Structured Space

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table of contents about confining consuming copious correlating coalesce coagulate



about Notes On Structure Cabinet Magazine When looking at nature, it’s difficult to see past the organic part. To see what is making up these natural elements, how they are formed and what they are doing. A closer look, however, and we begin to move past the preconceived “organic shape” and start to see geometry: order, not chaos. An example of this would be schools of fish; they arrange themselves perfectly, and swim together perfectly, without bumping into each other, keeping a “sphere-shaped shell of open water” around themselves. It’s an ordered array in nature, in a specific geometric pattern. This coincides nicely with the ongoing geometry versus nature struggle. Instead of pitting them against each other, it seems that they can coexist, we just never expect it to. This is not a new concept. Artists have been playing with this idea for awhile: putting geometric forms amidst nature. “It pits the chaotic natural world against the orderliness of pure geometry.” It unsettles us; we rarely observe order in nature, and thus geometry with nature leaves us with a feeling of awe, of wonder, of “this isn’t real or possible, but it sure is awesome.” When it comes to nature, we tend to have this faith, an “unconscious confidence”, in the order of the world. We don’t see it, but we believe that everything is organized (i.e. life cycles, evolution/survival of the fittest, food chains, etc.). And then, when we view geometric objects, such as pyramids, we have this faith that the other side of the pyramid exists. We don’t see the whole shape, but our mind completes the


pattern, and we have this belief that that object is complete. That is a leap of faith, faith in the unknown. In the same way we have faith in the order of nature, we also have faith in the order of geometry. We’ve even applied a geometric sequence to nature in an attempt to discern it. The Golden Ratio, aka The Fibonacci Sequence, aka the Nautilus shell, were all formed to bring this unity for us in nature and geometry. We’ve discovered that everything organic has a geometric structure. Whether we see it or not, we believe that it’s there, that that is how nature is. We “dream of an ordered universe”, where things we don’t understand are still organized for easy comprehension. Where we can be sure of how something is and will continue to be.

Personal Response Faith in the unknown is something that a lot of humans are not comfortable with. Every day we worry about what decisions we should make, what our future looks like, how will we resolve this, how will we deal with this when it’s upon us. We crave stability, knowing the unknown, certainty of the uncertain. It’s a difficult concept to accept; it’s unsettling, because everything is changing, out of our control. But every now and then, something comes along that we have absolute faith in. No doubts or fear, just comfort and certainty. It’s the feeling of being home, of being safe. Recently, I’ve had the pleasure of feeling safe, of feeling like I’ve landed at home. Nothing can ruin this, no matter what; it is there, it is firm. I have faith in it, completely. It’s still unknown territory; I cannot tell what will happen in the future, what events will unfold or what trials await, but it’s having faith in this sure thing that makes the unknown not so scary.


When approaching nature, it’s difficult to believe that this chaos is organized; that there is some order to the crazy organic. When approaching geometry, it is very easy to believe that this thing makes sense; that it is ordered and organized, that it is mathematically correct and finished. And in combining those two things — known and unknown, faith and doubt — we get this weird sensation. If you remove the known part of geometry (the side of a pyramid, for example), it forces our minds to really look at the shape, to observe it and not assume it is what we originally thought. And then, if you pair this twisted geometric shape with an organic shape (organic being unknown, not something we fully understand), it creates in our minds this connection, this bridge. Something we know and are familiar with, altered slightly to bring us to the organic, something we don’t quite understand. Something safe paired with something scary. Faith in the face of uncertainty.


Reflecting in Solitude FRAME: Mirror Mirror, Katya Tylevich South Korean artist Lee Bul “draws upon the architecture of space, mind and body” to “create [works that are] visual echoes of reality”. Her current interests are in reflections, mirrors, and metallic materials. She is very keen on keeping the significance of each piece — the concept, the meaning behind it, her personal relationship to it — a secret, and with each piece wants to go against her previous work, and yet somehow each piece is related, made “in the same vein”. Her piece Via Negative II requires viewers to be a part of it. It’s a structure composed of mirrors and stainless steel, and in viewing it, the viewer is inescapably involved in it. Many pictures of this piece show the photographer, and it’s nearly impossible to avoid that. In photographing this piece, they are photographing themselves (or vice versa), and sharing that with the world. Lee is aware of this part that her works play in, and she believes that her works are a purposeful reflection of self-awareness that humans today are very involved with. In being more self aware, we also become aware of how we can better ourselves, which is how Lee views architecture. It’s a “manifestation of the ideal human condition,…beginning with the human body and moving outward”. Buildings are made to shelter humans; therefore, architecture has to understand and somehow follow the human form. In the same way that architecture is related to the human body, she applies that to her giant art installations: works that “begin with the body and respond to how the body will navigate, experience and feel the work, [taking into] account ceilings, walls, doors”. She thinks about the shapes and movements of human thought, and how we react to spaces.


“[Lee] didn’t want her in the studio to simply become a habit. Nowadays she tries to put some space between herself and the art, a pause intended to allow for observation and research. Inevitably, the pause becomes part of her work as well….In the end, her creations have nothing to do with habit and everything to do with existence.”

Trouvé: Balance In Solitude, Kristina Chelberg Humans are social beings; we crave to be seen and heard and understood, and artists especially need the company of those who appreciate our work and what it means to us. It’s a very vital part of the creative process. The creative process can be very lonely and isolating, and we have to reach out and connect with people who understand us, because in these people we can find inspiration, and encouragement to continue working. “We seek a safe place to voice the anxieties, to brainstorm solutions, to be affirmed, to talk, or to share a break”. However, solitude is incredibly invaluable to our process. It clears room for us to reflect, think, and create. We can sit for hours in solitude in a deep pool of creativity and contemplate and plan what to voice, how we can make our vision clear. “[Solitude] calls use to explore the wild corners of our minds”. “Without solitude, creativity cannot flourish.” Being a creative requires balance. We have to have the right amount of solitude and the right amount of community. Enough time together to inspire, encourage, and collaborate, and enough alone time to let our ideas ignite and be born.


Personal Response I am a very introverted person. I can go days without stepping foot outside, or having any physical interaction with humans. I do not crave social interaction. In fact, oftentimes, I shy away from it. I like to be alone. I can be in my head for hours and not be bored; drawing and designing things in my head, making connections, dreaming up concepts, planning architectural designs. It’s an endless, vast land for discovery. And I enjoy it. However, I’m also aware of the necessity for human contact. Artists are inspired by other artists. We communicate and swap ideas and question each other and it’s an incredibly beautiful thing, to have a community of those with similar minds, all aspiring to do the same thing: create. And although it isn’t my default, I do enjoy other people. They are very particular people, people very similar to myself, but I deeply enjoy their friendship and company. There’s one person in particular that I’m quite fond of, that I’ve found comfort in. I can be with them, and still feel like I’m alone. There’s no pressure or requirement to speak, to engage in conversation. We are both artists, and it is one of my absolute favorite things to sit down and discuss art and design. To inspire each other, to raise questions and give ideas, to discuss fads and how they apply to our lives. It’s like I’ve found everything I need in one person: solitude, and company. It’s a great balance, and that balance makes this person feel like home to me. This idea of home — being safe, secure, firm, having faith in the unknown — has begun in my mind this consideration of how we interact with our physical homes; how we’ve identified specific rooms for certain activities, or how for many of us those rooms and


activities often get mixed up and tangled. Living room and kitchen for socializing and enjoying company, the office for focus and work, the bedroom for re-energizing. I, however, tend to do my work in my bed, I eat in my bed, I generally really like my bed and if I can do something from it, I will. This in itself is a reflection of how I tend to avoid social interactions. Our homes and how we act in them show who we are as people. Current architecture styles are modern, minimalist, geometric: fewer walls, fewer corners, straight, simple. And humans, we come in, and make it organic. There’s an interaction there: the organic with the geometric. What happens when something invites the viewer to participate? It creates this experience, something that the participant can take away with them; a feeling, a memory, not just a sight. They were part of this piece, they were as much as a requirement as the structure they entered. It’s a relationship. A connection. Organic, natural with the geometric, the structured space.



The pyramidal shape, consistent throughout all the pieces in this series, is a current obsession of mine. Triangles stand for change, and the missing corner represents a missing piece of the whole. It also is unexpected; everyone expects a pyramid to be complete, but taking away one piece provides interest. There’s also this idea that we have a lot of faith in nature: that even though it isn’t ordered in the way that we say geometry is, it still is organized and functions correctly. We also have faith in geometry, specifically 3D objects, that all sides exist, not just the sides we can see.



confining to limit or restrict; to shut in This piece contains a large portion of personal feelings and history. There was a week during the summer where my best friend and I slept on the floor of the house I was staying in. It is a week I often think of, often reference for a time when I was completely content. The piece of wood in this container resembles the hardwood floor of that house. The balled up thread pushed into the corner resembles numerous parts of me. I have a tendency to sleep like that: curled into a ball next to the wall, despite having a lot of room to spread out over. This carries over to a recent ordeal I had to go through; I found myself trying to not take up space, trying to be invisible and not noticeable. Accepting that I am a human and I do exist was a process, and this ball of thread acts as a memoir to that previous experience. The other idea this conveys is how I keep certain thoughts. Much of my mind is organized, clean and concise and generally happy. Yet there are thoughts and emotions that I push away, tucked away in the corners of my mind, things I do not want to address or uncover.





consuming to be so overwhelmed by something that it’s nearly impossible to handle A recent experience I’ve been through is how something or someone can completely consume your life. Everything you do is with them in mind, you’re never not thinking about them or missing them, and it can be overwhelming, and sometimes a bit scary. I wanted this piece to convey that feeling. The contrast of geometric and organic is striking, and it shows how two different things collide, and how we can consume the other. The tangled thread and yarn was chosen to make the viewer feel uncertain. It has a feeling of doom, of dread. The darkness of this piece shows how terrifying it can be to have someone permeate your life.





copius to have excess amounts of something; overflowing, spilling out; touching and affecting other things This piece is a companion to the sculpture “consuming”. While that one was black and dark and overwhelming and about an all-consuming and contained love, this piece is about the time after that. While at first love can be consuming and scary and you can’t let it out, there’s a point where it begins to overflow. You’re finally able to let it out, and it overflows from you, seeps from you. While arranging the thread, it was difficult to figure out how it was to be arranged — should it just hang off, should it be organized, should there be none on the ground, should most of it be on the ground — there was a lot to consider. Finally landing on this placement, it conveys the feeling well. Although the thread and yarn is tangled, it doesn’t appear chaotic. Rather, it appears to be enveloping the top of the table. The idea behind this piece was to show the experience that follows the black table. That one had a lot of tension, was very dark and had a lot of weight to it. Looking at it, you could sense the fear. However, this table shows the complete opposite of that. It’s light, and there isn’t any tension, as the thread is overflowing. The thread also appears to be hugging the table, keeping it warm and safe, in the same way that a relationship does.



correlating to bring into relation, to form a connection; all of our actions are shadows of who we are This past year has been full of loving and growing and learning. When I look back at it, I constantly see everything as a reflection of something else that happened, or as a shadow of the original happenstance. For example, loving someone, teaching them how to love, and being loved by them in return has been one long process, but it all stems from being loved and wanting to love others in the same way. All of our actions reflect upon us; they show who we are as a person, as a being, and remembering that helps keep our intentions pure and our actions purposeful. The copper color was chosen to reflect the light, and the lights aimed in a manner to cause numerous shadows on the wall. The vertical arrangement of the pyramids creates tension with the ground, and the final pyramid at the end is a remnant of the larger piece. The horizontal arrangement provides movement, and creates an interesting space with the wall. The pyramids on the wall also mirror this movement, and create more interest and draws the eye in more to the shadows on the wall.





coalesce to come together; to build upon another person, becoming one unit. This piece is a continuation of the hanging collection piece. Taking the same structure, but instead connecting them all together and making them into one mass, it creates a different idea. Combining all of these geometric shapes into one mass makes an organic shape, and all the lines and spaces create interest. The resulting layers of shadows add even more to the mass, continuing the shape onto the wall.





coagulate to clot; a mass pushed to one side, crammed into a corner This piece was another attempt to make a piece that resembles a home. All of the yarn is pushed to one side, revealing the frame that it’s hanging on. This is reminiscent of how I’ve been feeling. A lot of who I am is being revealed by a person who loves me; they’re pushing aside all the fluff and getting down to the core of who I am, the bare bones, the frame. All together, everything showing, and the piece is still beautiful. But the piece still is about a place to reside, to be warm and safe in. The organic and geometric aspects combine interestingly, and the thread hanging off creates a shadow on the wall, adding more of an organic shape that isn’t as prominent as the yarn is. This draws the viewer in, past the protruding point and onto the wall.





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