lydon
ruppert
homies
coffin
20100527
20100526
untitled poem
Summaries and data feeds
Movies, tv, books
Maps of Bradford, Wakefield, Leeds
Recipes for cooks
All info at my fingertips
Look up any story
No need for more boring trips
To the book depository
‘Antisocial’ one contends
I’m online every day till dawn
Joining groups and collecting friends
A lot like Pokemon
And if you want your privacy
To feel all warm and cuddly
Too bad, but you’ve got to see
Its only stalking if you’re ugly
So hop on to the Internet
Where nothing is a chore
Laptop, desktop, Iphone, you’re set!
Thank you, Mr. Gore
Summaries and data feeds
Movies, tv, books
Maps of Bradford, Wakefield, Leeds
Recipes for cooks
All info at my fingertips
Look up any story
No need for more boring trips
To the book depository
‘Antisocial’ one contends
I’m online every day till dawn
Joining groups and collecting friends
A lot like Pokemon
And if you want your privacy
To feel all warm and cuddly
Too bad, but you’ve got to see
Its only stalking if you’re ugly
So hop on to the Internet
Where nothing is a chore
Laptop, desktop, Iphone, you’re set!
Thank you, Mr. Gore
20100525
20100524
20100523
FINAL SHOW!
_in Translation thesis show . downtown slo . atmodsphere
first floor, with john lange
2 ply
overall
first floor, with john lange
2 ply
overall
20100522
20100521
20100518
20100516
20100515
20100514
20100513
20100512
Form Analogs . door handles
In order to awaken latent hedonistic tendencies, I decided to design a series of handles (doors or otherwise). These handles all make the user more aware of the tactility in opening a door or drawer or cabinet. The idea of the door is deeply rooted in humanity since civilization began. Doors were a way to separate peoples and spaces. When people began to collect items, doors were used to store things away; keeping personal possessions from others. Doors have been used for defensive measures and as portals for accessibility. Doors have been used to divide space and to combine space.
With the significance of the door in mind, I sought to explore how a person’s interaction with that door can change their perception of the space around the door and of the door itself. There are several different types of typical door handles. Knobs are convenient for their compact form and small rotational wrist motion necessary to operate them. Lever handles offer a larger visual and tactile impact. Operating a lever involves much more than the wrist, but also the forearm and elbow, sometimes the shoulder. Stationary handles merely act as a handhold to open or close an unlatched door, yet can be just as tactile and sensual as a latching handle. While there are numerous other types of handles, such as thumb levers and digital, I think a rather specialized and narrow exploration is necessary for the project.
While I have specifically used only two different materials for the form analogs, I made sure that both would have a significant tactile impact while maintaining a similar aesthetic and manufacturing technique. This allowed me to focus on the human interaction with the handles. Each handle, while not specifically designed for any particular door, was made with a different tactile feel in mind. Some of the differences are obvious, and some are not, even to me. One thing that I did not want to do was waste too much time in over-designing any single handle. As an analog study, the key was to produce as many objects as possible, thus widening the scope of the study and broadening the opportunities for tactile response. The Japanese idea of wabi-sabi was instrumental in this process. Among the basic tenants of wabi-sabi is the notion of transience or the beauty of the incomplete. Even after I make the last of the handles for this series, I certainly won’t consider the exercise complete, and I hope that I never do. The process of designing a series in the style of wabi-sabi allows the continual renewal of the simple and modest, as opposed to the jarringly confusing (at least to me) iterations of parametric digital objects, many of which are lost the second they lose value to the creator. In creating a physical object, I was forced to consider all the failures as well.
This process also helped in deciding the program of my building. Before I had decided on using a metal shop as a rehabilitation tool, the program was fairly generic and uninteresting. When I realized that the process of making was therapeutic for me, it was easy to see that the same process of making could be therapeutic for others.
In order to awaken latent hedonistic tendencies, I decided to design a series of handles (doors or otherwise). These handles all make the user more aware of the tactility in opening a door or drawer or cabinet. The idea of the door is deeply rooted in humanity since civilization began. Doors were a way to separate peoples and spaces. When people began to collect items, doors were used to store things away; keeping personal possessions from others. Doors have been used for defensive measures and as portals for accessibility. Doors have been used to divide space and to combine space.
With the significance of the door in mind, I sought to explore how a person’s interaction with that door can change their perception of the space around the door and of the door itself. There are several different types of typical door handles. Knobs are convenient for their compact form and small rotational wrist motion necessary to operate them. Lever handles offer a larger visual and tactile impact. Operating a lever involves much more than the wrist, but also the forearm and elbow, sometimes the shoulder. Stationary handles merely act as a handhold to open or close an unlatched door, yet can be just as tactile and sensual as a latching handle. While there are numerous other types of handles, such as thumb levers and digital, I think a rather specialized and narrow exploration is necessary for the project.
While I have specifically used only two different materials for the form analogs, I made sure that both would have a significant tactile impact while maintaining a similar aesthetic and manufacturing technique. This allowed me to focus on the human interaction with the handles. Each handle, while not specifically designed for any particular door, was made with a different tactile feel in mind. Some of the differences are obvious, and some are not, even to me. One thing that I did not want to do was waste too much time in over-designing any single handle. As an analog study, the key was to produce as many objects as possible, thus widening the scope of the study and broadening the opportunities for tactile response. The Japanese idea of wabi-sabi was instrumental in this process. Among the basic tenants of wabi-sabi is the notion of transience or the beauty of the incomplete. Even after I make the last of the handles for this series, I certainly won’t consider the exercise complete, and I hope that I never do. The process of designing a series in the style of wabi-sabi allows the continual renewal of the simple and modest, as opposed to the jarringly confusing (at least to me) iterations of parametric digital objects, many of which are lost the second they lose value to the creator. In creating a physical object, I was forced to consider all the failures as well.
This process also helped in deciding the program of my building. Before I had decided on using a metal shop as a rehabilitation tool, the program was fairly generic and uninteresting. When I realized that the process of making was therapeutic for me, it was easy to see that the same process of making could be therapeutic for others.
20100511
20100510
20100509
20100508
20100507
20100506
20100505
absence of apocalypse . chapter 1
The story begins with a fairly smart individual who decided to build a time machine. Remarkably, as intelligent as Charles Mason was, he decided to use it. When Charles first entertained the idea to himself and his friends, he was fortunate enough not to have any friends, and merely went ahead with the project. After years of research in quantum mechanics and astrophysics, Charles quit it all and started to study city and regional planning. One day while contemplating the extraordinary lengths people go to in order to disrupt the perfectly uninteresting lives of city council members, he was struck with the key to time travel. Unfortunately, he never explained that to me, so I still have no idea how he did it. Regardless, I know for a fact that on the morning of the day he left for the past, he bought several cans of coconut milk and batteries. Refer to Appendix A for notes on the uses of coconut milk in time travel. I think the batteries were for his camera.
At any rate, he told me that morning that he was off on his whirlwind adventure into the past. I told him that he should give me access to his brain when he died so I could download his experiences, then write about them at a later date. He said, “No”, and went on his way. I followed him back to his apartment where he had been constructing the time machine. It was a standard boxy affair; several windows allowed one to view the standard boxy affair next to it. As he opened the door, I snuck into his living room and watched as he fiddled with the machine. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but thought I distinctly heard the sound of splashing coconut milk (see Appendix A). As he finished, he stepped onto the platform, for it was a platform type of time machine; none of this fancy sitting garbage. He punched in several buttons on the frame and the machine began emitting a slow purring sound. It was at this time that I snuck up onto the platform with me. It would be advantageous to the reader to know that I had developed an invisibility shield and was currently employing it. The shield drew its power from the massive convenience it lent to the narration of this story. Very fortunate.
the apartment . the machine
As the purring grew to a soft mewing, arcs of light began streaking across the apartment. As someone who knows nothing about physics, I would have to say the show was less than impressive but slightly more than average. C- for Affect. Just then, the machine kicked it up a notch, jolting slightly more than suddenly, and rising several inches off the floor. And then we were sitting in the middle of a field…well, not really sitting, we were standing on the platform, as was the custom of the type of time machine.
In direct disobedience of customs, Charles sat down and began to rejoice in the dim glow of his success; it seemed to be dawn. Almost immediately, Charles shot up and took off for the nearest town, which was several kilometers off to the northeast. I followed closely behind, careful not to make loud noises that would alert Charles to my presence. The vastness of the land resembled the great desserts of Africa, such as the tiramisus of Chad or Libyan chocolate cream pie. Both delicious and deadly. An hour later we had reached the crust of the pie and caught our first glimpse of the city and its inhabitants. Apparently, Charles had set his machine to transport himself and a handsome stranger 100 years into the past! I think…
This past seemed much lousier than any other past I had been to. Not only was nobody wearing a smile, but they were all giving off a very negative vibe. Something was off, though. I knew that we had come back about one hundred years, yet this looked nothing like the tri-city area of the 1920s. Where were the old timey cars? Where were the rambunctious flappers? The city looked much bleaker, as if the Industrial Revolution had been merely a passing fancy. I could see the people were in handmade clothes and were selling cheap wares from carts. It looked more like Python/Brooks movie than anything else, something that I found secretly exciting.
Charles noticed much the same as I did (I think, maybe not the movie thing) and kept his distance from the people as he reached the first building. He ran his hand along the poorly made brick structure, wondering at its banality, its datedness. As he turned the corner to spy on the population, I felt the wall and discovered the brick to be of much less quality than I had thought. It almost crumbled beneath my touch, of course, I couldn’t be sure of the exact texture due to my invisibility shield (whose power source was in no way diminishing).
“Watcha lookin’ at, sonny?”
Charles and I whipped around at the same time to a strict looking law enforcement agent twirling a nightstick. I then realized how mundane stereotypes were and waived the absence of flappers.
“Well, good afternoon officer”, Charles replied.
“I don’t want to hear about it. What are you doing round back here?” the policeman queried.
“The…good afternoon, of course”, Charles replied.
“A funny man, eh? Well, we have a place for funny men like you.” The policeman twirled the
nightstick a bit faster.
I grew tired of this quick exchange even quicker, and punched the officer square in the side of the head. After tripping sideways over his shoes, he smacked headfirst into the brick wall, definitely crumbling it beneath his touch.
Needless to say (although I will say it), Charles was shocked. Imagine, if you will (and I do hope you will), a brick wall so weak that a 175 lb. man falling into it would break it. I would be shocked, and in fact, I was. It was curious then, when Charles was examining the unconscious (at least) officer, and not the fairly large hole in the cheap brick wall. Maybe we just have different priorities.
I could see from the back of Charles’s head that he was frantic. Distinct hair swirling patterns and subtle follicle shifts (see Appendix B) alerted me to the fact that Charles was, in fact, panicking. However, with a slight flick of follicle section D-5 (Appendix B), I saw him make the decision to quickly stuff the body into the brick building. The sun was right above me in the sky, amplifying the noon-ness of the place. I was hungry.
The story begins with a fairly smart individual who decided to build a time machine. Remarkably, as intelligent as Charles Mason was, he decided to use it. When Charles first entertained the idea to himself and his friends, he was fortunate enough not to have any friends, and merely went ahead with the project. After years of research in quantum mechanics and astrophysics, Charles quit it all and started to study city and regional planning. One day while contemplating the extraordinary lengths people go to in order to disrupt the perfectly uninteresting lives of city council members, he was struck with the key to time travel. Unfortunately, he never explained that to me, so I still have no idea how he did it. Regardless, I know for a fact that on the morning of the day he left for the past, he bought several cans of coconut milk and batteries. Refer to Appendix A for notes on the uses of coconut milk in time travel. I think the batteries were for his camera.
At any rate, he told me that morning that he was off on his whirlwind adventure into the past. I told him that he should give me access to his brain when he died so I could download his experiences, then write about them at a later date. He said, “No”, and went on his way. I followed him back to his apartment where he had been constructing the time machine. It was a standard boxy affair; several windows allowed one to view the standard boxy affair next to it. As he opened the door, I snuck into his living room and watched as he fiddled with the machine. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but thought I distinctly heard the sound of splashing coconut milk (see Appendix A). As he finished, he stepped onto the platform, for it was a platform type of time machine; none of this fancy sitting garbage. He punched in several buttons on the frame and the machine began emitting a slow purring sound. It was at this time that I snuck up onto the platform with me. It would be advantageous to the reader to know that I had developed an invisibility shield and was currently employing it. The shield drew its power from the massive convenience it lent to the narration of this story. Very fortunate.
the apartment . the machine
As the purring grew to a soft mewing, arcs of light began streaking across the apartment. As someone who knows nothing about physics, I would have to say the show was less than impressive but slightly more than average. C- for Affect. Just then, the machine kicked it up a notch, jolting slightly more than suddenly, and rising several inches off the floor. And then we were sitting in the middle of a field…well, not really sitting, we were standing on the platform, as was the custom of the type of time machine.
In direct disobedience of customs, Charles sat down and began to rejoice in the dim glow of his success; it seemed to be dawn. Almost immediately, Charles shot up and took off for the nearest town, which was several kilometers off to the northeast. I followed closely behind, careful not to make loud noises that would alert Charles to my presence. The vastness of the land resembled the great desserts of Africa, such as the tiramisus of Chad or Libyan chocolate cream pie. Both delicious and deadly. An hour later we had reached the crust of the pie and caught our first glimpse of the city and its inhabitants. Apparently, Charles had set his machine to transport himself and a handsome stranger 100 years into the past! I think…
This past seemed much lousier than any other past I had been to. Not only was nobody wearing a smile, but they were all giving off a very negative vibe. Something was off, though. I knew that we had come back about one hundred years, yet this looked nothing like the tri-city area of the 1920s. Where were the old timey cars? Where were the rambunctious flappers? The city looked much bleaker, as if the Industrial Revolution had been merely a passing fancy. I could see the people were in handmade clothes and were selling cheap wares from carts. It looked more like Python/Brooks movie than anything else, something that I found secretly exciting.
Charles noticed much the same as I did (I think, maybe not the movie thing) and kept his distance from the people as he reached the first building. He ran his hand along the poorly made brick structure, wondering at its banality, its datedness. As he turned the corner to spy on the population, I felt the wall and discovered the brick to be of much less quality than I had thought. It almost crumbled beneath my touch, of course, I couldn’t be sure of the exact texture due to my invisibility shield (whose power source was in no way diminishing).
“Watcha lookin’ at, sonny?”
Charles and I whipped around at the same time to a strict looking law enforcement agent twirling a nightstick. I then realized how mundane stereotypes were and waived the absence of flappers.
“Well, good afternoon officer”, Charles replied.
“I don’t want to hear about it. What are you doing round back here?” the policeman queried.
“The…good afternoon, of course”, Charles replied.
“A funny man, eh? Well, we have a place for funny men like you.” The policeman twirled the
nightstick a bit faster.
I grew tired of this quick exchange even quicker, and punched the officer square in the side of the head. After tripping sideways over his shoes, he smacked headfirst into the brick wall, definitely crumbling it beneath his touch.
Needless to say (although I will say it), Charles was shocked. Imagine, if you will (and I do hope you will), a brick wall so weak that a 175 lb. man falling into it would break it. I would be shocked, and in fact, I was. It was curious then, when Charles was examining the unconscious (at least) officer, and not the fairly large hole in the cheap brick wall. Maybe we just have different priorities.
I could see from the back of Charles’s head that he was frantic. Distinct hair swirling patterns and subtle follicle shifts (see Appendix B) alerted me to the fact that Charles was, in fact, panicking. However, with a slight flick of follicle section D-5 (Appendix B), I saw him make the decision to quickly stuff the body into the brick building. The sun was right above me in the sky, amplifying the noon-ness of the place. I was hungry.
20100503
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
