There is a link, definite but of uncertain detail, between the work I make now, and have made in the last ten years and more, and my first architecture. It truly is my first architecture – the first time in architecture school that we were assigned to create a space, a passage.

The thing derives from a pair of objects, abstracted. Those days, we drafted everything by hand, in graphite – lead holders and all – on Arches hotpress paper with a nice deckle edge. First we drew the two objects, intersecting: in plan, elevation, section, and axonometric. The axon was nearly impossible; my objects were simple, but had I skewed one object in two directions. I think we had to draw a bunch of sections, that I overlapped mine to make them fit, or maybe I just wanted to draw a bunch of sections. Then, we selected square areas from our line drawings, scaled and interpreted the lines into models – 6×6x1.5″ in size. I made mine from chipboard and from foamcore – on the former, I sliced my thumb open around 2am, while listening to Jars of Clay’s album “Much Afraid,” which I will forever associate with long solitary nights in the southwest corner of Crown Hall. Should have gotten stitches; I still have a nice scar. The next step was to combine those four models, stretching and altering as we liked, to make a basswood model 6″ high, 6″ wide, and 12″ long, scale 1/2″ = 1′-2″. The base was 18″x18″, made of 1/2″ MDF. We were supposed to consider not only the space, but also the path of travel through it, and the interaction of light throughout the day.

My model has a certain sense of mass to it. It’s in part derived from the objects, in part from how I extrapolated solid and void from a line drawing. One of the lightest and most minimal models in my class had only mechanical connections. It’s the sort of thing I love and wish I made, but I have always tended toward more visual heft.

The model is now a bit careworn. It’s survived a multitude of moves and even more falls from its perch atop the television. The basswood is ten years older, glued joints have opened, fibers have warped. I goofed a couple of details entirely when I made the thing – next time different, I suppose. Here it is.

The drawn representation that we architects have been taught to understand as paramount is the plan view. And yet – of the photos I took of the model, I think it’s the most enigmatic in regards to providing a sense of the space.

The intended passage is essentially a climbing spiral – from afar, entering under the ramp, up and around the stairs, up the ramp, over and out.

Another elevation view.

This is from eye level, or thereabouts.

End elevation.

My favorite space was always that little pocket under the ramp. I imagined, and still imagine, sitting there.

This view most closely resembles how I see the model from my perch at the computer. I like the intersection of that tiny column with the big triangle. Had fun cutting it in, too, as I recall. I still enjoy a lot of moments about this model.

Last view: from above.