Summer studio has always been a mix of finishing off our grad students’ first year with a combination of skills exercises and some deeper probing of what, exactly, we’re doing when we make spaces for people. This summer I’m co-teaching it with Leslie Forehand, one of our brilliant new digital production hires, and we’ve brought in a mix of curious upper-level undergrads. That combination means we have a great mix of backgrounds and skills in studio, and watching students raise the bar for one another is always its own reward.
Usually I teach a studio called “perfect works of architecture” in this course, asking students to study an extant piece of civic or sacred architecture in Iowa and to analyze it in terms of its formal structure and its material experience. I’ve given them three readings, by Mircea Eliade, Juhani Pallasmaa, and Kenneth Frampton, that touch on issues of essence and meaning. Eliade’s Sacred and Profane suggests that there are formal universals that humans recognize when we build particularly meaningful buildings, typically with vertical axes mundi that connect earth and heavens. Pallasmaa offers the most legible insight into the phenomenological world of experience, suggesting that we be mindful of the range of sensory inputs that space, materials, and detailing provide. And Frampton, of course, looks at the way materials are put together as a way of adding meaning to the actual built conditions that we create.
So, with Prof. Forehand on board, we’re reframing this with a digital emphasis. What’s gained or lost when we record or design spaces with digital techniques? She’s taken on board the College of Design’s point cloud scanner as a technique and analogy. The scanner works by shooting out thousands of tiny laser bursts and measuring the distance they travel before bouncing off of something back to the scanner. It literally scans a space in three dimensions and returns a ghostly and wildly complex digital model that can then be used to create drawings and models of uncanny precision. Needless to say, it’s the anti-Eliade, the anti-Pallasmaa, and the anti-Frampton, at least at first glance. The scans it returns are pretty antiseptic, and they’re full of accidental inclusions and omissions that are sometimes only apparent after the scan’s complete. (For instance, if someone walks in front of it while it’s recording, you get a few blips that look like a transporter from Star Trek malfunctioned. And if you put it on the wrong side of a tree, or a rock, or a piece of furniture, it obviously can’t figure out what’s behind that).
Still, it’s a fascinating process, and the results are both incredibly useful and fascinating in their own right. So we’ve had students combining data from the scanner with their own hand drawings to try to reconcile the crunchy, analogue experience of being inside a space like Drake’s Scott Chapel, or ISU’s own Beaux-Arts monument, Beardshear Hall with the millions of geometrically perfect but sensually mute points that we’re recording. To make the argument clear we’ve had them sketching while the machine is doing its thing, and we’ve thrown in a presentation assignment on Prix du Rome drawings from the 18th century to try to make the case for drawing as a recording and as an experiential act. The word “versimilitude” has come up more than once.
Very much a work in progress…students present their final projects, re-conceptions or re-detailing of Scott Chapel using hybrid drawings, next Wednesday. Drop by if you’re in town and want to take part in the discussion of how we think about space versus how we feel about it, or if you just want to see some really engaging drawings and experiments…