Blogless

Online blogs are difficult. Much is said, and little meant. Stories delivered, anxieties explored, anecdotes poor from the finger tips of one eager blogger to the next. Success comes to the few.

They’re difficult because their both sides of wrong. It is the grey area of bad, it is the loop holes of law, and the miss fits of society, and with this, an explanation is due it’s course, although I would imagine that you already know.

You write in a dairy because it’s private, but that very definition you can right in complete confidence that no one else is going to read your inner most thoughts, and your inner most thoughts might just be the most profound thoughts you’ve ever had….but then again, your consideration of the earth moon lift being the next best thing for man kind may, to the same extent, be the most ridiculous thought anyone has ever had. But regardless, it doesn’t matter what you talk about, be it naughty fantasies, how you might wash the under side of somewhere you wouldn’t talk about with your closest friend, or deliberating the Con-Lib debacle, it’s private, it’s yours, and it cant be judged.

You’re a journalist, a columnist, and you strive to pick out the gems of literacy genius. You strive for poetic argument and humours anecdotes. You depict the current climate of toady’s societies, and suggest the road we might be blindly stumbling down. You paint pictures so vivid with your words, that…perhaps you should have just hired a painter, but never the less, its published work, but it’s also judged work. The true kicker, is that it’s paid…a sort of compensation for delivering the ideas contained within the thicket of your brain in a digestible and politically correct manner.

The blog on the other hand, takes the bad points of both these styles, and congeals them into one handy mess for us to continually negate, ignore, and aimlessly plough through. The blog offers little chance of getting paid, unless of course we subscribe to the off chance that leaving an advert page to the side may lead to one of my many followers getting credit checked, getting a loan, and me receiving a pitiful one off reward. On the same line, it offers us little freedom to write what we truly want to right about.

I am in the constant knowledge that I have at least one fellow blogger that will engage with these slightly erratic words and lay a judgmental eye over the ideas I attempt to communicate, but at the same time, there is good chance that no one will read this, so opportunity to right full heartedly has been missed.

But I can help but feel that there is a point, there is a pull, there is a squirming little part of my gut…or what ever it is in there, that’s saying to write, that’s saying to type, that’s saying to think these things, even though I know I will inevitably change my stance with in the week.

What is a blog for…?

It’s ruddy difficult…

The Gopher Hole

Already written about a dozen times in the space of but a few hours, to add the same story to an already over told enigma would be fruitless. Instead, i will simply direct you to the already, smashingly written articles that touch on the first exhibition, "about a minute" by aberrant architecture and Beatrice Galee.

Have little look at the domus site (http://www.domusweb.it/en/art/the-gopher-hole-/) to see the visual delights, or perhaps take your feet and let them lead you to the basement of el paso and indulge....with a beer...

It's Nice That

I first saw this little on the page of mmmlovely.com. I'm not sure I want to think about it for too long, or even consider the limited possibilities of this particular graphic. All i would say at this point is to buy the the thing. They don't come out too often, and its no more than a square tenner.

No Directions

Not a word written, not a comment to be had, not a thought developed, discussed, or destroyed. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, nothing wanted. Devoid of attention, love, or care, the blog goes without anything, neither love nor hate. It sits patiently...

...yet new light, a cautious flicker, dwindles over the stalling enigma. The pointless ramblings of an unknowing student didn’t heed the wants of the unknowing student and thus died. But re-born as a "learning blog" the potential lay dry and distant, but we shall see what develops, and I can only hope that the unknowing rambling student cocoons...waits...and with all the cheesy grit that this sentence requires…blossoms..

I give you the learning blog.

Enjoy.

Iris and the Snail

Recently brought to the attention of Matta Clark, and ye old Richard Wilson, a hearty attack on the IRIS building was inevitable. The current project that is to be worked on is the advertising company Iris Nation based in a Cold War Relic. 10inch thick concrete lines the outside of this cold and ultimatley dead building that is meant to hold one of the brightest and quickest growing advertising agencies in the world. An international branding firm, held captive in one of architectures mistakes. So whats the soloution? I cant help but loath the coating of this site, a dense and uniform, rough and grey material, so why not show it off, why not highlight the brutality of the unit? So i begin the quest to spatial attack this building buy cutting and pulling sections out to re align the building and make it interesting, exciting, and valuble to Iris and the new enhabitance by the general public. Alas i feel that my progress is on a par with a snail challenging the mighty quest of the garden path crossing, essentially, fruitles. But like the mighty snail, i will battle on, snuggle in the shell when times are hard, leave trails of drawings, and achieve the goals of any garden insect, to avoid the wrath of the tutor bird!!

Pooh and Daniel

In just over 48 hours I was taken to a place that I can assure you, I don’t like going to, neither do I believe that I will be able to avoid it again. Like a bear to honey, or be it, the one bear, whinney the poo to honey, I will arrive at this point with absolute certainty. The sheer disgusting and totalitarian state of exhaustion got the better of me on Thursday. After spending two nights at a university library, working, clicking, deliberating, nursing another can of cancer giving stimulant, weary eyes started to close, hands started to twitch on their own accord, and ever surface began to look more comfortable than a 5 star king sized, turned bed with a chocolate on top, preferably a rolo chocolate. And to what avail, well, a sheet of mediocre work that Tigger himself could have produced with a pencil nailed to his tail with him bouncing around like a kid on E.

The evening however turned into something more successful, more honest to the stories of pooh, piglet and donkey. Tired, distressed, agitated, and a little sweaty from the disgustingly warm environments of our critting environments, I took an adventure, with brother in lead, to the cultural and historical depths of Exhibition road, South Ken. Our final destination would be to the Geology Centre for a talk by an architectural great, Daniel Liebeskind. I won’t even attempt to regurgitate the things he said, or jest at the points he was trying to make. And yes I was listening! Get the video, watch it, love it, watch it again, buy his book, then watch it again, then tell everyone, then watch it with them, and then bask in his delayed glory….for a second, then realise that his style is the same….everywhere….everywhere…in-fact, yeah, everywhere, bud sod it, I will be shallow just this once and enjoy his architecturally stunning sculptures, and I think you should to.

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…!