Attention, citizens:
I have moved this blogish thing to a place where I can obsess endlessly over every detail of the design and also have a nifty URL, to wit:
http://catasterist.com
Eventually it will certainly expand to be a fully-fledged online empire, though for now it's just, you know, a blog.
See you there...
k
PS: if you want to link directly to the RSS feed, it's here:
http://catasterist.com/wp-rss2.php
PPS: if you want to subscribe to receive email notifications, you can do that here:
http://catasterist.com/subscribe/
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things have been exciting lately (the firemen came to my house today! long story, but no one is hurt or anything), but also quiet (I haven’t been writing much). this doesn’t mean things aren’t afoot—more just a fallow period. I love fallowness; the implication of subsurface processes at work, the promise of impending sprouts, the validation of dirt as a good and useful thing. all good.
so, yeah, plans are a-hatching, but nothing’s quite ready for primetime yet (to mix metaphors a tad). don’t worry—I’ll letcha know when the tomatoes are done ripening.
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hey, so I know I've been off the grid a lot lately, but I just wanted to stop in and say I saw some cool architecture today in New Haven in the midst of eating A LOT of hot dogs (long story). anyway, I saw two Louis Kahn buildings (the University Art Center [1954] and the Yale Center for British Art [1974]) and an Eero Saarinen building (Ingalls Rink aka the Yale Whale [1958]), all at Yale in New Haven. plus, you know, a lot of Gothic stuff. I apologize for not taking any pictures--I was too busy actually looking at the buildings to take pictures--but plenty of other people have taken better pictures than I would have, anyway (links are to other people's photos). [ok, next time I take my camera--no one seems to have taken the pictures I want exactly.]
the Kahn buildings are great studies in light and shadow and in geometry (and check out his slightly manic take on coffered ceilings.) Kahn presents a clear narrative in each building of how the pieces come together by articulating joints, alternating materials, and revealing, for example, the formwork of the concrete in its texture.
the Saarinen rink is an organic form, but one with a clear structure that has its own narrative of tension and momentum, unlike a lot of the 'blob' architecture fashionable today. oh, yes, I can be an architecture crank, too!
but if you're ever in New Haven, I recommend stopping to see all three. the museums are free!
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It being a new year and all, I’ve been feeling introspective. So forgive the solipsistic, introspective, philosophical bent of this fragment. It’s probably reaching further than any LJ posting has a right to and likely won’t really pull it all together before I get tired of typing, but then there’s a whole fresh new year to draw conclusions and frame philosophies and make connections. 2008—the year of connection. Has a nice ring to it.
So to start (at the heart): do you know what it is I want?( more hubris! )
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So, while I recover from stomach flu, an intermission and yuletide gift for y'all:
Music About Architecture
Obliquely or directly, all these songs make me think about architecture.
(my own version of this mix includes a second part with songs about coffee, waking up, and not sleeping...)
1. Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect (The Decemberists)
2. So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright (Simon & Garfunkel)
3. The House that Guilt Built (The Wrens)
4. Lisa (The Prayers & Tears of Arthur Digby Sellers)
5. The Hexx (Pavement)
6. Steal The Blueprints (+/-)
7. The Army Corps of Architects (Death Cab For Cutie)
8. Pet Politics (Silver Jews)
9. Back to the Old House (The Smiths)
10. Birdhouse in Your Soul (They Might Be Giants)
11. We Built This City (Starship)
enjoy!
PS: Links will expire in a week--let me know if you miss them, have trouble with them, or, Mom, if you want me to mail you a CD.
PPS: Anyone have other architecture songs in mind? (*Besides* anything by Architeture in Helsinki, Life Without Buildings, etc.)
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So there are approximately twelve bajillion architecture topics floating around in my head at the moment. Perhaps this is the result of the two macchiatos (macchiati?) and one regular coffee floating around in my bloodstream (cafes—another topic!), or perhaps it is the result of working on too many projects at the same time, or perhaps it is just mental procrastination protecting me from going home and dealing with cleaning the bathroom and other unfun projects (thanks Cafe Grumpy for giving me a place to work where I don’t have to look at the sink full of dirty dishes!)
But I did promise some people (hello A + Dr.B!) that I would try to work out a series I’ve started and stopped several times: the relationship between music and architecture. So, forthwith:
MUSIC + ARCHITECTURE
Being a Series of Investigations into the putative, alleged, and undiscovered Connections, Disconnects, and Relations of the Disciplines in several Parts.
Prequel: Provenance
Where it comes from—why I am interested in both music and architecture (this is probably not that interesting to the three people who regularly read this [hi mom!], but is a necessary warmup for me, so feel free to skip or skim at will... the other parts will be less relentlessly narcissistic, I promise)—
I am a prodigal daughter of music. In elementary school I, in response to an assembly publicizing the commencement of orchestra classes for fourth graders, announced to my parents that I would be studying violin. And so I did. Fast forward through (what must have been tortuous for my family) classes, lessons, concerts &etc. I went away to college with an open mind saying I would “major in anything but music.” I majored in music. (My thesis project was a combination of history and performance—a paper and concert on twentieth century American women composers. I know, right?) I did not listen to rock or pop music pretty much ever. I didn’t disdain it, I just didn’t have any idea about it. I studied a bit of jazz history and theory, and took up percussion. My percussion teacher preferred to teach me how to play drum set and tambourine and such rather than timpani or bass drum (though I learned a bit of those, too) I think purely for the incongruity of me jamming on the drums. After school I moved to New York, took conducting lessons for a bit, worked at big-name music institutions, and searched in vain for an affordable place to practice drums. Gradually the music fell away in the din of the city, in the frenzy of urbanity, and in the shadow of other more live-journally stuff.
( Read more... )
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So, old cranky-pants Corb was clearly excited by the idea of airplanes. (He also loved cars, bridges, and, uh, grain silos. True story.) He believed that the coherence of engi-neering could shake up architecture and clear out the cobwebs of overly ornate 19th century architecture. And it’s hard not to see his point--how incredible for anyone who’s feet had never left the ground for more than a few seconds to get to see the world from the sky? Before airplanes all but the lucky few who got to go aloft in balloons could only imagine what plan view would look like: the streets of Paris, a village in the High Atlas, farmland, the seashore. But now it could be seen, and what became visible was a new kind of order. Sometimes contained (like the grid of Manhattan) and sometimes sprawling and irregular, but always organic--the city revealed itself as an organic thing. I wonder if this realization didn’t spur Corb’s shift to more organic architectural forms.
1920s Corb:
1950s Corb:
Whether or not that hypothesis is true, the power of plan view definitely catalyzed Corb's desire to treat the diseased city as a surgeon.
THE CITY IS RUTHLESS TO MAN.
CITIES ARE OLD, DECAYED, FRIGHTENING, DISEASED.
THEY ARE FINISHED.
( more... )
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Recently a friend gave me a kind of amazing present. It's this book (a rare 80s English language reprint of a book by Le Corbusier from the 1930s):
 
Oh, Corb: condescending, hubristic, misogynistic, tending towards fascistic, but I can't help loving his visionary tendencies, and I do have a well-documented weakness for manifestos. I have, I suppose, the usual architect's love-hate relationship with him, but it is without irony that I say he is astounding and I would have liked to have lunch with him (if only to tell him off about a thing or two).
I have more to say about this book, but for now I'll just give you a few quotes (capitalization and emphasis is as in the original--Corb fancied himself a graphic designer, among other things). The text is set amongst photos of all kinds of airplanes (from 1930s bombers to 'flying machines' from the 1800s) and aerial photos. Anyway, more about the book later, but for now I'll let Corb speak for himself (though I wonder if some of the awkward language isn't a translation problem):
THE EARTH BEHOLDS SPLENDOURS EMERGE WHICH ARE CONTEMPORARY TRUTHS, THE PRESENT BEAUTY WHICH WE LOVE.
( More from Corb )
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OK, so here's my thoughts on the new New Museum by SANAA (Sejima). Apparently one isn't supposed to take photos inside, but I did manage a couple. Apologies for the grainy pictures--I have *ahem* a thing or two to learn about photography.
Executive summary: outside in, the building does what I suppose it was meant to do--it's iconic and dramatic and says "NEW MUSEUM HERE!" in a way the space on Broadway never did. inside out, the building is more problematic. Also, full disclosure: I've never much cared for the art they show. And I think that's the fatal flaw for the space.
( read on, Macduff )
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I'm at work where there's internet, so I can tell you that I've got it all covered:
Minimalist black + dark grey outfit. Check.
Moleskine notebook. Check.
Micron pens. Check.
Digicamera. Check.
Archtiecture pals. Check.
Tickets. Check
Yup, that's right--tonight I'm going to the opening of Kazuyo Sejima's new New Museum on the Bowery. Expect a report at the next juncture of connectivity. Excited!
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So it's almost 2 weeks since I've had working internet at home. My epic battles with Verizon continue. That plus the fact that rock&roll + architecture = no sleep ever means I am unlikely to do much posting in the next few days. Sometime soon, though...
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Did I mention this is outside my office window?
Trump SoHo
more Trump SoHo
Ugh. Not just ugly, HUGE and ugly. I'm fond of saying I prefer ugly architecture over boring architecture, but from the renderings I'd say this somehow manages to be both (it's still concrete and construction netting at the moment--probably more attractive than the finished building).
[Some of the more interesting things I can see from my desk: Statue of Liberty, Hudson River, lots of watertowers, the West Village, and right now a lot of fog. One day I'll remember to bring a camera and show you what it looks like...]
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Further proof (as if you needed it) that I am a big nerd: behold my bedtime reading for the last couple of days--
Um, yeah.
Turns out I have to teach web design AND SketchUp back at school this weekend, so I'd better get back to figuring out what I'm going to say...
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So, as promised, I saw some architecturalish art today. I went to a couple of galleries in Chelsea--I forgot how snooty and intimidating they can be. But whatever. And some of them do have nice little architectural touches in the spaces. The first show was called Fuck Architects: Chapter 1. Yeah, it wasn't that impressive. He means metaphorical architects, of course, but still, not surprising I wouldn't be that into it, eh? Not really worth saying much else about it, imo. The other show was more interesting, but also more frustrating. I've seen many photos of Do-Ho Suh's work and heard him talk about his art, so was very interested to see the show at Lehmann Maupin. It wasn't disappointing, except that the piece I most wanted to see will be at the new space on Chrystie Street, which I realized after hauling myself down there ISN'T OPEN YET! argh.
I love his work, though it's hard to appreciate it from photos because scale is a key preoccupation of his. Also material and structure and and space--all important in architecture, too. His work is clever, but it goes beyond that. I think the thing I love most about his art is that it channels narrative so profoundly, and narrative is, I think, the strongest force in the universe. Someday I'll give you the full rant, but for now I'll just say that the thing I love most about architecture is how it is a kind of accretion of the relationship between architect and client, the architect and the builder, the client and society, the architect and society, and the other strange and sublte narratives we call culture. Designing a house is just another way of telling a story. A story that becomes a stage for more stories. How intimate is confiding a story to someone you trust? How intimate is designing someone's bedroom?
[more info on Do-Ho Suh]
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So Monday I tried to quit my job. I was unsuccessful--the boss appologized profusely, said flattering things I don't believe about how they couldn't do without me, and is bending over backwards to make sure I am happy, starting with a couple of days off to catch my breath (literally, actually). This is beyond rare in the world of achitecture. I am grateful as I really couldn't afford to quit. Today I worked on the House for a Musician project; tomorrow I'm going to see some architecturalish art. Thursday I go back to work that will, I think, be vastly improved (though perhaps a bit awkward with —).
Hopefully tomorrow I'll have an art review for you.
(Isn't it funny how neither artists nor architects want to call architecture art? It's a long story, but it's left a kind of fertile no-man's-land betwixt and between.)
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[OK, I'm back, more or less, but ironically I wrote this on Sunday and haven't been able to get it posted until now. *sigh* And I really should be working on the write-up I brought home from work to do.]
So yesterday I spent six hours at work. Yesterday was Saturday. I was an hour late for my good friend's birthday dinner. Luckily, she is an architect, too, so she was more than understanding and called me when they ordered so I could tell her what I wanted and my food came at the same time as everyone else's--right as I walked in the door. No harm done. But I'm exhausted from staying late almost every night. I can't manage to get my laundry done or pay my bills, much less get enough sleep, and my office is considered pretty laid back compared to many others.
[EDIT: OK, I realize this sounds really whiny. it's cool--I can do it, I mean I survived it for four years, I'm just trying to work out why and whether it's necessary and worth it and all that. 'cause dude, I love architecture. it's amazing. and I promise I'll go back to the amazement of it next time.]
Why is architecture like this? I know it's worse in NYC (and as much as a lurve it here, I'm starting to think I'll eventually have to go somewhere else. and that maybe eventually isn't that far away), but it's bad everywhere. Why is architecture school an endless blur of all-nighters and catnaps and failed relationships? Why is a 12 hours day considered no big deal? Why is taking a vacation a nearly impossible undertaking? All this AND crappy salaries?
( read the exciting conclusion to today's rant... )
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Greetings friends (real and imaginary), family, and random strangers,
Here's an real livejournally entry for you, instead of the usual archispeak mumbo jumbo: I just wanted to letcha all know that due to my life imploding on multiple levels concurrently, I'm gonna take a small hiatus from most of the internets--including this one--in order to prevent catastrophic failure. I've reached my yield point (which, as I'm sure you know, is well beyond typical allowable stress), but I'll be back once I've shored up my foundations and done a little seismic retrofitting. No worries, and much love to you all.
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Architecture is exhaustamating.
Also, I almost had to quit my job today to make it to the JV/Bishop Allen concert. Any architect that doesn't understand about music should have their* license revoked.
* Grammatical note: yes, I use the singular indefinite 'their.' Show me a better alternative to the sexist 'his,' the defensive 'her,' or the awkward 's/he,' and I'll use it. Until then, I'm sticking with 'their.'
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The ICA
[the last of the Boston stuff]
So I always hated it at crits when a juror used the word "sexy" to describe a building. What little meaning this vague word has is usually sexist and offensive in the context of architecture. I'm not saying it couldn't be used in an interesting way, but it usually isn't. When pressed for elucidation, the juror will usually resort to things like "curvy," "long, elegant lines," or even "voluptuous." In other words, they are equating the building with a woman. Yeah, whatever.
That said, the ICA falls in the category of buildings that are routinely called "sexy." True, it is exciting to walk around in a building more reminiscent of paper architecture (projects that never get built--often by intention--and so exist only on paper) or magazine architecture (projects best known from glossy photos in architecture mags) than the more prosaic buildings of our daily life.
( oh do tell me more )
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[Part the Third of the Beantown Architecture Tour]
The coolest building on campus (imo) has to be Corb’s Carpenter Center. It was built for the undergrad Visual and Environmental Studies (VES) program, which was originally intended to be what one would study (or “concentrate in” in Harvard-speak) if one intended to be an architect and enter the Architecture School (now the Graduate School of Design). Schools like Harvard considered (and still, to some extent consider) undergrad architecture studies to smack of trade school rather than the gentlemen’s profession. Yeah, whatever. Still, though, I agree that a diversified (you know--liberal arts and all that) undergrad education makes for more interesting architects in general, and a solid grounding in art doesn’t hurt.
Anyway, these days the VES program tends to turn out far more professional artists (OK, OK--cue lecture on the overlap of art and architecture and all that) than architects, but astoundingly it remains Corb’s only building in North America. For those who aren’t familiar with the guy architects love to hate, Corb or, properly Le Corbusier (a name he made up by combining a maternal family name with the French word for crow) likes to think he invented modern architecture. Or rather liked, as he died swimming in 1965.
( tell me more--I'm not yet bored out of my skull )
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