, an experience that is at once painful and beautiful. To conserve an object is to directly influence the dialogue between the objectâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s timelessness and time-dependence. Art conservators can have a role in gathering up the layered and sometimes conflicting identities art collects over time. Rather than reaching for over-simplified historical narratives, conservators can lay bare the fluid authenticities of art. Unless this attitude meets the vision and direction of a museum, the responsibility to discern the factual from the fantastical remains with the viewer. to be continued...


1. Gotfredsen, Lise. The Unicorn. Trans. Anne Born. New York: Abbeville Publishers, 1999. Print. 2. Moreno, Paolo, and Stefani, Chiara. The Borghese Gallery. Touring Club Italiano: Milano, 2000. Print. 3. Seracini, Maurizio, Xiao, Xiao, et al. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Tangible Interface for Art Restoration. International Journal of Creative Interfaces and Computer Graphics. 1 (1) (2010): 54 - 66. Web. Oct 1 2010. <http:// _ ijcicg.pdf> 4. Ibid., 62. 5. Ibid., 63. 6. Raphael. Portrait of a Young Woman with a Unicorn. 1505- 06. Galleria Borghese. Raphael - The Yorck Project: 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei. DVD-ROM, 2002. Directmedia Publishing GmbH. Web. 1 Oct 2014. < Young _Woman _with _ Unicorn#mediaviewer/File:Raffael _ 046.jpg>


See Also Hermans, Erma, and Tina Fiske, eds. Art Conservation and Authenticities: Material, Concept, Context. London: Archetype Publications, 2009. Print. Forster, Kurt, ed. Oppositions. New York: The Institute for Architecture and Urban Studies, Fall 1982. 25. Print.



Kristy Balliet

Kristy Balliet is an Assistant Professor of Architecture at the Knowlton School of Architecture at The Ohio State University and founder of Balliet Studio, a design and research practice. Balliet is invested in volumetric exploration and digital representation. She has lectured and exhibited work internationally.

J. Riley Cruttenden

J. Riley Cruttenden is a bikecommuting, architecture-loving graduate student and aspiring conservator. In his free time heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s likely to be traveling, cooking up fresh vegetarian food, or conserving early to mid-twentieth century drawings and architetural photoreproductions from the Herman J. Albrecht Library of Historical Architecture.

Allison Drda

Allison Drda is in her 6th and final year at The Knowlton School of Architecture. She is an enthusiast and dearly loves to laugh.

Cory Frost

Cory Frost is a third year Architecture graduate student at the Knowlton School. He enjoys metonyms, idioms, disjointed spacing, a good ruse, and serial commas. Cory grew up in Cincinnati, went to undergrad in Baltimore, and now lives in Columbus. He thinks that all superhero stories start with the death of the protagonist, enabling the rest of the story to be possible. This sentence is purely to have a fifth sentence.

Samuel Fudala

Samuel Fudala is a senior at the Knowlton School of Architecture with a love of contour and lineweight.

Jelena Loncar

Jelena Loncar is currently a fourth year architecture student at the Knowlton School of Architecture. She is a native of the city of blood, sweat, and steel, Cleveland. She likes fab things.


Dustin Page

Stephanie Sang Delgado

Dustin Page is a Masters of Architecture graduate candidate at the Knowlton School of Architecture. His article “Between the Second and Third Dimensions” appeared in Issue 008.

Stephanie Sang Delgado is currently a third year graduate student of architecture at the KSA . When she’s not in Knowlton, she’s baking cakes.

Jake Pfahl

Jake Pfahl is a designer, writer and artist currently in the second year of the Undergraduate Architecture program at Ohio State.

Michelle Schneider

Michelle Schneider: Ohio, 22. Fourth year undergraduate architecture. You can tell a lot about a person by their favorite coffee mug, One:Twelve bio, and socks.

Jessica Sprankle Matt Quijada

Matt Quijada is a third year graduate student in the Architecture program. He has lived in Los Angeles, Nashville, and Columbus. He has also been known to say he is from Cincinnati, though he has no ties to Cincinnati whatsoever.

Jessica is a fourth year Architecture student at the Knowlton School and is the VP of One:Twelve. She grew up just outside of Youngstown, which explains her fascination with all things rusty, and potentially her taste for loud rap music.

Syntax Tom Reifenberg

Tom is rambling through his undergraduate fourth year of landscape architecture. When not obsessing over this realm of design, he spends his days hatching schemes to rule gypsies.

Curtis Roth

Curtis Roth is currently a partner at OfficeUS, headquartered in the United States pavilion at the 14th international Biennale di Venezia. Prior to that he served as the 20132014 Howard E. Lefevre ‘29 Emerging Practitioner fellow at the Knowlton School of Architecture, at the Ohio State University.

Syntax is a design collective started in the Knowlton School of Architecture. The founding members are Levi Bedall, Christian Golden, Aaron Powers, and Gentley Smith. Currently, Levi is starting a design company in Providence, Rhode Island. Christian is working at Meis Architects in New York City. Aaron is working at Büro - Ole Scheeren in Beijing, China, and Gentley is working at L.E.FT in New York City. The members are better known as Beetle, Creature, Armpit, and Smudge.

Cheyenne Vandevoorde

Cheyenne Vandevoorde, 4th year, Arch. Minimal, baby.


CALL F O R E N T RIE S If you would like to submit your work to be included in a future issue of One:Twelve, send it our way:



One:Twelve would like to thank The Knowlton School and its Director Michael Cadwell for their enthusiasm and steadfast support of this publication. Special thanks to Jeff Kipnis and Rob Livesey who have shown a special care for the journal and who without, this would have been impossible. Thanks to the students, faculty, alumni, and friends, who helped bring this issue together in a surprisingly short amount of time. Without your passion we would not be able to maintain our mission: to provide a venue for students to engage in independent critical discourse and to bring together the collective voices of the Knowlton community. We hope you enjoy our production.

Thank you, One:Twelve


Image Credit: Fredrik Marsh


Stephen Turk Fabrication Team: Paul Adair, Josh Heinen, Alex Mann, and John Yurchyk

The Voxel Tower is part of Jeff Kipnis’ and Stephen Turk ’s Figure Ground Game at Sci-Arc which was shown between January and April of 2014.

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