My fellow blogger, B*****s to Architecture (Mr Architecture? Or Mr Bollocks?) mentions I seem to have a depressing story to tell in his latest post. Do I really come across that way? Is the lot of the one man band so terrible? Was the painful training and lengthy, drawn out emergence as a full blown architect all worth it?
Grovelling around in a disgusting bumhole of a place for the nth time, in the cold and dark, alone more likely as not, or in the company of something David Attenborough would find interesting, I sometimes wonder - how did it come to this?
Is arguing with people to pay me what they owe me any fun? Is dealing with the taxman, VATman, book - keeping, office sorting, filing, insurance and yards and yards of red tape designed to stop businesses earning money, life enhancing? How about threading my way through all the fuss caused by Building Control, numerous vociferous and ill informed pressure groups, English Heritage, the planning departments, the Health and Safety Executive and the endless arguements about money before one brick gets laid upon another?
Jeez, this sounds bad. Why do I do it? Tell me, someone. Or is it because of this, this and this?
29 November 2007
16 November 2007
SALE!!
ARCHITECTS!!
Sale price - get yours before the Christmas rush!*
Pack of 2 - £4.99.
Buy two packs and get 1 FREE!
*Discontinued specs. Upgrade from round to squinty specs for the bargain price of and extra £2.99 per pack!!
Polo neck jumpers an option - colours black, charcoal or clouds at midnight
HURRY - THIS GREAT OFFER CAN'T LAST FOREVER!
12 November 2007
Stamping on the Chrysalis
As part of my job, I have to produce drawings which are legible, clear, attractive to the client, planning officer and builder, and easily explained. For a new project, I produce some sketches according to the brief, then meet the client to go through them. I leave them with my clients so they can chew over them for a few days, before meeting them again to discuss amendments and answer questions. I then prepare final design drawings, which go to the council for planning approval (or not – but that’s another story).
However, this is real life, which differs from the architectural school experience by a long way.
First, the sketch design, based on a hypothetical project from an even more unlikely client, made up by the university to ‘stretch’ you a bit. I have had a fire station, a hostel for battered wimmin, a shopping centre for wedding services only (yeah, really realistic) and workshops for new manufacturing businesses (manufacturing? In Britain? !!) and the inevitable visitor centre for a nondescript attraction, among others.
After numerous soul searching sessions with the tutor and a lot of scribbling and fiddling with bits of card and wire, you are allowed to develop the design into a presentation for the ‘crit’ – a rather unpleasant experience which, thankfully, I won’t have to go through again.
I sat in the grimy reception area, absolutely exhausted. It had taken me two hours to get here, on public transport, lugging a huge portfolio and a box containing a model of my magnum opus. For the past two weeks, I had been working silly hours trying to get my presentation together. In those days, I didn’t use a computer much, and drew everything by hand. This is a fine and noble way to do things, but takes a long time to get perfect. Of course, it is obvious where the amendments are as you can see scuff marks, rubber marks etc, so I had to produce a new one every time I wanted to change something, or if I made a mistake. The more tired I got, the more mistakes I made, until it was midnight the day before and the floor was covered with crunched up bits of paper and I was tearing my hair out.
Drawings, of course, are only part of the presentation. We were expected to produce models, photographs of the site of our new building, concept sketches, technical appraisals… Doing the photographs was a real pain, as I had a film camera and had to scan in all the photos using an ancient scanner with clunky software, then try and arrange them into something like a professional document.
Finally, I was ready. The crit is a basically a presentation to the 'clients' - consisting of your tutor, plus others such as the building services lecturer, the head of studies, other students, the cleaner, and whoever else happens to be walking past and wants to see a public execution. You pin up your work, set out your model, and read a script saying how wonderful your project is, then answer questions. Sounds like fun? No, it’s awful.
I hauled all my stuff up the stairs to the fifth floor as the lift wasn’t working. The School of Architecture was an unbelievably depressing building at the best of times and my spirits plummeted when I saw the space I had been allotted to ‘pin up’. It was stuffed into a corner, using the most tatty old wall boards of the type you can’t stick drawing pins into. I suspected I wasn't flavour of the month with my tutors after the last time. I hammered the pins in using the heel of my shoe. Most of them bent. There were shoe scuffs on the corner of one of my perfect drawings.
Tutors and students gathered. I started my presentation..
‘Hold on,’ said one tutor. ‘Why are you using stone? Did you consider larch cladding?’
‘er’ I said, completely thrown, as I had been talking about the solar heating.
‘What about the roof form?’ said another. ‘It looks a bit… old fashioned.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, I thought it would keep the rain off…’
‘Oh, really!’ snapped the tutor. ‘I think you’ve missed a golden opportunity here to do something interesting with the roof, and all you can talk about is weather resistance!’
‘What about the wall materials?’ said the first tutor. ‘Why stone?’
I began to explain that the project was supposed to be low maintenance and stand the test of time. ‘Stone’ I explained ‘is a very long lived material…’
‘Well, you should explore the possibilities of larch cladding in this context’ he snapped. 'And why are there so many female toilets?'
And so on. They pulled everything apart, absolutely everything, in the most agressive manner. I was utterly crushed. All that work…
Later, my main tutor, I will call him Mike, told me that I should have defended my project and been more assertive. But, he said, ‘take their comments on board, for the next crit’.
So, dear reader, what do you think I did for the next one?
However, this is real life, which differs from the architectural school experience by a long way.
First, the sketch design, based on a hypothetical project from an even more unlikely client, made up by the university to ‘stretch’ you a bit. I have had a fire station, a hostel for battered wimmin, a shopping centre for wedding services only (yeah, really realistic) and workshops for new manufacturing businesses (manufacturing? In Britain? !!) and the inevitable visitor centre for a nondescript attraction, among others.
After numerous soul searching sessions with the tutor and a lot of scribbling and fiddling with bits of card and wire, you are allowed to develop the design into a presentation for the ‘crit’ – a rather unpleasant experience which, thankfully, I won’t have to go through again.
I sat in the grimy reception area, absolutely exhausted. It had taken me two hours to get here, on public transport, lugging a huge portfolio and a box containing a model of my magnum opus. For the past two weeks, I had been working silly hours trying to get my presentation together. In those days, I didn’t use a computer much, and drew everything by hand. This is a fine and noble way to do things, but takes a long time to get perfect. Of course, it is obvious where the amendments are as you can see scuff marks, rubber marks etc, so I had to produce a new one every time I wanted to change something, or if I made a mistake. The more tired I got, the more mistakes I made, until it was midnight the day before and the floor was covered with crunched up bits of paper and I was tearing my hair out.
Drawings, of course, are only part of the presentation. We were expected to produce models, photographs of the site of our new building, concept sketches, technical appraisals… Doing the photographs was a real pain, as I had a film camera and had to scan in all the photos using an ancient scanner with clunky software, then try and arrange them into something like a professional document.
Finally, I was ready. The crit is a basically a presentation to the 'clients' - consisting of your tutor, plus others such as the building services lecturer, the head of studies, other students, the cleaner, and whoever else happens to be walking past and wants to see a public execution. You pin up your work, set out your model, and read a script saying how wonderful your project is, then answer questions. Sounds like fun? No, it’s awful.
I hauled all my stuff up the stairs to the fifth floor as the lift wasn’t working. The School of Architecture was an unbelievably depressing building at the best of times and my spirits plummeted when I saw the space I had been allotted to ‘pin up’. It was stuffed into a corner, using the most tatty old wall boards of the type you can’t stick drawing pins into. I suspected I wasn't flavour of the month with my tutors after the last time. I hammered the pins in using the heel of my shoe. Most of them bent. There were shoe scuffs on the corner of one of my perfect drawings.
Tutors and students gathered. I started my presentation..
‘Hold on,’ said one tutor. ‘Why are you using stone? Did you consider larch cladding?’
‘er’ I said, completely thrown, as I had been talking about the solar heating.
‘What about the roof form?’ said another. ‘It looks a bit… old fashioned.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, I thought it would keep the rain off…’
‘Oh, really!’ snapped the tutor. ‘I think you’ve missed a golden opportunity here to do something interesting with the roof, and all you can talk about is weather resistance!’
‘What about the wall materials?’ said the first tutor. ‘Why stone?’
I began to explain that the project was supposed to be low maintenance and stand the test of time. ‘Stone’ I explained ‘is a very long lived material…’
‘Well, you should explore the possibilities of larch cladding in this context’ he snapped. 'And why are there so many female toilets?'
And so on. They pulled everything apart, absolutely everything, in the most agressive manner. I was utterly crushed. All that work…
Later, my main tutor, I will call him Mike, told me that I should have defended my project and been more assertive. But, he said, ‘take their comments on board, for the next crit’.
So, dear reader, what do you think I did for the next one?
08 November 2007
Awakening
Let us imagine for a moment you have persuaded a university to allow you to study architecture. You’re 18? Parents reasonably flush with cash? Then you can immerse yourself full time in ephemeral architectural theory, and play with bits of card and wood for three years, with some time out at Sainsbury’s to earn that all important beer money. You may even have got into one of the stellar architectural schools which will guarantee you that edge when applying for jobs.
On the other hand, it is more likely you are mature, and have to make do with a part time course at one of the newer (dare I say it, lesser) places who want to build up their reputation, numbers and cashflow. They are more likely to allow you to study part time, and earn that all important dosh to keep your mortgage happy.
The first year is spent realising that there is more to buildings than bricks and mortar (or steel and glass, if you want to be modern). You thought you were going to learn how to design buildings that will stand up and be slightly useful? Or explore the legal side such as planning law and the building regulations? Don’t be impatient! You will learn what Le Corbusier's real name was, what Mies Van Der Rohe liked for lunch and how Frank Lloyd Wright designed Falling Water in ten minutes on the back of a fag packet. You will learn that the word ‘clay plain tile’ is bad language, and that ‘larch cladding’ gets you brownie points. You will take your camera out for lengthy walks, photographing contexts and spatial anomalies. You will sit in front of a computer and tear your hair out teaching yourself the immeasurably irritating drawing programme AutoCAD, as nothing drawn by hand will get you a job, no matter how much your tutor likes your charcoal concept sketches. You will mess around endlessly with bits of card, wood, wire and glue in the workshop, preparing concepts and installations.
Then, at last, you will get a simple project. All by yourself. With no help. And within a ridiculously tiny time frame. Then… your first…. CRIT.
The horror, the horror…
On the other hand, it is more likely you are mature, and have to make do with a part time course at one of the newer (dare I say it, lesser) places who want to build up their reputation, numbers and cashflow. They are more likely to allow you to study part time, and earn that all important dosh to keep your mortgage happy.
The first year is spent realising that there is more to buildings than bricks and mortar (or steel and glass, if you want to be modern). You thought you were going to learn how to design buildings that will stand up and be slightly useful? Or explore the legal side such as planning law and the building regulations? Don’t be impatient! You will learn what Le Corbusier's real name was, what Mies Van Der Rohe liked for lunch and how Frank Lloyd Wright designed Falling Water in ten minutes on the back of a fag packet. You will learn that the word ‘clay plain tile’ is bad language, and that ‘larch cladding’ gets you brownie points. You will take your camera out for lengthy walks, photographing contexts and spatial anomalies. You will sit in front of a computer and tear your hair out teaching yourself the immeasurably irritating drawing programme AutoCAD, as nothing drawn by hand will get you a job, no matter how much your tutor likes your charcoal concept sketches. You will mess around endlessly with bits of card, wood, wire and glue in the workshop, preparing concepts and installations.
Then, at last, you will get a simple project. All by yourself. With no help. And within a ridiculously tiny time frame. Then… your first…. CRIT.
The horror, the horror…
02 November 2007
The Chrysalis - Year One
From a chrysalis comes a beautiful butterfly, as WhichEndBites so rightly says. The time spent as a chrysalis varies from species to species, for example, a the Plumber Butterfly takes about three months pupating in a nice warm vivarium of a college, then is further nurtured by an experienced plumber on the job before soaring to the skies, a mature Greater Plumber Bum Butterfly.
The Police Chrysalis spends 20 weeks at Hendon, or other boot camp, being thrashed into atoms by the instructors, before being reconstructed as a nervous emerging adult, and sent as a probationer for two years to mature into the Large Blue Traffic Nuisance Police Butterfly (apologies to my police readers).
Ah, but the Architect Butterfly has a much longer and slower maturing period. When you go for that first interview at the university of your choice (more of that later), clutching your sheaf of prospective A levels and your shiny new portfolio, they will tell you it will take seven years before emerging as that magnificent, black spangled Starchitect Butterfly. Seven years! You gulp, and think, well – it will be worth it! Designing cathedrals or huge hotels in Dubai in seven years’ time, lots of money – not bad!
If only. Seven years is a conservative estimate. Many chrysalises never emerge at all.
The first hurdle, if you are 18 and fresh faced, is to make sure you do Art A level. Never mind anything else – Art is it. And you must have parents with deep pockets.
If you are a mature man, with means and no kids, fine – your life experience will stand in place of A levels. But make sure you like Art, and have a portfolio to prove it.
Are you a man with a wife and kids? OK, but make sure your wife has a well paid job, such as a lawyer or a doctor, and doesn't mind your changing fashion sense of black clothes, shaven head and silly glasses.
What do you mean, you’re a woman with kids and no husband? Forget it! Or say goodbye to your health and sanity.
So, assuming those first steps have been taken, be prepared for the University interview. Take that bulging portfolio and make sure you have photos of your ‘installations’ because, as we all know, you simply cannot make sense of an installation out of its context. During your interview, drop in the words ‘Architectonic’ and ‘Richard Rogers’ and ‘post modernism’. Do not under any circumstances mention the words ‘classical’, ‘Quinlan Terry’ or ‘load bearing masonry’.
All with me so far?
The Police Chrysalis spends 20 weeks at Hendon, or other boot camp, being thrashed into atoms by the instructors, before being reconstructed as a nervous emerging adult, and sent as a probationer for two years to mature into the Large Blue Traffic Nuisance Police Butterfly (apologies to my police readers).
Ah, but the Architect Butterfly has a much longer and slower maturing period. When you go for that first interview at the university of your choice (more of that later), clutching your sheaf of prospective A levels and your shiny new portfolio, they will tell you it will take seven years before emerging as that magnificent, black spangled Starchitect Butterfly. Seven years! You gulp, and think, well – it will be worth it! Designing cathedrals or huge hotels in Dubai in seven years’ time, lots of money – not bad!
If only. Seven years is a conservative estimate. Many chrysalises never emerge at all.
The first hurdle, if you are 18 and fresh faced, is to make sure you do Art A level. Never mind anything else – Art is it. And you must have parents with deep pockets.
If you are a mature man, with means and no kids, fine – your life experience will stand in place of A levels. But make sure you like Art, and have a portfolio to prove it.
Are you a man with a wife and kids? OK, but make sure your wife has a well paid job, such as a lawyer or a doctor, and doesn't mind your changing fashion sense of black clothes, shaven head and silly glasses.
What do you mean, you’re a woman with kids and no husband? Forget it! Or say goodbye to your health and sanity.
So, assuming those first steps have been taken, be prepared for the University interview. Take that bulging portfolio and make sure you have photos of your ‘installations’ because, as we all know, you simply cannot make sense of an installation out of its context. During your interview, drop in the words ‘Architectonic’ and ‘Richard Rogers’ and ‘post modernism’. Do not under any circumstances mention the words ‘classical’, ‘Quinlan Terry’ or ‘load bearing masonry’.
All with me so far?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
