Jesen Tanadi - RISD Architecture Degree Project 2011 Drawing Catalog

With special thanks to: Brian Goldberg, Lynnette Widder, Thomas Gardner, Jason Wood.

(also, for keeping up with my shenanigans: ) Zel Bowman-Laberge, Ali Gens, Athan Geolas, Kasia Kociuba, Alex McCargar, Molly O’Neill, Cat Rha, Sanna Shah (for lending me her car), Bruce Thurman.

but what if the lights don’t turn back on? a thesis

catalog / drawing keys (not to be distributed without drawing set)

Jesen Tanadi Rhode Island School of Design 2011

preface While, traditionally, architecture’s role merely concerns that of inhabitation, one can posit that the work of the architect has the ability to be a cultural form, capable of engaging with a larger public. It isn’t to say that architecture’s established and basic functions are to be forgotten—on the contrary, the very essence of architecture must be conserved—but the question posed concerns an augmentation to the accepted norm: to be merely sheltered from the rain isn’t adequate anymore; architecture needs to act as a cultural determinant. The boundaries of architecture, as a discipline, must be pushed in order to oppose a sense of complacency so easily found in today’s practice.

In today’s mass consumerist culture, overconsumption has become the norm—like a second nature to which we have become desensitized. This disease, sustained by mass production, has led to a problem of excess and an artificial desire for newness. Disenchanted by the banality of everyday objects, we find ourselves in a constant search for the novel, the sleek, and the shiny; unable to find satisfaction and gratification in the existing objects around us, we force ourselves to remain in a mode of constant production. In the words of Hannah Arendt: In our need for more and more rapid replacement of the worldly things around us, we can no longer afford to use them, to respect and preserve their inherent durability; we must consume, devour, as it were, our houses and furniture and cars as though they … [would] spoil uselessly if they are not drawn swiftly into the neverending cycle of man’s metabolism with nature.1 This is the reality to be contested.

The proposition doesn’t require one to press a “reset” button, as if hopelessly accepting the eventual fatality of our

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world. It is not an act of restarting, a circumstance in which the work that proceeds is “something pieced together in the aftermath of an implied ‘inevitable’ nuclear holocaust”2. A nihilistic attitude towards the world is surely detrimental to the work of an architect and the “inherent optimism necessary in the act of building”3. Architecture has the ability to discover and draw attention to the potential of things, and through exhortation, this knowledge can be shared.

Our relationship with, and our understanding of, the established infrastructure must be re-evaluated. We have everything: the city, in its entirety, is for us to claim. The commodities of a bygone golden era of gluttonous production— though some may have been forgotten, abandoned, or decayed—have the potential to be converted into sites, tools, and materials. This isn’t a call towards a blind hopefulness, but a call towards an opportunistic optimism, where one is able to see “the devastation of the city … transformed into fascinating landmarks … [that] will develop the desires, the self-confidence and the courage to take and hold possession of the city and to alter it”4. Like guerilla militants, we must re-appropriate, repurpose, annex, confiscate, borrow, and steal.

Perhaps it may seem counterintuitive to attack the system by going against the grain: one can imagine a way in which a critique of the current situation is done by simply altering the existing boundaries—through simple modifications along a common thread in order to subtly persuade followers of today’s trends. But to speak and act delicately isn’t adequate any longer. To call into crisis the convention of the discipline, one must push through obliquely: partially head on, so as to alarm, and thus call attention to the crisis; partially perpendicularly,

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so as to find and apply solutions not necessarily parallel to architecture’s direction of travel.

Given this context, the role of the architect as a maker of artifacts focuses towards re-imagining a new model of public engagement. These artifacts are not only used to encourage public action, they also propose a new reality, serving as a pedagogical device that reinvents new possibilities.

The work of this project bifurcates itself into two categories: Strange Machines and Absurd Conjectures.

While Strange Machines exists at a scale that is easily tangible and readily constructible, Absurd Conjectures deals with a propositional scale. The projects exist hand-in-hand as each one informs the other, whether through material constraints or through the fluidity of a narrative imagination. They are both of equal value and are thought of as real, though it is known and accepted that they produce very different artifacts: Strange Machines always produces 1:1 objects and the process in which the objects are produced and installed, while Absurd Conjectures always produces drawings that deal with semifantastical scales as a way to provoke and engage a different audience and a different kind of public.

This book is to serve partly as a catalog, documenting previously completed artifacts; and partly as a key to be used in order to read the drawings and objects made. Without the set of drawings included in the package, this book will always be incomplete, describing non-existent objects oddly represented; without this book, the drawings proposed are highly illegible and may seem incoherent.

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preface

strange machines

During the birth of industrial machines, in the period of the Industrial Revolution, Technology and the machines that came of it were originally experimental in nature—having to do with human experience and the discovery of the world.

But technology has since lost its nature of being an experiment: a calculating, optimizing, economizing intention has taken over…5 In order to redefine our relationship with the world, as a method of criticism, it is imperative to reestablish our interaction with it as well as the apparatuses that enable this interaction.

In opposition to the modern desire for rapid, systematic, and profitable productions—to the “autocrats whose motto is ‘efficiency, economy, and expediency’”6—these Strange Machines locate themselves as anachronistic mechanical constructions.

Their intention isn’t to suggest a romanticized and idealized past, illustrated by the use of outdated machineries, but rather, they serve to prove that: … it may thereby be possible to use the machine while at the same time rejecting the economic determinism and technological optimization that has reduced architecture to such a woeful state of dependency. The machine, one can therefore conclude, can be assessed using values other than those associated with technological thinking; it is by their very uselessness in the progressive technological definition, that these original, archaic machines remain open to contemporary experiment and experience, and why these technological dinosaurs, these extinct species of invention, remain so alive to artistic development.7 They reject the use of machines as mere tools of mass productions, as instruments of simple problem-solving, and allow for a different reading of technology—one that Heidegger has defined as “no

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mere means... [but as] a way of revealing...”8 and concludes that “what is decisive in technē... [lies] in the aforementioned revealing. It is as revealing, and not as manufacturing, that technē is a bringing-forth”9.

Born out of an impatience of the present stillness of the discipline, the following objects are seen as productive “models.”

Their productivity is achieved through an engagement with reality—the world in which they reside—as they are always manifested as 1:1 constructs. The necessity of constructing in order to test a mechanism is made beneficial, to a larger audience, by these constructs’ capacity to exist autonomously as public works, understood both as an act of generosity and as a way to provoke constructive actions for the public to partake in. The making of each machine is not an end, but an experimental beginning, something perhaps engrained with a naïve optimism. The machines designed and built question the current technophilic trends and our fabricated compulsion and conception that the problems of the discipline can only be solved through some marvelous future technology not yet invented.

The anachronic machines of produced are enabling apparatuses, that are able to bypass the requirement of (re)defining their meaning, simply because their significance is already grounded in an understood context. Thus, the employment of these machines already carries with it a weight: they are inherently tools to criticize today’s culture of mass production.

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preface

absurd conjectures

Sir Ken Robinson, in his address at the Royal Society for the encouragement of the Arts, Manufacturers and Commerce (RSA), makes an argument towards an educational paradigm shift. In it, he asserts the power of the arts as an agent that “especially [addresses] the idea of aesthetic experience.” He continues by describing an aesthetic experience as: one in which your senses are operating at their peak: when you’re present in the current moment, when you’re resonating with the excitement of this thing that you’re experiencing, when you’re fully alive. An anaesthetic is when you shut your senses off, and deaden yourself to what’s happening.

While his argument was in regards to a complete revolution of the global education system, this idea can still be emulated and applied through a more dispersed method. If architecture is seen as a cultural form—that is, as an embodiment of a pedagogical set of actions or a method of operation—then the same demands can be placed upon it. Amidst the cultural diaspora occurring today, architecture must serve as a force of resistance: it is to provide for what Sir Ken Robinson refers to an aesthetic experience, contending the anaesthesia we’ve been continuously administered.

The making of Strange Machines necessitated the use of instrumental drawings: mechanical movements, projected as geometricized constructs on paper, served as an intermediary between the brutal trial and error characterized by a Rube Goldberg machine and the absolute precision required to fabricate a microprocessor. Liberated from this condition, Absurd Conjectures manifest themselves as fantastical propositional drawings that further translate ideas present in Strange Machines. The drawings gain relevance through their pedagogical capacity and their ability to provoke an imaginary,

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yet plausible, reality. Never about mere utility, the proposals are allowed a greater latitude in terms of their absurdity. The speculations “invite [the audience] to respond seriously and with sensitivity regardless of the absurdity of the situation in which we might find them,”10 akin to the way one might approach Fischli and Weiss’ The Way Things Go. The projects in this category serve to question the normative understanding we have of our built environment.

Each proposition exists within the imagined depth of the paper, bounded by a rectangular frame that defines their edges. While this is the case, their capacity as critiques and inquiries is to be acknowledged; though they are merely composed of ink and graphite, their presence in the world are always thought of as real.

The speculative drawings contest the way in which contemporary buildings interface—that isn’t to say how their envelopes work, but rather how they interact, as physical entities—with their context. The projects are developed in response to the ... yearly “progress” of automobile model change... the most obvious example of what is a pervasive reality—a reality that has produced a directly synonymous condition in the superficial skins, defined literally as “packaging,” that envelop contemporary high-rise office and apartment buildings... [which] respond to the change of fashion, here clearly understood as a masking device.11 As a critique of this understanding, the proposals claim an ability for standard components and mechanisms to be adapted in a way that moves them away from the accepted norm. Their visual expressions come not from the application of a skin—done

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out of a desire to distinguish and date one object from another— but from their very own parts and the way in which they are assembled. They call for the end of the use of machines as mere image- and form-givers, where “the implied, ‘absent’ movement involved in a mostly inherited machine imagery are considered expressive”3. The “machine imagery” supported then—if it can still be called imagery—is one that reveals the actions of its mechanisms, seen as physical manifestations of human actions.

It is through a level of absurdity that this condition is elevated to a new level of awareness. Their strangeness is revelatory and acts as a catalyst for a subversion of the current conception of the reality of inhabitation as banal. Like Heath Robinson’s drawings, they are done in order to “tweak that public notions of the unlikely (but nearly possible) in a strategy of confrontation”4.

1. 125-6 2. McCarter 10 3. Ibid 4. Jencks 269 5. McCarter 11 6. Jencks 269 7. McCarter 11 8. 12 9. 13 10. Millar 13 11. McCarter 8 12. Ibid 13. Cook 40

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strange machine #1

work-out bench

An unfinished bench, waiting for the addition of scrap wood pieces as its seating element.

Counterweighted with 55lbs of plaster, the bench requires a force to be exerted in order to be utilized. Once physical labor has been performed, the user is granted his one and only wish: To sit quietly and relax on the bench.

1 longitudinal section of bench in horizontal position, with seat assembled (1 1/2” = 1’-0”) 2 plan of bench in horizontal position, with seat assembled (1 1/2” = 1’-0”)

3 longitudinal section of bench in vertical position (1 1/2” = 1’-0”) 4 cross section of bench in horizontal position (1 1/2” = 1’-0”)

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absurd conjecture #1

twin bridges for forging friendship

Two bridges stand vertically, until weight is applied. As one traverses, the bridge slowly declines; from ladder, to stair, to ramp.

The bridge is momentarily horizontal.

Until weight is removed and its counterweight shifts its orientation back to the vertical.

And the traveler is stranded on the island.

He climbs a tower, looks out into the distance, asks for help, and makes a new friend

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plan oblique of bridge in vertical position (1/4” = 1’-0”) plan oblique of supporting structure (1/4” = 1’-0”) partial plan oblique of tower (1/4” = 1’-0”) detail of treads and railing (1/2” = 1’-0”) longitudinal section of twin bridges (1/4” = 1’-0”) counterweight (1/4” = 1’-0”)

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strange machine #2

guerilla urban parasol

“In making for ourselves a place to live, we first spread a parasol to throw a shadow on the earth, and in the pale light of the shadow we put together a house.”

- Jun’ichirõ Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows, 17

A parasol is spread to reclaim public space; to suggest the beginning of a movement.

This one opens and closes by way of mechanical activation.

Not to provide shade, or cover from rain.

But like graffiti, it announces one’s territory.

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section of rotating mechanism as it relates to lamp post (1:2) plan of rotating mechanism as it relates to bar clamp (1:2) plan of bar clamp as it relates to width of lamp post (1:2) plan of rotating mechanism as it relates to bar clamp (1:2) rear elevation of rotating mechanism as it relates to bar clamp (1:2)

6 detail of threaded rod and bar clamp handle (1:2) 7 travertine tiles counterweight (1:2)

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absurd conjecture #2

a roof structure for the south street power plant

To gentrify, parts of the abandoned South Street Power Plant are demolished. Left uncovered, the monstrous ruin is left to decay.

While irresponsible developers mull and debate, snow and ice accumulates. Nature turns the building’s ground floor into an outdoor ice skating rink.

All we need to add is a roof structure.

Perhaps one that uses a Zamboni as its counterweight.

1 plan of space with mechanical roof structures overlaid (3/32” = 1’-0”)

2 elevation of roof structure and canopy mechanism (3/32” = 1’-0”) 3 section oblique of power plant (3/32” = 1’-0”) 4 zamboni as counterweight (3/32” = 1’-0”)

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strange machine #3

armature for urban fantasies (part 1)

In a shed by the river stand panels describing Providence’s history. Always looking behind its back, the hut is a reflection of the city’s current situation: Stuck in the past, it begs to be freed.

This drawing machine is the antidote.

An empty screen asking to be drawn on, with projections of the future. A re-imagining of the future possibilities of the city. A forum for the everyday laymen’s hands.

The past is debased, its artifact physically shattered by the installation of this machine.

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plan of clamp and mechanism (1 1/2” = 1’-0”) section of clamp as it relates to concrete column (1 1/2” = 1’-0”) elevation of mechanism (1 1/2” = 1’-0”) construction sequence (1/2” = 1’-0”)

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strange machine #3

armature for urban fantasies (part 2)

The machine also acts as a register of human actions and inhabitations.

As the pen is pulled in order to satisfy the desire to draw, the machine’s pulleys and sprockets are engaged. A screen lowers, its counterweight lifted. At first horizontal, a hard tug to the pen turns the screen vertical, bringing it closer to the drawer.

The machine’s engagement reduces one’s distance from the picture plane, allowing a projection from the self to be inscribed onto the screen.

1 partial detail plan of clamp and threaded rod attachments (1:2) 2 partial detail section/elevation of clamp and screen mechanism (1:2)

3 partial detail plan of clamp and screen mechanism (1:2) 4 detail elevation of drawing mechanism (1:2) 5 counterweight (1:2)

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

As Detroit’s population declines, the city experiences a phenomenon known as “urban thinning.” At the height of this occurrence, DTE Energy is forced to cut off power to more and more buildings, turning them into useless abandoned structures, like tree trunks cut off from their roots. Eventually, Detroit falls into dimness, its urban glow slowly diminishing into a void on the map. At night, a new world within the dark sky suddenly opens up with the demise of the blinding harshness of a city’s light pollution. During the day, the city’s stillness allows it to be perceived as a fixed accumulation of human constructs, their connections affixed within a landscape frozen in time.

With deserted buildings slowly turning into derelict structures of urban nightmares, a new possibility emerges. A new kind of public is engaged in Detroit: those who see great potential in its orphaned urban artifacts. The towers of Detroit now serve as tools themselves—empty sites awaiting actions. This isn’t a portrayal of the bleak future facing Detroit; rather, it is about the resilience of the city and its people. After all, a wise Detroiter once said, “We hope for better things; it will rise from the ashes.”

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

The mural quadrant maps the location of a celestial object by comparing ones line of sight with the zenith/nadir line: a local vertical datum.

This line is physical: it is the string with which a plumb-bob is hung; it is the expression of the Earth’s gravitational force at the location of the device.

Traditionally, the mural quadrant must be located precisely on the Earth’s meridian line, so that measurements gathered can be calibrated against a larger system of coordinates.

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

The navigator’s sextant relates a celestial object, the horizon line, and one’s line of sight through geometrical and optical projections. That is, it locates the position of a body in space by comparing the angle between that body and an imaginary horizontal datum.

This relationship is explicitly sectional/elevational. The measured angle is calibrated against the horizon line, accepted as the zero line.

To use a sextant is to sight an object. In other words, to align through observation.

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

A medallion embedded in Campus Martius Park signifies an important point in Detroit’s geography. Like a navel, Detroit’s point of origin acts like a 0,0 co-ordinate: a point from which everything else is measured from.

7 Mile Road is sevel miles north of this point, 8 Mile Road is eight miles north of this point, etc.

Unlike the perpetually shifting magnetic north, Detroit’s navel is a constant—a metal marker driven into the ground.

1 the book tower (1/256” = 1’-0”) 2 campus martius park, containing detroit’s point of origin (1/256” = 1’-0”)

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Abandoned on January 5th, 2009, the Book Tower was once a symbol of the Book Brothers’ power and control in Detroit. As the city’s fortune rose due to a rise in car production, so did the Brothers’. At the height of their prosperity in 1916, they owned 60% of Washington Boulevard’s frontage. To display this newly acquired accomplishment, the Book Brothers decided to hire Louis Kamper, the architect who had earlier designed the recently opened Book Building adjoining the tower.

The Brothers’ attempt at architectural fame came true after the Book Tower, completed in 1926, was named the tallest building in Detroit. However, paralleling the Book Brothers’ sudden downhill turn due to the Depression, the Tower’s fame as the tallest building in town was short-lived. Two years after its completion, the title went to the Penobscot Building.

Nonetheless, the Book Tower still generated buzz—mostly because of its reputation as the ugly duckling of Detroit.

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As Kamper’s first tall building at the time, he had no prior knowledge as to how it should be designed. This lack of knowledge proved to be quite a detriment as the bright architect forgot to include fire escape stairs in his design. As such, the fire stairs had to be appended outside, like an odd and mangled bandage meant to heal the building. On one hand, this was seen as a gross oversight, but on the other, this mistake allowed the building to be seen as the poster child for ad-hoc construction, allowing its inhabitants to tack on whatever devices they see necessary—like the satellite dishes and radio antennas that littered its copper-clad roof before high winds knocked them off on March 19th, 1986.

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In its actual design, Kamper went about his usual business and conceived of the Tower in the Neo-Classical and Neo-Renaissance styles he was used to, complete with Corinthian columns and intricately carved ornaments. The crevices made by these ornaments, coupled with Kamper’s use of porous limestone, meant that the Tower collected the pollutants, dust, and debris the city had to offer.

Unbeknownst to Kamper at the time, The Book Tower’s skin slowly accumulated a record of the city itself. Like core samples taken by stratigraphers, the layers accrued on the Book Tower’s façade could perhaps inform us of the make-up of Detroit’s recent history, from the time of the auto industry’s boom, to an era marked by its armaments production—when the city was simply known as the Arsenal of Democracy—and finally to the slow and painful demise of the auto industry that started it all.

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In 1993, Detroit Edison Company threatened to shut off power going into the building because of an outstanding bill of $23,000. Fortunately, the Book Tower’s owner at the time, Susan Lambrecht, managed to settle the debt and the lights stayed on in the building. On April 5th, 2007, DTE Energy shut off electricity to the Tower for even more unpaid bills. New York-based Pagan Organization, the group that purchased the building from Ms. Lamrbecht, eventually paid those bills and the Book Tower had power running through it once more. In 2008, the building changed ownership one more time—this time it was purchased by AKNO Enterprises of Vancouver, B.C. This didn’t prove to be beneficial as DTE Energy was forced to cut off electricity to the building one final time for $87,000 worth of unpaid bills. As of now, the Book Tower is known as the tallest abandoned building in America.

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But what if the lights don’t turn back on?

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

In regards to historical preservaion, the National Park Service states: When all means of finding a productive use for a historic building have been exhausted or when funds are not currently available to put a deteriorating structure into a useable condition, it may be necessary to close up the building temporarily to protect it from the weather as well as to secure it from vandalism... A vacant historic building cannot survive indefinitely in a boarded-up condition, and so even marginal interim uses where there is regular activity and monitoring, such as a caretaker residence or non-flammable storage, are generally preferable...1 In other words, this protective process—known as mothballing—is actually the last action one should take in order to preserve a building.

Instead of merely shutting off the Book Tower and leaving it as a forgotten ruin, one could imagine a process of inhabitation that would perhaps raise the significance of the building through a productive, but perhaps temporary, occupation.

1. Preservation Brief 31: Mothballing Historic Building

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

One imagines the necessity of a caretaker, documenting the architectural and historical significance of the building.

The caretaker’s apartment and archive, like a bird cage, exists in a state of suspended animation at the center point of the building, allowing the caretaker to survey upwards and downwards: to understand the tower one fathom at a time.

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plan of the book tower’s middle levels (3/32” = 1’-0”) astrographer’s den (3/32” = 1’-0”) cross section of the book tower’s middle levels (3/32” = 1’-0”) cross section of the caretaker’s apartment and archive (3/32” = 1’-0”)

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

Constructed out of disassembled roof trusses and components from demolished structures, the bird cage mechanically acts like pincers, tightly gripping onto the concrete beams of the Book Tower.

As more tension is applied, or as more weight is amassed in the archive, the pincers grab hold of the structure ever more tightly.

The pincers release themselves when the accumulated artifacts are removed and when no more weight is applied on to the structure.

1 lower floor plan of the bird cage, showing the caretaker’s apartment (1/4” = 1’-0”) 2 upper floor plan of the bird cage, showing the public archive (1/4” = 1’-0”)

3 cross section of the bird cage (1/4” = 1’-0”)

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

As more floor slabs are cut out to allow for the caretaker to observe deeper and higher, a collection of raw materials—in this case concrete—begins to accrue.

The Book Tower becomes a quarry, its building materials excavated and used to construct other structures, like the yard, which also measures the yard. This yard acts like a bridge, connecting the Tower with the Detroit People Mover, which has since been turned into the Detroit Stuff Mover.

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plan of the yard (3/32” = 1’-0”) longitudinal section of the yard (3/32” = 1’-0”) gantry crane (3/32” = 1’-0”) the detroit stuff mover (3/32” = 1’-0”) cross section of the yard (3/32” = 1’-0”) plan oblique of the yard’s structural island (3/32” = 1’-0”)

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

Pockets of spaces are then created for the amateur geographers— those who look down—and the amateur astrographers—those who look up.

The geographers’ dens align themselves, geometrically, to Detroit’s navel, 30° West of South. Planimetrically, this imaginary line is their datum.

1 plan of the book tower’s upper levels (3/32” = 1’-0”) 2 geographer’s den (3/32” = 1’-0”) 3 cross section of the book tower’s upper levels (3/32” = 1’-0”)

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

Their ad-hoc mechanisms are crudely attached to the Tower, leaving pock marks and scars on its skin: another layer on top of the gunk built-up from the pollution of a bygone era. From these spaces the participants map and take measure of both the world around us and of the world beyond our reach.

The geographer’s machine operates like a mural quadrant, relating the nadir and the locations of objects on Earth. Through the effects of gravity, the geographer’s body is implicated in the mapping out of the grounded territory below.

The machine is oriented towards Detroit’s Point of Origin. That planimetric line is the geographer’s new meridian line.

1 upper floor plan of geographer’s den & mapping mechanism (1/4” = 1’-0”)

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middle floor plan of geographer’s den (1/4” = 1’-0”) lower floor plan of geographer’s den (1/4” = 1’-0”) cross section of the geographer’s den (1/4” = 1’-0”) auxiliary side elevation of mapping mechanism (1/4” = 1’-0”) auxiliary front elevation of mapping mechanism, showing operator’s chair (1/4” = 1’-0”)

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absurd conjecture #3

the book tower as a measuring device

The astrographer’s machine is an adaptation of the navigator’s sextant. It places the mapper at the end of a virtual optical line, with the drawing screen crossing this path; like the picture plane, it exists between the observed and the observer Callibrated to the measures of the human body, the machine is a device through which one understands the relationships of measure across multiple scales: from the bodily to the heavenly.

1 upper floor plan of astrographer’s den & mapping mechanism (1/4” = 1’-0”)

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middle floor plan of astrographer’s den (1/4” = 1’-0”) lower floor plan of astrographer’s den (1/4” = 1’-0”) floor plan of astrographer’s drawing room (1/4” = 1’-0”) cross section of astrographer’s den and mechanism (1/4” = 1’-0”) detail plan of drawing mechanism (1” = 1’-0”) detail section of drawing mechanism (1” = 1’-0”)

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bibliography Arendt, Hannah. The Human Condition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958.

Cook, John W. and Heinrich Klotz, eds. Conversations with Architects. New York: Praeger, 1973.

Cook, Peter. Drawing: the Motive Force of Architecture. West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons Ltd, 2008.

Daskalakis, Georgia, Charles Waldheim, and Jason Young. Stalking Detroit. Barcelona: Actar, 2001.

Frampton, Kenneth. “The Status of Man and the Status of His Objects: A Reading of the Human Condition.”

Architectural Design Profile. London: Academy Editions, 1982. 6-19.

Heidegger, Martin. The Question Concerning Technology and Other Essays. New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1977.

Jencks, Charles, and Karl Kropf, eds. Theories and Manifestoes of Contemporary Architecture. West Sussex: Academy Editions, 1997.

McCarter, Robert. “Escape from the Revolving Door: Architecture and the Machine.” Pamphlet Architecture 12: Building; Machines. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1987.

7-13.

Millar, Jeremy. Fischli and Weiss: The Way Things Go. London: Afterall Books, 2007.

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Preservation Briefs 31: Mothballing Historic Buildings. Technical Preservation Services: National Park Service, U.S. Department of the Interior, 1993. Web. 17 May 2011.

Pye, David. The Nature of Art and Workmanship. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968.

Rinder, Lawrence. “The Purpose of Crust and Dirt.” The Drawing Center’s Drawing Papers 63: Crust and Dirt’s Instant Drawing Machine. New York: The Drawing Center, 2006.

4-5.

Robinson, Sir Ken. Changing Education Paradigms. Web. 20 Feb. 2011.

Tanizaki, Jun’ichirõ. In Praise of Shadows. Sedgwick, ME: Leete’s Island Books, 1977.

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Š 2011 Jesen Tanadi & The Rhode Island School of Design No parts of this publication and/or the drawings cataloged within may be reproduced without the author’s written formal consent.