shun the nonbeliever.

how many times can i break till i shatter.?

20090531 - 00:26

I'm running out of gas. Just when I thought the parade of studio is over, the circus of the booth and workshop soon followed. My gung ho week has now become weeks, and I'm beginning to get more n more annoyed with the thought of driving to college to n fro, day by day.

I choose to be apart of all this. I want to, with all the shyts that comes with it. Why would I subject myself to such treatment if my intentions lies otherwise. Of course, I would rather be able to sleep and awake by myself, and dream of bowling pins and zombies. Not with the aid of the alarm clock, which annoys me more n more, snooze by snooze. For sure, I want to be able to do nothing and nothing at all at home, metaphorically rotting whilst literally stoning and sulking for whatever the reason, in front of a computer or television screen and complain that I am sien and have nothing to do. And yes, I'd like to call my peers out, meet at random times and odd places doing the most spontaneous of acts, simply because we can. But yea, I cannot. Not yet at least.

Maybe it's a point of proving myself to others. More importantly, to myself. I am a tad arrogant like that, thinking that I can do all these things that I set out to do. And to a certain extent, I know I can. So why should I prove myself to others? To be truthful, I have no freaking idea. I do gain some satisfaction in being able to prove others wrong, to be able to say "I told you so, you mtf&@!#*^!@*!@", without verbally doing so. But I guess it's fair to say that I want the experience. I want the achievement. I don't want to grow old and grow a belly whilst looking back at this peculiar time of my life and say, "Backside, why didn't I join" or "I knew I should have applied for this instead of that", in a grumpy tone. I want to at least be able to tell my grandchildren that their grandpa was an awesome architect student, so at least if I fail as a practicing architect, it would be proven that I am awesome studying the subject. As I continue typing, I just realise how wtf I must be sounding like speaking of grandbabies, when I myself don't know how being a grandpa is related to all this.

Nevertheless, I am effortlessly enjoying myself through it all. Amazing how dejavu things can be too. Just when I thought Angel was over, another stage design pops up. Just when I thought ping pong balls are done with, another site installation is required. And so, I am basically retaking studioone in a two-week crash course, hopefully being able to impress again. Hopefully able to experience and achieve. Audaciously.

Kill me now. A change is so definitely coming.

like a rootless tree.

20090522 - 22:45

Comments (2)

Lo and behold, arguably the very first design I can humbly boast and solely take ownership of.

I said I'll gung ho for a week. And gung ho, I did. The daily mundanely trips to n fro the studio was absolutely worth the hassle. Sorta experienced n understood why architecture students subject themselves to all nighters. Because we simply had to. The load was considerably heavy upon foremost presumptions. Time was precious and time was taut, once you start you sorta can't stop. And it was amazing how you can truly get lost in time; the week was a day, the crit was barely a trice.

Having said so, I come clean and stand accused by noone but myself to perhaps rushing the design. In perfecting it, at least. The idea was reasoned, the context esteemed. The words were there for me to play, yet I struggled to find the form. Undulations n swellings, ripples and waves, the organic nature of the artificial organism was what I intended. I substantiated and rationalized to a certain extent, but perfected, I felt I did not. One can't help but linger in guilt, but the pragmatic side of me saw it justified. I nonetheless managed to shape the form to make the design a lot more coherent and sound, of which I condescend in.

The reference of the stage was deliberate and conscious, the idea of the conceptual simplicity and programmatic complexity adapted and assumed not only for a sense of continuity, but also to tie back and string the schemes of the semester, paralleling with the intention of creating spaces within spaces, function within function, program within program. In the outdoor space, Bale can be Karl committing first blood on Kate, Bale can be Bale appreciating the verdant landscape. In the working studio, Bale can be Karl composing odd references, Bale can be Bale reading Charlotte's Web and Batman comics. Again, program within program in creating programmatic diversities.

Completing the intangible is less than half the way. The model was physically prodful and sm, but completed in a day to my surprise. Laugh all you may, but since the toilet assignment model making has for me been less difficult and annoying as before. The deed instead is now claimed by another; manual drawings. I have no complaints in drafting without the osnap or trim, moreover with my lack of proficiency on the subject of matter, just the simple issue of lines and lines and more lines in mesh form bowing and bending and curling. Takes a French to curve like that, and french-ed I did. Turned out to be a rather helpful technique once one has gotten used to the trial n errors of adjusting, but then again comes the fundamental reasons to the existence of butter papers.

One has also learned the valuable lesson of allocating more time for your layout. Again, the presumably egotistical me felt I rushed this. I don't know if it's just me but I felt rather noob in designing the proper layout when the simplest of arrangements would do and visually communicate. But no, that would not do. Not for me, at least. Impression. It's everything and everything that sells and flabbergasts. The last pixel of grime on your scanned drawings, the green in your grey, the clutter of your papers. The importance in keeping the invisible lines of the grid invisible. Even if the design's shyt n the verbal's gibberish, the visual is the strongest tool in communication, and thankfully with the stroke of fortune by two malfunctioned A1 printers, I didn't had to learn it the hard way.

Dog or gun, dick or bra, we all become objects of subjection. To whether it is justified or not, it is all upon us to contemplate and sulk and frown and sulk somemore. I might be asking for more, yes, I'd rather be screwed hardcore. At the same time let me be the first to tell you that I'll probably be ranting to this sad excuse of a blog the very same time next semester. But yea, I'll be prepared. I won't miss a crit. I won't be the ones to be mourned upon. My bullshyt cannot be wasted.