design by hand part two

Below is another blog post I wrote for the company I work for, which you can also find here.

As I mentioned in my last post—there is a strong physical connection between a person and his or her hand-drawn or written work. This is mainly due to the role of the pencil and paper, which Paolo Belardi talks about in his book Why Architects Still Draw. I want to explore this idea further to learn what that connection is and how it compares to the connection a human has with a computer.

This connection can be clearly seen through the way in which physicality of writing with a pencil on paper (how the beginning draft of this text began) allows me to experience the intimate process of writing that begins first with forming the shapes which become letters. These letters turn into words, which come together to make sentences, which become paragraphs that finally complete this blog post. This doesn’t occur without the physical experience of scribbling and crossing things out along the way. Belardi writes:

“When editing a text, for instance, the hand might perform from four or five million small movements, which all together give rise to the marks on the paper. When we write though, we don’t have full control of our handwriting: we trace in an automatic and conscious way, given that, during just one second of writing, our hand is subject to at least ten graphic impulses. In this way, unconscious automation related to the complicated neurological-muscle activity happens so that, as Henri Focillion maintains, ‘the mind rules over the hand; hand rules over mind.’”

The typed second draft is a much different experience—I have much less of a personal connection to what I’m creating. When I process my thoughts on a computer, it is more rigid. I type, erase, type again, until I have a final product. When I erase something on the computer, I simply press a button and it’s gone. It disappears as quickly as I was able to create it, which makes it a much less permanent part of my thought process as well. There is not much of a drafting or editing process when it comes to the computer. I sacrifice control when I use a computer because I can’t simply move my hand to the outside of the page to make a quick note. Not only do I have the mouse and the screen standing in the way, but also the program coding which prevents me from doing what would otherwise be natural. The creative process is limited to the framework that the tool and the computer allow you. This is opposed greatly to the engaging experience of using, as many have for ages, a pencil on paper.

The time it takes to write by hand versus the speed with which I type allows me to interact with my imagination and creativity while continuing fluidly my original thought process. Belardi goes on to say, “Many details related to the elusive nature of creativity may be successfully pursued in the mental images that are evoked in this “black hole” of the drawing act.” The “black hole” refers to the 350 milliseconds that our subconscious is free to pursue creativity and imagination.

At the computer, my hands sit idle and impatient, waiting to come up with a new sentence. The keyboard prevents me from doodling. It doesn’t allow my thoughts to wander, tapping into my imagination and creativity. Computers and creativity aren’t compatible. Had I skipped the crucial first step of using a pencil and paper during the drafting process, I would have missed out on the intimate experience of processing—an experience that is only possible because of the connection with the pencil and the creativity allowed by the freedom of the process.

The same is true with drawing. When you sketch something by hand, you feel the shapes, lines and angles forming. You experience the physical erasing of an element of the drawing. You are the crux of its creation as well as its destruction. The time that it takes for your hand to create makes you more and more familiar with the object or space being creating. Martin Gay Ford says, “Drawing makes you see things clearer, and clearer, and clearer still. The image is passing through you in a physiological way, into your brain, into your memory – where it stays – it’s transmitted by your hands.” A computer on the other hand, is not as forgiving to this personal process. It does not offer the space necessary for creativity to flourish or for a relationship with the product to occur. It inhibits the flow of thought to hand, hand to pencil and pencil to paper.

Although the computer may not be a good processing tool or creative outlet doesn’t mean it can’t be used at all. It can be a great tool for the second draft stage when you have already had the chance to think something through and work it with the creative space and freedom that a pencil on paper allows.

design by hand

Below is a blog post I wrote for the company I work for, which you can also find here.

Building and landscape architecture drawing began with only a pencil, paper, a hand and an imagination. It’s often these little things that matter the most, but are unfortunately the easiest to replace. Today we have computer programs built to help us design faster and more efficiently. They have become popular to the point of replacing hand drawings all together. Computer programs may help us design faster and more efficiently, but it’s important to realize what we are losing.

Something important happens when a person touches their pencil to a piece of paper. He/she begins to create something out of nothing and physically feel the space their mind is signaling their hand to create. In a recent New York Times article titled Architecture and the Lost Art of Drawing, Michael Graves writes “When I draw something, I remember it […] That visceral connection that thought process cannot be replicated by a computer.” The hand may be the link between one’s mind and the computer, but there is an added barrier between the mouse and the computer screen that does not exist where a pencil meets paper. He goes on to say, “Drawings are not just end products: they are part of the thought process of architectural design”.

Not only is hand drawing important for the artist in a physical way, but in an emotional way as well. As an artist creates and develops their vision on paper, they include their personality, imagination and even drawing style. Graves notes, “…drawing by hand stimulates the imagination and allows us to speculate about ideas, a good sign that we’re truly alive”. Imagination is essential to art and without it, there can be no art. When a landscape designer draws, they become an essential and eternal part of that design—as with any true artist and their work—they should be.

Seeing a hand rendering of your own property is comparable to receiving a hand written letter in the mail. A letter involves the writer and the personal time he/she took to meditate and compose their thoughts through the medium of his/her own personal handwriting. The letter could have been written on a private stationary, which could have been created by another artist. The letter was touched and shuffled through several hands and minds before it traveled via automobile and was carefully placed in your mailbox. All romantic notions aside, there is a simple truth to the undefinable experience that cannot be easily captured by sending an email. This reality is no less significant when you compare hand rendered landscape design with something similar from a digital medium.

The experience or even popularity of these programs is not fundamentally a problem, but the complete extinction of the pencil and paper may be. Computer programs have made landscape design faster, cheaper and easier. This is good for the client who wants to save time and money, but it is not good for the industry: when the emphasis of landscape design shifts from art to efficiency, we no longer need hand drawn designs; and when we no longer need hand drawn designs, we no longer need the artist behind them either. We don’t need to abandon the computer in order for this to change, we simply need to value the details and the process over the result and how cheap and quick we were able to get it.

home is where your pup is

loss of identity and the redirection of architecture

Hesitantly, I walk out my front door to my vehicle which allows me to access the roads. These roads allow me to go wherever I would like to, subjecting me to the forlorn decay of architecture that permeates the space humans have dominated. Architecture, in this essay, encompasses everything that establishes our inhabited places. Our inhabited places need to be looked at holistically, for buildings are constructed to fit our environment and way of living. Inhabited places includes roads, sidewalks, highways, parking lots, buildings, and homes. The harmful perspective we have exhibited toward the places we inhabit have perpetuated a sense of apathy toward our architecture, along with values that cause us to have a disposable view of our environment and ourselves.

Architecture was once commonly seen as a form of art and this idea began in ancient Greece and Rome. Before I go any further, I need to qualify the meaning of art itself. Being such a controversial idea, art tends toward a subjective nature and changes steadily in its meaning throughout history. For example, ancient Greece would define art as achieving some form of absolute beauty, which I can address more in-depth later on. On the contrary, a postmodern perspective on art would be that of relativism, meaning art is whatever you want it to be. This leads me to my own definition of art: the expression of thoughts, emotions, or ideas that cannot be expressed rationally, while always being an end to something, never a means. In other words, art is another medium of expression that is used mainly for that purpose, although can be enjoyed by others as well. Makoto Fujimura, an artist who has explored this idea in-depth says, “What makes us truly human may not be how fast we are able to accomplish a task but what we experience fully, carefully, and quietly in the process” (27). The process of creating art is just as important, if not more important than the product that is being created.

Some of the greatest pieces of ancient art exist as forms of architecture like the Parthenon in Greece. They were intentional about the buildings they constructed and had strong convictions about the importance of their creation. Their work was rooted in something of a higher essence. It was the attempt at pushing the boundaries of what is humanly possible for the sake of creating beauty. Rome held onto the same ideals and used them to glorify their Empire. Their goals in architecture were rooted in more worldly values, which were to glorify something on earth. Ancient Greece and Rome were able to create architecture that was pleasing to the public because of their primary intention and goal of creating. Whether they were reaching for something of a higher essence or glorifying something on earth, they had a reason for creating something worth appreciating. Architecture was far more than providing shelter and function—it is a medium for expressing thoughts, emotions/feelings and ideas.

Therefore, since art is a means of expression and architecture is a form of art, architecture is also a form of expression. A.J. Downing, one of the first great landscape designer in the U.S., explains the power of expression through any form of art, like architecture, says, “To be keenly sensible of the power of even the imperfect reproduction of such ideas in the various fine arts— poetry, music, painting, sculpture, architecture, etc.—is to acknowledge the power of beauty over our feelings in another and a more personal form” (9). Although Downing wrote this in 1850, the validity of these words has not changed. Art forms, like architecture are a reproduction of feelings in a more personal way. Art forms have power, power to convey emotion, power to make a statement, and power to make people feel a certain way. Downing goes on to explain the idea of expression through architecture. He describes how relative beauty in architecture is man’s expression of his ideas. The more powerful expression comes from his religious and intellectual nature which are exhibited in Civil Architecture, which are things like temples, churches, and libraries. Downing also says, the second most powerful expression comes from his social and moral feelings which are exhibited in Domestic Architecture. The connection between art and architecture is one that has since been lost over one hundred and fifty years later. We have since lost this idea of the importance of architecture and the effect it has on humans. We have also since lost architects who value architecture as a form of art or expression. Architecture is no longer a form of art in today’s society, it is simply an occupation, nothing more. Fujimura says, “Art is a building block of civilization. A civilization that does not value its artistic expression is a civilization that does not value itself” (111). Art is essential to a civilization; it is the very medium that humans use to express themselves, a medium that signifies our humanity. A world without this ability of expression is a dull and apathetic world, a world where people are so preoccupied with their routines, they end up ignoring their surroundings and are too busy to care or too apathetic to notice.

This change in architecture is more accurately attributed to the events going back to the American Revolution, according to James Howard Kunstler who is the author of The Geography of Nowhere. He describes the foundations of American space and the ideology that was rooted in it. Americans were rebelling against the English rule and adopted a fee simple land ownership, which he describes as “land held with the fewest strings attached—the fee being simple cash payment” (25). This simple fee land ownership is opposed to being accountable to someone for land and how to take care of it. This seemed like a fantastic idea—more freedom and more individuality. Kunstler goes on to say, “Tocqueville observed this when he toured America in 1831. ‘Individualism,’ he wrote, ‘at first, only saps the virtues of public life; but in the long run it attacks and destroys all others and is at length absorbed in selfishness’” (27). Selfishness, being the result of freedom and individualism, to which we took years to come. Prior to this, Americans took care of their land and architecture. They were responsible of their land in their celebration of their new-found freedom from England. They held on to the ideals that they had been rooted in from birth and used architecture as a form of art and a way of expressing their humanity. As it naturally would, the ideals of society began to change as the American Dream became more accessible. It was now possible for people to work their way up on the social ladder. Money and status were the ideal, not beauty or expression of humanity. Americans were doing everything they could to make a name for themselves so jobs were now centered on making the most money. Since there was no government or town regulation on land, people began to neglect their space and in place came function.

With any change, there are both positive and negative effects. We must look at the things being gained and the things that are also being lost to determine whether the change was either beneficial or detrimental. Neil Postman addresses the change that occurs with any new invention or idea that is introduced to our society in his book, Technopoly. Although his main focus is on technology, he provides valuable insight to the way we need to approach change. Postman says, “Nowhere does he see any limit placed by nature to human endeavor; in his eyes something that does not exist is just something that has not been tried” (53). This is the perspective that many architects may experience as well. They continue to discover a better way to build with cheaper or more useful materials and building bigger and more functional buildings. In Alain De Botton’s book, The Architecture of Happiness, he writes:

Mastering the technologies of iron and steel, of plate glass and concrete, they drew interest and inspired awe with their bridges, railway hangars, aqueducts and docks. More novel than their abilities, perhaps, was the fact that they seemed to complete these projects without ever directly asking themselves what style was best to adopt (46).

Architects and engineers were so enthusiastic about the new materials and the possibilities they offered that they no longer viewed their work as a form of art. This quick and cost-effective method may be beneficial for corporations and middle-class families looking for homes in suburbia, yet not worth the negative effects that will be an outflow of the shift in values. With every major cultural change there is something being gained, while at the same time, there is also something lost. The values that our country was rooted in, the goals that drove people to achieve the impossible are what we have sacrificed through this change.

Form follows function is a necessary principle that has been adapted in shaping our buildings and spaces in order to meet the demand of the function. Functionality cannot be seen as the only concern, especially not when it sacrifices the artistic expression of the architect or the creator themselves. I do not mean to say that architecture is purely a form of art, functionality is absolutely necessary in our everyday life. However, whether or not architecture is functional is not the question; man’s footprint in this world is enough evidence to prove that functionality is well understood. So somehow we are perfectly accepting of roads and buildings as long as they serve a purpose, even if they are painful to view. Peter Blake, a dean of the Boston Architectural Center, addresses the result of functionality being the ultimate goal in his book, God’s Own Junkyard. He explains how houses are being built on whatever piece of land man can find. Farms are being transformed into developments and apartments. More pavement needs to be laid for more roads and bigger parking lots to comfortably fit the amount of people who now own cars. This contamination does not end in the undeveloped use of the entirety of our ground, even the skyline is a space that has potential use as well. There are telephone poles and billboards clouding our view of natural landscapes and skylines. Man is not yet finished making his territory in this nation and this is sadly becoming a devastating reality.

Not only are we continuing to shape our buildings based on our values, but they are affecting us as well. This idea is very circular and will remain circular unless something drastic offsets this circular pattern. Winston Churchill gave a speech regarding the rebuilding of the House of Commons on October 28, 1944. He stated, “We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” As money and status become our main goal in our buildings, we begin to become apathetic to the architecture around us. Buildings tell stories and they portray emotions of the architect who designed them and the men who constructed them. Our buildings will continue to represent the values of our culture and will continue this cycle of shaping who we are in the process.

Our apathy toward the places we inhabit will perpetuate more apathy and hopelessness in our desire to do anything about it. Architecture should be seen as a form of art, like it once was. It should display humanity’s hope in something greater than itself. The value of art and beauty as it is seen in man’s inhabited space, has been lost; with that, an endless list of other values that are essential to a thriving community. This issue starts and ends with man. We are the builders of our environment and unless our values change, our architecture will remain hopeless. We are only as good as the limits we place on ourselves. This is certainly an issue if we believe that our end goal is function, comfort and status. We have nothing left to achieve. We have it all and nowhere else to go but down. Moreover, if our architecture remains hopeless, we will inevitably remain hopeless as well.

//

a cloned community

“A house can have integrity, just like a person,’ said Roark, ‘and just as seldom.” –The Fountainhead

What does our architecture say about us? I know I have touched on this idea previously, but I think this question is incredibly pertinent, so pertinent that I will repeat it—what does our architecture say about us?

I think it says we don’t care. We are apathetic to our surroundings and the fact that we continue to build these cookie cutter communities, connected only by pavement and concrete seems to be proof. These communities are desirable, but not because they are created for low-income families–they are chosen by the middle-class and wealthy. Specific developments are even built for wealthier people who pay extra for fancy features to which they have in common with the rest of their street. They are not formed due to a last resort–these developments are actually wanted and desired. Many who live there may be seeking community for their family and children, but I would be willing to bet that the majority of people do not even know their neighbors, especially if they are not planning to stay there for long. All of which can occur due to this unspoken communal acceptance of aesthetically uncomfortable spaces.

I think we may be too afraid to admit that our surroundings affect us, possibly because it would require too much responsibility. It would require work, money, time and consideration. Most people see that as a major drawback and resort to function, low-cost, quick and ugly. Since when did this list universally outweigh the previous? Believe it or not, there have been cultures that would have never chosen money over beauty because what they were building was worth it and it meant something. Our architecture reflects our values and we clearly don’t value beauty, hard work, consideration and individuality.

“Belief in the significance of architecture is premised on the notion that we are, for better or for worse, different people in different places – and on the conviction that it is architecture’s task to render vivid to us who we might ideally be.”–Alain de Botton

Our apathy toward the places we inhabit will perpetuate more apathy and hopelessness in our desire to do anything about it. Architecture should be seen as a form of art, like it once was. It should display humanity’s hope for something greater than itself. The value of art and beauty as it is seen in man’s inhabited space, has been lost; with that, an endless list of other values that are essential to a thriving community. This issue starts and ends with man. We are the builders of our environment and unless our values change, our architecture will remain hopeless. If our architecture remains hopeless, we will inevitably remain hopeless as well.

the lost art

Hesitantly, I walk out of my front door… Architecture, once a form of art is now nothing more than a phrase to describe the mere function and existence of a building. We build buildings because they need to be built and for no other reason. Winston Churchill says:

“We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us”. 

We are caught in a perpetual cycle of building for function and the presence of art is lost in our surroundings. We no longer care or know how to take care of the places we inhabit. Alain De Botton says:

“Belief in the significance of architecture is premised on the notion that we are, for better or for worse, different people in different places – and on the conviction that it is architecture’s task to render vivid to us who we might ideally be”.