Virgin Bloggin

Well its been a week, and what a week its been, currently I want nothing more than to type, so eager to close those pop ups that turn up when you switch on the computer, so eager to ignore the chatty man next to me as I ride the train home. I’m pent up with conversation, with something to say, with something to discuss. I had nothing at the beginning of the week, hence the lack of posts compared to my first week of virgin blogging.

But I’m not sure I actually want to write it, I want to say it, I want to fucking scream it!!! Vigour, attitude…I don’t know what it is, what has come across me these past couple of days. Alas, my junior writing skills will only articulate so much, in such a grey sort of manner that what I’m actually feeling will be lost under a blanket of uncertainty, and lost vocabulary.

As for weeks in the large spectrum of things, the volcano in Iceland, the election in Britain, the beautiful sunshine, what are we supposed to be thinking? Dismay…confusion…joy? For me its been a rather off week, for both actions I have committed, and emotion that conjoins my ever move. I last left you with a couple of images for my latest “complete” project for a retail store. Some of you may say they’re great, some may contradict that comment. As for my assessor, she was quick to say that it was a “lazy” approach to the scheme at hand. Now I am not sure that this is entirely true, considering my anxiety about getting this scheme complete, but maybe she holds some water. It could have been better, more considered, sharper, cleaner, evocative, classy. And it does make me sad that I can’t seem to reach the standards that I set my self….for absolute perfection. Some say that it’s ridiculous to reach targets disproportionate to what you are expected to achieve, but put it another way, if your not setting your GPS to get to Rome, your never going to bloody get there!

So there I was at the end of a long Friday, listening to the rest of my class being crited, with the knowledge that I hadn’t pleased my client, and that I wasn’t that able to reach the goals I had set. But we live and learn, and strive for more. So we take what we learn, and re apply, re address, and in my case, it was to draw. Now this is not just on an A4 sheet of paper for a few minutes, this was to draw to death any notion, any idea, any random nuance that had the delight of popping into my head. I must destroy this project through the art of pen to paper, on what has become known as the studio tapestry. Drawing on a 25m long piece of paper, I have begun a timeline of my work, that I must say, I’m rather proud of, and will continue till the end of said project.

The week continued with a variety of topics of varying maturity, but the last day, the Friday, caught me out…the knowledge that came to me is that, I have no style. Now maybe this would not be a problem if I were, for an example, an accountant, its just sums! But for a designer, were style is the all important, to have “the eye” for materials, for colour, for the juxtaposition of programmes flowing together….shit, I cant do it…..



….yet. I have to believe in the “yet” rather than the “never”. The never will leave me as a consultant for waste management at a Chelsea nursery school, a dull repetitive smelly excuse to rub shoulders with the “elite”. No no no…I cant be settling for this, I just can be, so how do I take on the challenge of finding the elusive “style” that I so desire? You tell me…!

Fruition

Weary eyed, grey and wrinkled, the night goes on...without an ending insight. Darkness folds in, enclosed in the blackness of the night sky, a row of laptops beating a bright aw onto the disgruntled faces on my fellow workers. Red Bull cans littler the floor around us, pizza boxes and their crust counterparts cover the work tops. As the eye lids become heavier, jokes become stranger, more forced, more incomprehensibly bad! We draw upon old classics, and misguide our energies into engaging and imagining more ludicrous scenes concocted by our peculiar minds, rather then spending it on finishing the work.

But why do we put ourselves through this repeated session of sleepless nights...well this time, its for a display of work to be held at the magical, historical, beauty of space we all know as the V&A. So, as promised from before, i share with you, some of the images to imbed themselves on the eyes of the audience to which we present tomorrow.

The concept is for DePloy, a womens high end fashion brand, to be situated on the prorifery of Covent Garden. We were to combine the the store with a secondry social function, and in this case, it was for ex-servicmen that had become homless.

A Promise

Fury with ones self is a common occurrence in the ongoing battle fought between you and....well, you. A sense of despair with your mind running a riot with ideas, fulled with concepts and theories from the latest Frame Magazine or Monograph, or the daily ritchual of Dezeen. But the problem is, none of these ideas seem to materialise themselves..pen in hand, paper in front, the simple task of putting the two together should be easy as falling over, alas, it isn't to be. Your held back...by what?! is it arrogance, to much pride that you wont allow your self to be criticised. After all, if there is nothing to look at, how can anyone judge it?!

I'm not sure this is always true, but maybe I'm just protecting myself...of course, being judged is no wild brown bear that could slash your feet, or a bee that could sting you in the eye, or even an elephant that could sit on your face, but its certainly something that everyone is a little fearful of...

They say to overcome any fear, you must face it head one....stair down the barrel of a gun....pee into the wind! You must take it by the horns, thrash it around, beat it to a pulp, conquer that that you never felt you could conquer. Kick it, embrace it, brake a porclin jug over it, tackle it to the ground and make it submit under your directions!!!! Think William Wallace, Nelson Mandela, Bob the Builder....can we do it? of course we bloody can....so today i leave you with this, a promise to be open and frank, to show my work to the masses (or few, as followers are only at 3), be it shameful or whimsical, effortless, pointless, great, or weak...and allow you to comment, applaud, and critic.

Truncated

As I filter through the never ending pages of a “google” search I discover a plethora of under world activities. From donkey racing to slug keeping, egg collecting, cheese rolling, mother tattoos, yet another travellers blog, a guide to the political race, how to get thin fast, how to get thin really fast, how to get thinner faster by eating more, and of course, the unknown speciality, and mysterious notion of “architecture”.

You see, the words I search was for Buckminster Fuller, a well known architect from the regions of ye old America, better known for the Geodesic dome and lesser known for his washing up methods. Still as I went looking for the Truncated Octahedron for a display at the V&A, I found myself pondering….yes pondering, pondering why we create shapes, forms, styles, anything. Does anyone actually care if I use a truncated octahedron, or some mysterious shape I pulled out of the murky depths of my weary brain? Does the joe actually care if its this that or the other? I often discuss this notion with friends, and we conclude that….well actually, we never conclude, it’s an ongoing battle against no one…it’s on a par with the British and the Weather! We will fight it, with hammer and tongues, with umbrellas, patio heaters, and Mediterranean beer we will stand up and fight it, but alas, the weather will always prevail. And in this case, we always out talk ourselves into a continuing loop of metaphors, theory, and practicality to no avail. So I ask you…yes, I can now say “you”, my one follow, what do you think? Do we need theory? Does there need to be depth in architecture, or can we judge it like a book: by its beautifully drawn, colourfully depicted cover with the fat “half price” sticker on it?

Strange Beginnings

Today seemed like as good a day as any to start what i hope to be a fruitful, engaging, and perhaps strange attempt to share through the ever tested medium of "the blog". I'm not sure what i wish to gain from doing this, especially as i have a readship of the lonely few....me. So as i write i am in fully conciousness that i am the only one to read this. So whats the point you may ask? you?...i'm asking a question to no one. What is the point i may ask? well there is no point now, but sod it, some dreamy man from pengium publishers may stumble accross my blog whilst trying to research the latests ASBO connundrum. It may become one of those serrindipitous moments where he asked his secretary to look up "ASBO", where she miss hears him for "ESPO", without hesitation, for she fears to question her boss, she types in the miss heard pronounciation, and stumbles across said blog, the Pengium man is passed a printed documents of my blog, and bobs your uncle...I have been discovered...hurrah!.....Hurrrnoooo. For you see, i'm not that lucky, and also, i have made a clear sexist steryotype to the roles my charachters play in the discovery of me...no well founded publisher would invest in that? or would they....? Time of course, will play its roll, and in due course, we shall find out.

But i suppose this has been no real introduction to who, or i guess, what i am. A dare not say that i am a student of design, as the mere mention of student would suggest a care free attitude, not learnad of the world, insicure, stupid, pathetic, drunken lout....the usual. I will admit, i cant spell, and i rarely check, so for this i can only apologise. But i will stand by the fact that i am not your typical student, and i'm not the "High rennaisance man" of Bristol, neither the gentlemen from "Gap Yah", i am a Student of Architecture, working a 95 hour week, content on exploring, understanding and questioning the things i know and see. The problem however, is that i explore insignificant things, i dont always understand, and the questions i ask? well...we need not dabble in that one.

But i can only hope, as i listen to the awe inspirinig tune to Gladiator, that as this Blog is to progress, the exploring, understaning, questioning....it will arise in spoons, spades, trucks....any sized container of moving the metaphor. So i leave you for now, with a smile, a jaunty wink, a pat on the pat notion...