STUDIO ARC300: THIRD YEAR DESIGN
University of Kansas, School of Architecture and Urban Design
Nils Gore, Assistant Professor

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Aaron Harte

the Program
The encapsulation of space is an integral part of architecture. The architect defines the size of any certain area, where one may enter and exit the space, how it appears to the inhabitant, what the viewer is allowed to see beyond the defining edges and what is hidden, and even the emotional or subliminal effect that that certain space provides. All of these issues and others as well can be studied in many ways by altering and exploring the uses and appearance of the simplest day-to-day objects. One such object is a cardboard box. The material of cardboard offers ease of use and durability for manipulation, along the benefits from an economical standpoint.

the Design
First, one must develop an idea, for instance, the idea that I have chosen,, the effect that one space may have on the inhabitant as opposed to the effect that space’s negative may have. While the idea is being formed and developed, the designer must ask himself several questions: What is driving this idea; what is its intention? How will I design it? and then, how did I come up with this? How can I get the most of this theory? and finally, where can this go? In the exploration of providing two different experiences technically in the same space, one can begin to ask oneself these questions to help him progress through the process. In the first step of the design, I first decided to study the spaces in their simplest form by taking a 1’ x 1’ x 1’ cardboard cube and defining it in two exactly opposite ways. The first cube only defined the edges, leaving the center of the walls transparent to the viewer. The second box only defined the central part of the walls, leaving the outer edges of the cube vacant and with out definition. The driving force at this point mirrors the intention, and which is to discover the differences between these two spaces. Each of the two spaces offers its own articulations. The box without walls offers a feeling of openness and lack of boundary, while the other offers enclosure and limited views. The designer, as I did, must ask oneself what is more important, the openings or the views? The answer will work to construct the next step in the process.

the Next step
From the process of taking the opposite of a singular object, the concept of duality emerges. This concept requires the presence of both pieces in order to achieve the full effect. This idea must be taken into consideration before proceeding to the next level of design. One resolution that I chose to work with was to combine the two cubes into a single cube. The designer must then begin to articulate the idea because the simple act of combining the cubes would be too simple. By not only mixing the six sides to form a cube, I chose to combine the two ideas on each side to create character. At this point, the designer is no longer taking the negative of two different cubes, he is taking the negative of his concept and applying it to an object to explore its possible effects on architecture. My result was smaller cubes situated within the larger cube, each being the exact opposite in theory of the wall to which it was attached. By doing this, a number of questions are formed. Is there a necessity for balance? If so, how can this be achieved? Is symmetry the only logical resolution for balance, or will an asymmetrical arrangement of these smaller cubes offer a more dynamic spatial enclosure? Also, what regulates the size of the smaller cubes? Is it the use of symmetry or asymmetry that determines size? Is the use of a mathematical scheme necessary? Or can the size of the cubes be formed based purely on visual satisfaction?

the Result
The architect must consider exactly what something does to make it appealing to the eye. The combination of these two ideas, and the addition of an asymmetrical form of balance will generally lead to a sense of confusion for the user. This confusion can be used to the architect’s advantage with careful design. At first glance, the resultant cube appears ordinary, but upon further viewing, certain characteristics work to mislead the user and allow an increase in interest. It is at this point that the user must regain a grasp on exactly what is going on to take in a full effect. Just as the viewer thinks that he has his mind around it, let him begin to doubt his initial understanding. After a second take at the design, let him know that his mind was on top of it the entire time. It is at this point that the architect must decipher the line at which complexity ends and complication begins. We as architects must continue to ask ourselves what can we do to further confuse the user, what can be done to push the limits of complexity without going to far. Complication tends to work against the design by requiring an excess of thought by the user. The design should be complex enough to posses that “something,” but not be too complicated so that a rocket scientist must be present to figure out your idea.

The whirligig project combined both the design and build aspects of architecture. Individually, each of us was asked to produce a wind-driven machine, built out of simple, everyday materials. I envisioned my project as a series of three stages: Inspiration, Assembly, and Result. I used this three-stage concept to develop the layout of my whirligig. I have divided my whirligig into three layers, each with its own function. The first layer, inspiration, would be the wind, the source for all of its movement and origination of its process. The second layer mirrors the production stage of the project; it is doing the work. It is complicated in idea and deals with
the complexity of materials. The last layer is the result. It is simple in definition and requires little thought to figure out.

The inspiration for my whirligig was found in the manipulation of my chosen material, steel music wire. As a method of consistency and workability, Iused various sizes of threaded pipe to transform the wire into coils. Although the coils ended up not being a predominant character within my design, they still played an integral part in the whirligig. The production stage of my process involved a number of test designed to manipulate the initial circular motion caused by the wind and transform it into motion of several directions. The resultant of my whirligig was Toto and Dorothy flying around a tornado.

This project focused on the workmanship. It was not only the design that had to be successful; it was also the construction. Throughout the process of production, certain limitations formed within each of the materials. These limitations had to be taken into account in order for the final product to be successful. If these problems were avoided, in the end, the project would more than likely not work. This concept is also consistent within the architectural field. Each material harbors its own limitations, each requiring knowledge and ability of control. Pye discusses the “workmanship of risk;” here he explains that the end result is almost unpredictable. This was evident many times throughout the course of my project. Many of the positive aspects of my primary material of choice, brass, within the stage of motion transformation also seemed to continually work against me. Brass conducts heat extremely well, allowing for ease when soldering. This exact aspect also causes a number of problems. The heat initiates a reaction of chemicals between the grease, flux, and brass itself, which forms a paste like substance limiting the ease of movement between parts. This presented an obvious speed bump in the road to accomplishing the fabric of my idea. I was forced into a great deal of compromise as a result, which offered food for thought in terms of architecture itself. Each design, no matter what scale, or with any material, will introduce problems. Anybody can design a building and anybody could solve these problems, but it is our jobs as architects to solve these things in an intelligent fashion. Pye states, “No designer can make a bad workman produce good workmanship.” This in my mind is true, but a good designer can control the workers mistakes. A good architect must have a knowledge of all materials and their applications. A backup plan must always be on call for any situation. It is the architect’s duty to be able to predict these situations. We must design to the workers level of craft. Just as a quality worker can produce quality results, a skilled and knowledgeable architect can produce quality mistakes. It was a mistake at the beginning stages of the design process that developed my entire goal. I found that steel music wire desires to remain in its original shape, straight. As I ignorantly attempted to manipulate this material into coils, one piece slipped from my grasp and instantly uncoiled itself in an inconsistent fashion. The resultant was a tornado like shape, which inspired the Wizard of Oz theme. It is at these mistakes that we as architects must use the “workmanship of risk” to our advantage. In essence, each place of poor craft or ignorance to material limitations results in a type of articulation. These places unintentionally break the monotony of fine craft and precision and introduce character. The viewer can perceive this character in either a positive or negative way. We as architects must prepare for these places in order to provide a source of dynamics for our designs. In my whirligig, it was nearly impossible for both the looks and functionality to be perfect, both aspects called for contradicting elements. In the end, it is my craft that I have chosen to compromise, leaving a feeling of looseness and lack of precision. I have chosen to make it appear as impossible to work, while in reality, the product accomplishes its intended duty. It is my opinion that something that appears perfect but really does not work is far less successful than a sloppy looking machine that accomplishes its chosen feat. The product was a rough machine-like quality on this layer of imprecision, while resulting in a smooth and classical theme.