CAREER is almost CAREEN

I bought a book this evening, Gray's Anatomy. I do not intend to read it. I bought it specifically for the anatomical engravings by H.V. Carver. It is fascinating to me that the subjects of the drawings, though they have many layers of skin and muscle peeled away, are all quite calm and peaceful. It is fantastic to see the body neatly drawn into pieces, carefully dissected in black and white.

I have a deep nostalgia for things like this, drawn and engraved with a care and precision that has been erased by computers. It is the same sense of awe and loss I felt when I saw the drawings for the UT clock tower in the Architecture archive at school. The archivist was describing the way that the architects worked, the materials they used for these detailed, precise drawings. I can remember her telling us that the paper they used is no longer produced, and the pens can only be bought from one company.

It is incredible that such a deep and ancient skill is now almost completely lost. The architects I admire from the last century all possessed skill with a radiograph I will never have, nor will any of my peers. Now that computers can replicate the work of a draftsman in a fraction of the time, hand drafting is dead. My heart hurts thinking about it. It tears me up to think that the beauty of architectural drawings is now so dependent on a computer. Plotters cannot create beauty. They can only replicate unconvincingly what a hand does so naturally.

To my eyes, a huge part of the natural beauty of hand drawings is the mistakes. Errors, imperfections, tiny jumps in a line, smudges, little wrinkles, the way vellum stretches a little when you press too hard. The hand wants to do something perfectly, but there are always traces.

I was chatting with a fellow employee over dinner at work a few weeks ago, and we were talking about working as architects, and she said that had she known she would never get to draw, she wouldn't have entered the field. I actually agree with her very much. There is nothing that I enjoy about sitting in front of a computer all day, except for the satisfaction that I derive from doing something well and occasionally cleverly. I think it is only my obstinate optimism that keeps me convinced that I will not always have to work this way. Sure, I'll put in my years as an CAD-monkey, but that is not the end-game. I will get to design how I want to design. I will work in pencil and ink and charcoal and watercolor and trace paper and vellum! I will draw on yellow trace paper, and on vellum, and on heavy Stonehenge, and I will wad it up or tear it in half when I completely botch it up! I will spend all night drafting with a parallel bar, 'til my eyes burn and my hand shakes! And I will be happy!

Thinking about a career

I accomplished very little on Saturday. It was essentially an empty day. Sunday was much better. I met Aunt Lynn's friend Mary at her East Village apartment to talk about the possibility of house/tortoise sitting. Her apartment was excellent, big and spacious, great location, and filled with so much personality. It was exactly what the apartment of an artist should be: a plethora of collected objects and created things, layered throughout the apartment such that nothing seems to ever be in the exact same place. You might have a general idea where one thing is, but since you last saw it, it has traded spots with some of its friends. Everything invites closer inspection and wants to tell you a story, and it doesn't matter if it is a true story or not.

I think this is an excellent way for a career to be shaped. Projects like layers of ideas, telling many stories. And objects (both made and unmade), waiting for discovery. A career doesn't need to appear as a cohesive volume of work, like an encyclopedia of a life. I think it is better to be an apartment full of stories, with something new to find each time you look. I suppose this means that an architect whose career is presented in volumes of work is really being misrepresented. Or under-represented. Not sure if there is an answer here.

Another long week

My project is steaming along nicely this week. We almost have the plan locked down, at which point we can make sure the sections, elevations, etc. are all cohesive. The next step will be to move into nitty-gritty details, which will be excellent to my portfolio.

I took a picture of this excellent little stool that appeared in the office earlier this week. Its being used in another project, and I'm guessing the showroom sent it over for us to see. That is one of the incredible things about working here: when you want to use a piece of furniture or a light or a particular fabric or finish, its almost always just a few blocks away. A couple of weeks ago, I researched a German artist for a client, and after pricing several of his pieces, I realized that the only gallery that carried his work in the States was 6 blocks north of the office.

This is Oreo. He is some strange half-breed, possibly a dog. He is very quiet, yawns a lot, and moves at a sedate pace. He seems to possess some large degree of wisdom, or perhaps has experienced so much of the world that he is no longer surprised by anything. He is actually quite cat-like in his self-sufficiency and self-possessiveness. I would enjoy spending more time with him, but he is only around for a week or two while his owner is out of town.

Totes-my-goats

I left work early yesterday, after feeling like a zombie all day long. I think I had five cups of coffee, and was still feeling drowsy and dim. So I asked to leave at 10:30 instead of midnight, and managed to get a wonderful 7 hours of sleep!

My order of 3 tote bags from cheaptotes.com came yesterday too, and I spent about an hour drawing on one when I got back to my apartment. It was incredibly relaxing, and I think that littl bit of creativity helped me wind down after being stressed out all day. I wanted to make a geometric line pattern that has been in my head for a week or so, and is inspired by Sam Messenger's art, plus lots of other influences not so obvious (or even remembered).

I think I'll draw on another one this evening. And have a beer. And go to sleep early I hope!

Quickly before bed:

Grandma, I am sorry that I haven't been posting more frequently! I keep intending to get in a better pattern, but this week has been tough.

A quick overview:

I am working on a house on a hill in Connecticut. The conceptual parti is a floating box. Calvin (the principle of the firm) is using the Farnsworth House as a point of departure. It is also supposed to be a counterpoint to the 18th-century colonial further down the lightly wooded hill. Another inspiration is the traditional Japanese house, particularly the wood construction and fusuma, sliding doors made from wood and paper.

This week has been particularly busy, as we are pushing the project forward as fast as we can. My team had a meeting with Calvin last Friday, then again today, and a third Friday. Each meeting means lots of changes, lots of work. Added to that, we are meeting with a structural engineer tomorrow, and we want to have a final-ish plan ready for the client on Monday. All this to say: this week has been tough.

I've worked 'til midnight every night, and arrived at work an hour earlier than almost everyone as well. Been very tough to come home and write a blog entry, hence the reason this is the first all week. I apologize, my faithful readers, you few, you happy few, you band of blog-readers.

Darwin must have been from New York

I just had a thought that made me laugh aloud. (The frequency with which this happens is inversely related to the amount of sleep I have had divided by the number of cups of coffee.) I was standing at the sink, thinking about my plans for my birthday evening, and I started chuckling about the ways I am adapting to living in New York.

1. I sleep with noise-cancelling earplugs. The window AC in my room vibrates so loud that it rouses me out of deep sleep nightly.

2. I have deadened my sense of smell. There are too many stinky things in my neighborhood for a sensitive nose.

3. My balance has improved dramatically. I can now stand on a crowded train without a hand on the bar while carrying my bag, drinking coffee, and reading my book.

4. I have developed an excellent resistance to coffee jitters. This is very useful on mornings when I've only slept three hours (because of my rattling AC unit).

5. I no longer feel fatigue in my feet. I actually don't notice them at all. On a side note: they also move faster than at any other time in my life.

I think I'll keep adding to this list as I adapt further. Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes!

Sounds, smells, things to see

I like to remind myself how lucky I am to be in this amazing city. Every now and then I get a little depressed that I'm not in Texarkana hanging out with a wonderful girl, or in Springhill with my family, or in Austin with my roommates.

When that happens, I try to remind myself to look around and enjoy how incredible everything around me is. I love to imagine the histories behind each brick facade, and think about the people who have lived there.

Last Sunday, the 4th, I went to a park along the Hudson and met some friends on a bench looking out over the water. We sat for a while, waiting for the sun to set. A constant tide of people flowed behind us, looking for places to perch and watch the show.

The show was pretty incredible. 25 minutes long, five boats shooting off fireworks over 1000 feet high. Those are just numbers. Something about watching fireworks in New York City seemed unsettling. I was reminded of soldiers in Afghanistan and Iraq, hearing explosions in the distance and knowing that they were being fired at their buddies.

Also, this final image is for Lydia.