ANOTHERSCAPE by SZUAN YU

AP RIL 2 0 1 4 szu an yu

This is a collaborative projec t aimed at sharing narratives between Architec tural Drawing and Fic tional Writing. While Fic tional Writing tells imaginative stories, Architec tural Drawing similarly presents imaginative space. Across the common ground of world building, both Architec ts and Writers are expressing the narratives of our living environments. This projec t aims to build up a platform for Architec ts and Writers to translate places into ďŹ c tions and share narratives, through their respec tive media of Drawing and Writing â&#x20AC;&#x201C; their unique means of stor y telling.

0 OVERVIEW

AN ARCHIVE OF URBAN FICTION

1 A MOBILE MOBILEARCHIVE ARCHIVE

Where it happens?

- Trolley and Sites

2 AN ARCHIVE ARCHIVEOF OFTHE THE TWENTY-TWO QUALITIES TWENTY-TWO QUALITIES

What is it about?

- Qualities in Drawing and Writing 3 AN ARCHIVE ARCHIVEFOR FORINSPIRATION INSPIRATION AND SHARING AND SHARING

Why is it?

- Aims

4 AN ARCHIVE ARCHIVEWITH WITHCOLLECTIONS COLLECTIONS BRIEFS ANDAND BRIEFS

How does it work?

- Elements for Audiences 5 AUDIENCES’ EXPERIENCES AUDIENCES’ EXPERIENCES

How is it experienced?

- Storyboard 6 FEEDBACK FEEDBACK

How does it aﬀect?

- Results and Comments fron Audiences 7 DESIGN DETAILS DESIGN DETAILS

How is it executed?

- Drawings and Graphics

COLLABORATORS

AN ARCHIVE OF URBAN FICTION

❶

PROJECTION DISPLAYING THE SPECULATIVE DRAWINGS STORIES OF THE FICTIONAL WRITING

O TI

I SP

I F O

N RI

H FS

❷

BRIEFING

❸

‘THE MANUAL’

PLEASE FIND THE SCOPE

❶

.1 PICK UP ONE OF THE NUMBERS ON THE MAP .2 FIND THE ‘PLACE CARD’ OF IT

.1 PLEASE CHOOSE ONE OF THE QUALITY FROM ‘THE CATALOG’ .2 FIND THE ‘QUALITY CARD’ OF IT

❹

PLEASE IMAGINE WHAT THE PLACE WILL BE LIKE CONSIDER THE QUALITY AS A TOOL

❺

THE COLLECTIONS OF SPECULATIVE DRAWINGS AND FICTIONAL WRITINGS

EVIHCRA ELIBOM A

aedi eht stcefler EVIHCRA eht fo ytilibom ehT suoirav tuoba si hcihw ,NOITCIF NABRU fo .nodnoL fo ytic eht ni secalp ?EREHW stibihxe taht notiallatsni elibom a si sihT ot NOITCIF NABRU fo snoticelloc lacisyhp gnivig sa llew sa ,sretirW dna stcetihcrA .secneidua ot tsivihcra eht morf sfeirb era evihcra elibom siht fo snotiacol ehT eht morf ti tuoba tuo dnfi secneiduA .deirav ekam dna ,sdneirf morf ro etisbew .gnfieirb rof stnemtnioppa

A MOBILE ARCHIVE

The mobility of the ARCHIVE reflects the idea of URBAN FICTION, which is about various places in the city of London. WHERE? This is a mobile installation that exhibits physical collections of URBAN FICTION to Architects and Writers, as well as giving briefs from the archivist to audiences. The locations of this mobile archive are varied. Audiences find out about it from the website or from friends, and make appointments for briefing.

SEITILAUQ OWT-YTNEWT EHT FO EVIHCRA NA

fo setiilauQ tcntisid ro ralimis eht hguorhT dna erahs secneidua ,snoticﬁ fo sdnik tnereﬀid dna gniwarD ssorca stpecnoc evtiarran erapmoc .gntiirW ?TAHW

semeht yek eht tneserper setiilauQ owt-ytnewt ehT eht llA .no gnikrow era sretirW dna stcetihcrA taht era secneidua yb edam sgntiirW dna sgniwarD .seirogetac eseht rednu detcelloc

BRITISH LIBRARY

morf desylana dna detcartxe era setiilauQ ehT ytilauQ hcaE .sgntiirw dna sgniward evtialuceps a hcihw hguorht tcepsa eno stneserper s’ redaer/reweiv a tceffe nac gntiirw/gniward stcetihcrA taht tcepsa eno ,sdrow rehto ni ;notipecrep .etalupinam dna no sucof nac sretirW ro enin era ereht ,setiilauQ owt-ytnewt eseht nihtiW dna gniwarD ssorca stpecnoc ralimis erahs taht sriap rieht ot cfiiceps era meht fo ruof rehto eht ;gntiirW .muidem GNIWARD NI laicfitirA / noticessiD / ecapS fo egalloC / ytilautcA / ytilairetaM / notiisopatxuJ / elacS latiapS / notianeilA / evticepsreP / dnuorG / notiatneirO / yrtemoeG tcefreP GNITIRW NI noticessiD / sretcarahC / stnemelE latinerefeR / notiomE dna esneS notiaicossA / notiaruD / golonoM / sweiV fo tnioP / gnttieS laerruS / / tnemevoM emiT / ecneuqeS /

BRITISH MUSEUM

ON THE STREETS

THE BRUNSWICK

A MOBILE ARCHIVE

RUSSELL SQUARE

UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON

THE SCHOOL OF LIFE

UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON

SEITILAUQ OWT-YTNEWT EHT FO EVIHCRA NA

fo setiilauQ tcntisid ro ralimis eht hguorhT dna erahs secneidua ,snoticﬁ fo sdnik tnereﬀid dna gniwarD ssorca stpecnoc evtiarran erapmoc .gntiirW ?TAHW

semeht yek eht tneserper setiilauQ owt-ytnewt ehT eht llA .no gnikrow era sretirW dna stcetihcrA taht era secneidua yb edam sgntiirW dna sgniwarD .seirogetac eseht rednu detcelloc morf desylana dna detcartxe era setiilauQ ehT ytilauQ hcaE .sgntiirw dna sgniward evtialuceps a hcihw hguorht tcepsa eno stneserper s’ redaer/reweiv a tceffe nac gntiirw/gniward stcetihcrA taht tcepsa eno ,sdrow rehto ni ;notipecrep .etalupinam dna no sucof nac sretirW ro enin era ereht ,setiilauQ owt-ytnewt eseht nihtiW dna gniwarD ssorca stpecnoc ralimis erahs taht sriap rieht ot cfiiceps era meht fo ruof rehto eht ;gntiirW .muidem GNIWARD NI laicfitirA / noticessiD / ecapS fo egalloC / ytilautcA / ytilairetaM / notiisopatxuJ / elacS latiapS / notianeilA / evticepsreP / dnuorG / notiatneirO / yrtemoeG tcefreP GNITIRW NI noticessiD / sretcarahC / stnemelE latinerefeR / notiomE dna esneS notiaicossA / notiaruD / golonoM / sweiV fo tnioP / gnttieS laerruS / / tnemevoM emiT / ecneuqeS /

AN ARCHIVE OF THE TWENTY-TWO QUALITIES

Through the similar or distinct Qualities of diﬀerent kinds of ﬁctions, audiences share and compare narrative concepts across Drawing and Writing. WHAT?

The twenty-two Qualities represent the key themes that Architects and Writers are working on. All the Drawings and Writings made by audiences are collected under these categories. The Qualities are extracted and analysed from speculative drawings and writings. Each Quality represents one aspect through which a drawing/writing can effect a viewer/reader’s perception; in other words, one aspect that Architects or Writers can focus on and manipulate. Within these twenty-two Qualities, there are nine pairs that share similar concepts across Drawing and Writing; the other four of them are specific to their medium. IN DRAWING Materiality / Actuality / Collage of Space / Dissection / Artificial Ground / Perspective / Alienation / Spatial Scale / Juxtaposition / Perfect Geometry / Orientation /

IN WRITING Sense and Emotion / Referential Elements / Characters / Dissection / Surreal Setting / Point of Views / Monolog / Duration / Association / Sequence / Time Movement /

GNIRAHS DNA NOITARIPSNI ROF EVIHCRA NA

secneidua edivorp ereh scipot cﬁiceps ehT ,meht eripsni ot gnikniht esrevid fo snoisserpxe gnirahs rof esicrexe evtianretla na sa llew sa .saedi ?YHW

ew ,snoticfi gninigami hguorhT ‘ ni aedi yek ehT eht ni skrow ytivtiaerc taht si ’ ytilaer redisnocer siht nI .ytilaernu dna ytilaer neewteb pag osla tub noticfi ylno ton si cipot eht ,EVIHCRA gniwarD– gnilletyrots fo sedom tnereffid eht .gntiirW dna

eht stibihxe evihcra siht :notiaripsni rof mrotfalp a sA* .sretirW dna stcetihcrA yb detaerc snotiaterpretni lanoticfi gnisserpxe era sgntiirw dna sgniward lanoticfi esehT gnikniht esrevid eht hguorht ;secalp fo seirots evtianretla gnilletyrots tnereffid eht hguorht yllaicepse ,ereh detneserper setiilibissop dna saedi erom ,gntiirW dna gniwarD fo sedom .evtiarran gntiareneg fo ssecorp eht ni dekovorp eb nac

,aidem eseht fo secnereffid eht fo esuaceB eht si sihT .notianigami rof ftel si ecaps erom ,gniweiv nehW .EVIHCRA eht fo notiaripsa yek secneidua ,snoticfi eht gntiaerc dna ,gnidaer ssorca snoisserpxe esrevid yb detalumtis era .gnilletyrots fo snaem tnereffid

a sa snoticnuf evihcra siht :gnirahs rof mrotfalp a sA* .etapictirap ot sretirW dna stcetihcrA erom gntiivni ,lasoporp ,snoticﬁ gnikam no scipot cﬁiceps meht sedivorp feirb ehT .gnikniht rieht etalumtis ot sesicrexe sa ekat nac yeht hcihw

AN ARCHIVE OF THE TWENTY-TWO QUALITIES

Through the similar or distinct Qualities of diﬀerent kinds of ﬁctions, audiences share and compare narrative concepts across Drawing and Writing. WHAT?

IN WRITING Sense and Emotion / Referential Elements / Characters / Dissection / Surreal Setting / Point of Views / Monolog / Duration / Association / Sequence / Time Movement /

1 Materiality

Sense and Emotion

2 Actuality

Referential Elements

3 Collage of Space

Characters

4 Dissection

Dissection

5 Artiﬁcial Ground

6 Perspective

7 Alienation

8 Spatial Scale

9 Juxtaposition

10 Perfect Geometry

the one that we usually use. For instance, the three vanishing points don’t follow the three axes. In other words, they don't need to be perpendicular to each other anymore. The two vanishing points can be not on the same horizontal line; the third vanishing point doesn't follow the point where the other two intersect. Further, more than three vanishing points are allowed. You can make four, five, or more vanishing points that come from all different directions. Through this you make different sets of lines, which come from different perspectives and merge into one space that you focus on.

conventional orientation. There is no consistent axis system; there is no so-called up and down.

Alienation / Alienation is the distance that surrounds what we look at. It is the distance produced when something is enormously enlarged; no matter whether it is an object or a building, it becomes alienated. It is also the emptiness of distant space, when you don't know what is there. There is nothing that surrounds it. It is the only thing there. In other words, it is solitude. Nothing else will reach it, or, can reach it, unless you crawl through the unknown emptiness on your own.

Bright, dark, bright, shadowy, shining, pale, dull, shimmering, gleaming; pink, red, blue, yellow, tanned, colourful, colourless…

QUALITIES IN WRITING Sense and Emotion / Happy, sad, lonely; exciting, scary, frightening; loud, soft, silent, quiet, noisy; sweet, sour, bit, salty, spicy. Hard, soft, silky, bumpy, smooth, grainy, polished, glossy, rough; hot, cold, freezing, frosty, chilling, burning, steaming, wet, dry

Referential Elements / A referential element is a description that is based on some existing knowledge or shared memories. Through these referential elements, new messages are better understood as comparisons, extensions, simulations or implications. Metaphors and similes are forms of this commonly used in sentences. They borrow meanings from other things in order to represent.

Spatial Scale / The reference can be broader than just eht stibihxe eEvery vihcrobject a sihtmakes :notiaanriimpression psni rof minrotfalp a the sA*meaning of a word; it can be an terms of scale, as does the space. These event, .sretirW dna stcetkinds ihcrAofyconventions b detaerc sometimes snotiaterconfine pretni lanoti cfi a history, a well-known person, or any cultural production. gnisserpxe the erapleasure sgntiirw na sgniwThe ard lanoticfi esehT of d perception. Surreal Setting gnikniht esrevid intention eht hguhere orhtis;stoechallenge calp fo seirots evtianretla conventions by playing with the scale of / gnilletyrots tnereffid things eht hand guoalso rht with yllaithe cepscale se ,eofrethe h detneserCharacters per In a story, a single character can setiilibissop dna saspace edi eitself. rom ,gntiirW dna gniwarD fo sedrepresent om a single storyline, which .evtiarran gntiScale arenis egabout fo sssize: ecolength, rp ehtwidth, ni dekheight, ovorp eb shows nac the cultural value, background, largeness and smallness, tallness and lifestyle and environment of this shortness, width and narrowness, and so protagonist. A view of how he or she on. exists. Through exaggerating the contrast Point of Views What if there is more than one character between the components of a space and in a story? There are multiple storylines. the elements within that space, we Each storyline has its own performance; experience the normal as spectacular; by it is individual and differs from every transforming a tiny object into a space other storyline. However, in the end that can be walked through, we they are brought together; they reimagine the possibilities of it. represent a series of micro worlds, which are interwoven and revealed in a story. Juxtaposition / Monolog Juxtaposition is where things that retain Dissection / their usual appearances are put together in an unusual combination. Dissection is a whole read through part a sa snoticnuf evihcra siht :Agncurtain irahs isroafcurtain, mrotfaalcage p a sisAa*cage, a by part, piece by piece, and word by word. A piece of writing can be a .etapictirap ot sretirW dna stcetihcrvolcano A erom ntiivni ,but laso porisp it when is agvolcano; what dissection of a basic concept. there is a cage covered with a curtain ,snoticfi gnikam no scipot cfiiceps meht sedivorp feirb ehT sitting on top of a volcano? Dissection breaks down the description .gnikniht rieht etalumtis ot sesicrexe sa ekat nac yeht hcihw of the scene that you are trying to What about a lawn inside a small room? Duration illustrate, into different, separated What about many items appearing to be elements. You depict, examine, and talk deliberately combined, but which, on about each one carefully and specifically. closer inspection, don’t make sense? Like an anatomist, you observe, A scene where objects are juxtaposed investigate, and describe any tiny piece disrupts conventional relations and separated from the whole; you believe creates new meanings. in the value of fragments and in what a tiny thing can perform. Perfect Geometry / Association Then you go as deep as you can, as subtly as you can. The design process starts very often starts geometrically. However, as we know, things are more complicated in Surreal Setting / reality. In other words, pure geometry This is the imaginative description of the has the artistic quality of perfection. story world, which goes further than the It is used frequently in graphic works, real and becomes surreal. but what about presenting it as a three

11 Orientation

12 Sequence

13 Time Movement

dimensional thing in a space? As the spatial depiction of something always gives a proper sense of space, perfect geometry in space might have an apparent realness that we might doubt. This is the performance of a fantasy, which is persuading perfect geometry to exist in real space.

It achieves this when its basic logic is not something you have learned before; it challenges fundamental common sense, which is meant to be the basic structure of understanding and perceiving.

Orientation / Here the plan or the elevation is out of place. This is a vision where the axis of the space is incorrect. It confuses what you see and what you think that you should see. You will ﬁnd that on the ground, there are windows that are supposed to be vertical and that belong to the elevation; pools of water that should be on the ﬂoor are no longer horizontal but form the façade. The water doesn't fall; it stretches to the ceiling, and people walk on the walls. Here you can decide in which direction gravity operates; you change

Points of View /

The whole system and the background should not be realistic; make something as impossible as it can be.

A point of view represents a set of values. There are multiple points of view and thus there are several sets of values possible. And here these are focused on the same thing. Through its different aspects, the same thing can be understood differently; from different points of view, different facets can be pieced together into one thing. The thing distorts slightly in each aspect. It offers varied interpretations, multiple filters; the thing differs according to different sets of values.

GNIRAHS DNA NOITARIPSNI ROF EVIHCRA NA

Monologue /

I am sitting on the bed and facing the window. Do I look sad? I guess you are saying that in your mind, though my face is illuminated by the sunshine. Well, I am not really alone, you know. I am just happened to sit here by myself, and, have been looking outside for a while. Ok, maybe longer.

secneidua edivorp ereh scipot cﬁiceps ehT ,meht eripsni ot gnikniht esrevid fo snoisserpxe gnirahs rof esicrexe evtianretla na sa llew sa .saedi

Look at the shadow, the funny shape on the street! You said. I am still looking, looking at the shadow same as yesterday. Is that your favourite scene of this street? Yes? Very good. No? It doesn't matter, because it is my favourite now.

Duration / Duration is the changing scale of time; it ?YHW is the compression and expansion of time, which happens between representation and reality. You can represent one year in a few lines, or a whole life in one sentence. ew ,snoticfi gninigami hguorhT ‘ ni aedi yek ehT This means you are compressing eht ni skrow ytivtiaerc taht si ’ ytilaer redisnocer perceptible time in reality. siht nI .ytilaernu dna ytilaer neewteb pag On the other, you can also represent oneosla tub noticfi ylno ton si cipot eht ,EVIHCRA minute as a long story that might take a whole day to read. In this case, you are gniwarD– gnilletyrots fo sedom tnereffid eht expanding perceptible time in reality. .gntiirW dna Association / ,aidem eseht fo secnereffid eht fo esuaceB Association is like a matching game: in eht si sihT .notianigami rof ftel si ecaps erom the game you look for the connections ,gniweiv nehW .EVIHCRA eht fo notiaripsa yek between any two or more elements, and secneidua ,snoticfi eht gntiaerc dna ,gnidaer then make the associations. ssorca snoisserpxe esrevid yb detalumtis era The aim is to present a scene, an atmosphere, or a situation through .gnilletyrots fo snaem tnereffid many pieces of description of various things; little by little, a vision is built up through the associations that appear spontaneously. These can be contributing to the same idea and enhancing it; or they can be producing conflicts. The intention is to achieve effects through creating relations between things. Sequence / In reality, events have a certain order that is constant. It is different when they are put into a piece of writing. There are sequences in which events are encountered through reading; there are orders of sentences, paragraphs, and events, one after another. And the most important thing is, there is no need to obey reality. You are free to arrange the events however you choose – what goes first, what follows it. You can decide what kind of order to follow, and what the effect should be: smooth, surprising, or confusing. Movement of Time / This is to do with our sense of time in reality, especially the change and the movement of it. It relates to establishing the speed of time in a story; it forces the reader to follow the footsteps of time. Indicating the movement of time makes it easier to measure the duration of events or notice the order of events when imagining the story. Sometimes it also indicates the period in history and reminds you of movements within the larger chronicle of time.

AN ARCHIVE FOR INSPIRATION AND SHARING

The speciﬁc topics here provide audiences expressions of diverse thinking to inspire them, as well as an alternative exercise for sharing ideas. WHY?

The key idea in ‘Through imagining fictions, we reconsider reality’ is that creativity works in the gap between reality and unreality. In this ARCHIVE, the topic is not only fiction but also the different modes of storytelling –Drawing and Writing. Because of the differences of these media, more space is left for imagination. This is the key aspiration of the ARCHIVE. When viewing, reading, and creating the fictions, audiences are stimulated by diverse expressions across different means of storytelling.

*As a platform for inspiration: this archive exhibits the fictional interpretations created by Architects and Writers. These fictional drawings and writings are expressing alternative stories of places; through the diverse thinking represented here, especially through the different storytelling modes of Drawing and Writing, more ideas and possibilities can be provoked in the process of generating narrative.

*As a platform for sharing: this archive functions as a proposal, inviting more Architects and Writers to participate. The brief provides them speciﬁc topics on making ﬁctions, which they can take as exercises to stimulate their thinking.

SFEIRB DNA SNOITCELLOC HTIW EVIHCRA NA

evtialuceps fo noticelloc eht gniyalpsid noticejorp a si erehT fo noticelloc eht syalp rekaeps a ;stcetihcrA yb edam sgniward osla era snoticelloc ehT .sretirW yb detaerc gntiirw lanoticﬁ .repap no deyalpsid

notiibihxe elibom a sa mrofrep snoticelloc ehT eht etacidni sfeirb eht ;secneidua egagne ot .EVIHCRA eht pu gnidliub rof spets ?WOH

/ noticelloC ehT 5 fo sriap enin rednu desirogetac sgntiirW dna sgniwarD .seno laudividni ruof dna setiilauQ hcae fo revoc eht no decudortni era setiilauQ ehT dna ycneculsnart sti rof desu si mlﬁ yloP .yrogetac slebal xedni era ereht ,edis dnah thgir eht nO .ytilibarud .ylkciuq seirogetac eht gnidnﬁ rof

AN ARCHIVE WITH COLLECTIONS AND BRIEFS

The collections perform as a mobile exhibition to engage audiences; the briefs indicate the steps for building up the ARCHIVE. HOW?

There is a projection displaying the collection of speculative drawings made by Architects; a speaker plays the collection of ﬁctional writing created by Writers. The collections are also displayed on paper.

5 The Collection / Drawings and Writings categorised under nine pairs of Qualities and four individual ones. The Qualities are introduced on the cover of each category. Poly ﬁlm is used for its translucency and durability. On the right hand side, there are index labels for ﬁnding the categories quickly.

SECNEIREPXE ’SECNEIDUA

In terms of the brief, there are: THE MANUAL, THE CATALOG, the Quality Cards, the Scopes, the Map, and the Place Cards.

0 THE MANUAL /

Short introduction and instructions indicating the steps that audiences are going to take. It is designed as two versions in different colors. There are steps explaining how to use elements in this ARCHIVE box, including introducing the Qualities, using the scopes on the map, finding the place, and the format of the fictions that audiences are going to make. This is designed as the cover of these booklets.

1.1 THE CATALOG /

Explanation of core message and the twenty-two Qualities in Drawing and Writing. This is executed in black and gold graphics, reﬂecting the colour code of this ARCHIVE box. It outlines the main topics in Drawing and Writing. It is designed to be the biggest book of the set; the pages can be read from the beginning with the diagram, as well as from the inside with the map.

1.2 Quality Cards /

Cards showing the Qualities. Same as contents in THE CATALOG; but the size is matched to THE MANUAL in order to be placed inside it. Each card will have one Quality in Drawing on one side and one Quality in Writing on the other; except for those which are not paired.

2 The Scopes /

Objects magnifying the names of places on the map. Made by a laser cut piece of clear acrylic with a symbol and a glass cabochon, cemented into a cubic shape. The scopes are designed to magnify the texts on the map; each of them represents one of the Qualities. In order to keep the cabochon bright enough, it is translucent on two of the four sides.

3.1 The Map /

Map of London displayed with longitudes and latitudes. Printed on light canvas that can be folded and unfolded easily. Longitudes and latitudes are in gold lines. There are sets of numbers on the right hand side that audiences can choose from; the numbers indicate the locations of places according to longitude and latitude.

3.2 Place Cards /

Cards indicating the information about Places. There are two ways to read the cards: for Architects, the cards give a description of the place; for Writers, they show the real location of the place. They are designed in the same format as the Quality Cards, and also ﬁt into THE MANUAL.

4 INTRODUCTION /

Further information on this project. More details introducing the background of ANOTHERSCAPE; including the starting point, key topics, and the concept of AN ARCHIVE OF URBAN FICTION.

AUDIENCES’ EXPERIENCES

:era ereht ,feirb eht fo smret nI dna ,paM eht ,sepocS eht ,sdraC ytilauQ eht ,GOLATAC EHT ,LAUNAM EHT .sdraC ecalP eht

/ LAUNAM EHT 0

secneidua taht spets eht gntiacidni snoticurtsni dna noticudortni trohS .ekat ot gniog era spets era erehT .sroloc tnereffid ni snoisrev owt sa dengised si tI gnidulcni ,xob EVIHCRA siht ni stnemele esu ot woh gninialpxe eht gnidnfi ,pam eht no sepocs eht gnisu ,setiilauQ eht gnicudortni ot gniog era secneidua taht snoticfi eht fo tamrof eht dna ,ecalp .stelkoob eseht fo revoc eht sa dengised si sihT .ekam

/ GOLATAC EHT 1.1

gniwarD ni setiilauQ owt-ytnewt eht dna egassem eroc fo notianalpxE .gntiirW dna ruoloc eht gnticeﬂer ,scihparg dlog dna kcalb ni detucexe si sihT dna gniwarD ni scipot niam eht seniltuo tI .xob EVIHCRA siht fo edoc segap eht ;tes eht fo koob tseggib eht eb ot dengised si tI .gntiirW morf sa llew sa ,margaid eht htiw gninnigeb eht morf daer eb nac .pam eht htiw edisni eht

/ sdraC ytilauQ 2.1

.setiilauQ eht gniwohs sdraC EHT ot dehctam si ezis eht tub ;GOLATAC EHT ni stnetnoc sa emaS eno evah lliw drac hcaE .ti edisni decalp eb ot redro ni LAUNAM eht no gntiirW ni ytilauQ eno dna edis eno no gniwarD ni ytilauQ .deriap ton era hcihw esoht rof tpecxe ;rehto

/ sepocS ehT 2

.pam eht no secalp fo seman eht gniyfingam stcejbO ssalg a dna lobmys a htiw cilyrca raelc fo eceip tuc resal a yb edaM ot dengised era sepocs ehT .epahs cibuc a otni detnemec ,nohcobac eht fo eno stneserper meht fo hcae ;pam eht no stxet eht yfingam si ti ,hguone thgirb nohcobac eht peek ot redro nI .setiilauQ .sedis ruof eht fo owt no tneculsnart

/ paM ehT 1.3

.seduttial dna sedutignol htiw deyalpsid nodnoL fo paM .ylisae dedlofnu dna dedlof eb nac taht savnac thgil no detnirP srebmun fo stes era erehT .senil dlog ni era seduttial dna sedutignoL srebmun eht ;morf esoohc nac secneidua taht edis dnah thgir eht no .eduttial dna edutignol ot gnidrocca secalp fo snotiacol eht etacidni

/ sdraC ecalP 2.3

.secalP tuoba notiamrofni eht gntiacidni sdraC evig sdrac eht ,stcetihcrA rof :sdrac eht daer ot syaw owt era erehT notiacol laer eht wohs yeht ,sretirW rof ;ecalp eht fo notipircsed a ytilauQ eht sa tamrof emas eht ni dengised era yehT .ecalp eht fo .LAUNAM EHT otni tﬁ osla dna ,sdraC

/ NOITCUDORTNI 4

.tcejorp siht no notiamrofni rehtruF ;EPACSREHTONA fo dnuorgkcab eht gnicudortni sliated eroM NA fo tpecnoc eht dna ,scipot yek ,tniop gntirats eht gnidulcni .NOITCIF NABRU FO EVIHCRA

KCABDEEF

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SENSE AND EMOTION The Monument Writer /

Chris Fenwick

FIRE At first it went almost unnoticed amidst the city's other pungent odours of decaying vegetables and human detritus. Yet soon it came to overpower everything. That unmistakable smell and taste of acrid smoke from burning wood and plaster. It clawed at the throat, stung the eyes and clogged the nostrils. First one house then another and another. Soon whole streets were ablaze; ancient streets that had been the city's arteries for a millennium and more. The noise of the flames, crackling and snapping and exploding everything it touched, could now be heard all over the city. Men, women, children came pouring out from houses and taverns, from shops and churches with barely enough time to gather up a few scant possessions before the inferno consumed all around them, their screams and shouts of anguish competing with the noise of the fire itself. Terror and panic and anger united them, as they fled leaving behind all that they had known, all that they had worked for, all that they had cherished. From the distant hills, the orange and ochre skies looked as though a dozen tropical suns were setting simultaneously upon the city below. Dark smoke spiralled lethargically into the air settling over the scene in a heavy black shroud that seemed to signal its death.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;I have really enjoyed this project. It has brought me into a whole new world!â&#x20AC;?

For four days and four nights the fire raged carving a huge swathe from east to west across town. No respecter of rank, it scythed its way through the secular and the sacred, across parkland and parapet and through palaces and paupers' hovels. A new thoroughfare had now been created that would form the template for the city that would rise in its stead. A city of stone and brick to replace that of timber and straw. One day, a fine tall tower would stand on the very spot where the fire had begun to remind generations as yet unborn of those terrible events. But that was for the future. For now, it was time to mourn the dead and console the living; to salvage the little that remained and to remember what had been and what was now gone forever.

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REFERENTIAL ELEMENTS Hunterian Museum Writer /

UNFORGOTTEN LIVES

‘Three week old foetus of a frog’

The brightly lit room was a welcome contrast to the dull, slate grey London skies that she had just left behind. This was a place that she had never been to before, and she was only here now, by chance, because of the rain and because the streets were so empty and bereft of people. And she needed people just now. Not their conversation, nor even their acknowledgement, just their presence.

And then the second;

The clinic had only been a short walk away and, although her clothes were wet through, she hardly noticed. What had happened allowed her no space for any other emotion or sensation.

‘Five week old foetus of a macaw.’

It had been the right thing to do of course. She knew that. It was the logical, sensible and practical thing to do. She had made a mistake and now she had dealt with it. It was done, finished with, over and she could, should, put it behind her. Now she could start to re-build her life; begin again as though nothing had happened. But it had happened and, even if she wanted to, it was too late for her to reverse that decision. It was gone forever, there could be no second chance, no going back. She looked up. The room was large and freshly painted. In spite of its contents, it felt clean and safe and warm. There were perhaps two dozen other people there with her. That was enough. She was not alone. Some were seated cross legged on the floor with sketch pads and pencils, peering purposefully into the cabinets, intent on capturing the precise details of their subject. Others, seemed to wander from display to display with a bored, ambivalent aimlessness that made her question why they had come here in the first place. Perhaps, like her, to shelter from the rain and perhaps to try to marshall their thoughts in this place of quietness and learning. She, however, determined that, since she was here she, would not be like that. She would give the exhibits the attention they deserved. Besides, it would help to distract her from what she had just left behind. The first case contained the large mottled brown bones of a man. She read the notice that said it was one of the museum’s early acquisitions and that the donor had insisted it be on permanent display. It was some way of achieving immortality she thought. Artists do it with their paintings, writers with their books, this man with his mortal remains. The thought, for some curious reason, comforted her. She moved on. The next case contained an array of early medical instruments, some of brass, others of iron, others still of wood. She shuddered. What strange demon of chance, she wondered, had brought her to this place at this time? She hurried on quickly trying to extinguish the thought of these vaguely familiar objects of so recent memory from her mind. She turned a corner. Line after line of glass cases, each containing row after row of glass shelves, each packed full of sealed glass cylinders of varying sizes and differing contents. All bore their original labels with their fading, brown copperplate handwritten inscriptions. She read each one with care and studied the contents of the jars intently, starting with the first;

Chris Fenwick

‘Near term foetus of a rabbit’ Then the third;

And so on down the line and up and down on every shelf until she had read every label, seen every creature bleached, white and whole and still recognisable in their jars of formaldehyde. She stepped back taking in the scene as a whole. Through a window she noticed that the sun was breaking through the clouds. She could feel its warmth upon her face. The bored, aimless people had left now that the rain had stopped, but the sketchers with their drawings were still there, shading in every bone, every muscle, every sinew. She looked again at the cases and walked back to the start of the display. Turning round she carefully, but more quickly, studied at each jar and their contents once more. But as she did so, each one was brought to life in her mind. Frogs and toads were now sitting by a sweet lake, their true colour and vitality restored, croaking and chirping contently in the morning spring sunshine. Rabbits and hares were running and jumping and clawing the air in vain attempts to catch elusive moths and mayflies in richly coloured meadows. Countless birds of every size and hue circled high above in a cloudless azure sky seeking out their prey. Gone were the jars and cylinders, gone were their sad, shrivelled and colourless contents. Instead, the cabinets were filled with every kind of living creature, snakes and sheep, foxes and fawns, beavers and butterflies each, in their own perfect habitat, each doing exactly what God had intended them to do, had intended them to be. How long she stood and watched that glorious scene she could not tell. She felt a sense of joy and warmth and comfort knowing that, in her mind at least, she had given them the life they had been denied; the opportunity to live out their potential and the chance to take their place in the world, in the natural order of things. And then, in a moment, that vision was gone and she was once again staring at those creatures, frozen again inside their liquid cage, immortalised for benefit of tired visitors to amuse themselves over a wet lunchtime or for students to sketch. She pondered the irony of it all. That stark but beautiful choice between immortality or a brief, happy but soon forgotten life. Both, in their different ways, had meaning and purpose. But then, with a slow and dreadful, numbing realisation she understood for the first time that day, that the decision she had made had provided neither of those choices to that which she had left behind.

SLIATED NGISED

WRITING

THE VISITORS They are back. I hear them now, downstairs. They always come at this hour. I should be used to them, but I am not. Their presence unsettles and alarms me as much as it did the first time they came here. Why do they persecute me so?

QUALITY: PLACE:

POINTS OF VIEW Dennis Sever’s House Writer /

Chris Fenwick

Once this was a place of quietude with just the old man for company. Now they are here, shuffling around, opening and closing doors, whispering on stairwells and in hallways. Of course, I have seen them many times although always from my place of safety, from my Sanctuary. It is the children I should pity, such young wasted lives. I watch their pale, drawn faces as they move from room to room or as they sit with melancholic despondency in the corner. But I do not pity them. I fear them as much as I do the others for I know they all mean me harm. I know that that harm can come at any moment. I know that it will strike out at me from nowhere, when I am unsuspecting and unprepared, like an angry, spitting, venomous viper. When it will come I do not know. But come it will. Oh, why do they torture me? I would rather it was done and my fate sealed. To prolong my misery waiting like this, waiting for the inevitable, is more than I can bear. And still it goes on day after day, month after month, year after year. Please let it be over. Let it be today. Wait. I hear footsteps on the stairs. They are coming! Hide. Hide. They must not see me. They must not find me! They move slowly up the wooden stairs and enter the first room. Their eyes alert to every subtle detail. The flickering lamps, the dusty cobwebs, the small pile of soiled clothing on the floor. They gather silently by the unmade bed. Some stare uncomprehendingly, mystified by it all. Others seem overwhelmed and moved by the experience. But they are all quiet, so very quiet and they talk only in hushed tones. A small boy clings tightly to his mother’s hand. His eyes are fixed upon a large, deeply stained mahogany wardrobe in the corner. After a time, they leave the room, gently closing the door behind them. They move to the next room and the next and then the next, walking this way and that, their feet scraping on the floor as they go, moving almost in unison as though they were one creature, one living organism. It was close that time, so very close. Barely did I manage to secrete myself before they entered. They hunt me like a wounded animal. But my wounds are not of the flesh but of the mind and of the heart. I cannot endure this fear much longer. This fear of waiting to be found, to be subjected to.. who can say what? Let it be over. Dear God let it be done. Listen. Listen. They are moving once again. They are going back down the stairs. I can see them in my mind’s eye. Back past the dusty portraits in their gilded frames, back past the fading gas light in the hallway. By the hatstand now. Now stood atop that poorly mended rug. Now they are by the door, huddled, whispering, conspiring. Let them leave. Sweet Jesus in heaven, make them go. But what is that? Is it the sound of the street door opening? No, listen again. It is not the street door but the door to the parlour. They begin their pursuit afresh. But I am safe up here. For now. But how long will it be until they return, how long before they find my secret place, my Sanctuary? Unseen and unnoticed, he detaches himself from the others and slowly, carefully and with as little noise as possible, begins to climb the stairs. He is the unthinking slave to the curiosity of his youth and gender and as such he is powerless to do other than he does now. As his foot touches every one of the ancient, creaking timbers, the boy notes with alacrity, that each tread has its own unique sound. But, young as he is, he knows that it is vital that he proceeds in silence, for he fancied he saw something in that room earlier, only briefly, only fleetingly, but something. He reaches out to the heavily ornamented brass handle. He grasps it with some difficulty for it is almost as large as his hand. He turns it for what seems like an eternity and then, when he feels tension loosen

in the huge tenon of the lock, he places his other hand flat on the grainy wooden surface of the door and gently begins to push it open. A few moments respite then before it all begins once more. A few minutes of calm before that dread fear and their return. But no, no, it is too late. The door, the door it opens! No time to hide, no time to run, the Sanctuary is too far. Now is the hour, now the moment that I have both feared and longed for. It is a child. A small boy. He stares at me. He must see me, yet he displays no emotion or fright. He just stares. How can this be so? Yet he will soon summon the others. I must await my doom. But still he does not move or call out or run. I do not understand. Some minutes have now passed and he has remained motionless, unblinking and unflinching framed in the door. Does he see me or does he see me not?

There is movement now at the bottom of the stairs. A voice is calling. ‘George, George where are you?’ ‘Here mummy,’ the boy replies. ‘Well come down here at once.’ ‘Yes mummy’. But the boy does not leave, instead he continues to stare. Then after a few moments, he steps backwards through the frame of the door and back on to the landing. He reaches for the handle and just before the door closes he smiles and says, ‘Goodbye.’

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MOVEMENT OF TIME The Eisenhower Centre Writer /

Chris Fenwick

TIME TUNNEL From the outside you can see at once that she is indeed a strange confection; a perfect melding of function and form. Part fortress, part provider of life for those confined in her belly. But later you discover that the face that she shows to her public hides her true nature. Beneath her stern, stone facade is a subterranean world of snaking tunnels, their purpose long abandoned, their meaning long forgotten. You note now that they are lined with metal shelfs and dusty boxes filled with yellowing files full of ancient correspondence and obsolete memoranda. The stored detritus of modern commercial life that no one wants to see but no one dares destroy.

But for now you shut that from your mind and continue your journey through her long intestinal caverns back to another time, a darker time. You close your eyes and picture it. Above, in the outside world, the real world, bombs fall from the sky. The city has become an inferno as far as the eye can see. In the distance, a siren calls out its wild banshee wail and the jingle-jangle bells of fire engines and police cars rushing by can only be heard intermittently between the noise of those terrible and terrifying explosions. But down here, here in the safety of her womb, you are spared that hateful cacophony. You drift from bunk to bunk, ghostlike, invisible, observing everything but betraying no sound nor movement. Anxious mothers in floral pinafores, their hair tied up with scarfs tend their fretful babies. Old men, oblivious to their surroundings, lie on their backs snoring nosily, their toothless mouths open wide. You see a gaggle of soldiers playing cards, smoking, laughing. Further on a boy of no more than twelve years of age, in short trousers and a sleeveless pullover, is whistling tunelessly to himself trying to distract his mind from the fact that he is down here alone. There is a overpowering smell of stale cigarette smoke, cheap food being cooked on makeshift cookers and human waste. You step back and survey the whole scene. Eight thousand souls are here. People from all classes, all backgrounds and all faith, all united by a single purpose. Time passes, and you walk, on and come to a huge locked metal door. But this is no barrier to you and you pass through it and are immediately startled by what you see. It all seems so out of place, so incongruous. Oak bookshelves line nearly every wall and are neatly filled with books of every colour

and hue and on every subject known to man. Paintings from another age fill any remaining vacant spaces left by the bookcases, hung on the fine grained wooden paneling. You feel like you have stepped into an ancient Piccadilly gentleman’s’ club. Beneath your feet is a crimson coloured hand-woven oriental carpet and in the centre of the room an enormous carved and polished table. Four men, and a woman taking notes, are seated around it. You recognise the men instantly from the old newsreels and grainy black and white photographs you have seen. The old rotund man at the end of the table, the most recognisable of all, is puffing anxiously on his cigar, his two colleagues seated either side of him fiddle anxiously with their pens and winged collars. It is hot in here in this strange windowless room and air is a pungent cocktail of cigar smoke and fear. The tall man in the uniform stands up and leans forward and places the palms of his hands firmly on the table. He speaks; ‘Then we are all agreed? It is to be the 6th of June? There is a long silence. Everyone looks towards the old man at the head of the table. You sense the tension in the air. There is no movement. Even the old man’s smoke seems frozen, suspended in time. Eventually he nods. There are sighs of relieve but the anxiety on the faces seems, if anything more intense. You open your eyes and the smell from that room is gone in an instant to be replaced by the dank odour of slowly decaying paper. You retrace your steps along the tunnels and open the door of her portal. The roar of the traffic is the first assault on your senses. You blink as the bright sunlight meets your eyes. You are back, back on familiar ground, back in a familiar place. But somehow, in some way that you cannot put words to, the world seems different now, different and new.

SLIATED NGISED

WRITING

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MONOLOGUE Fish Island Writer /

Jon Wood

RUNNING TOWARDS FISH ISLAND What do I feel, what do I see? Tell me! Within my torso I can feel jangling organs held loosely in place by a mesh of stretched and fatigued wire. They are flushed by pulses of oxygen, bruised by motion. Words slip off my lips. Look at the reeds in the brook, the wide landscape, part abstract, part cultured, edged with steel and corrugated structures, traversed above by flat nosed carriages ferrying back and forth. I’m following the river as it winds long, slow, round. Why are you not moved by the contrasts? The endless patterns of nature out here away from the grip of the city. I can’t see its wonder only feel my meanly padded bones against grit. What use are the words. Rana’s body is padded for impact, deliciously unathletic, kept pleasingly budhaesque and plump with heaped spoons of sugar that ameliorate her bitter coffee, she thrives on a navvies diet, feels no guilt and nothing, as far as I can remember, jars. My gullet burns my back aches. Under the dark arches of the industrial age I sensed my pace slowing. Got to step it up, no purpose in jogging, jogging’s part of a prescribed life style along with Sunday supplements and achieving schools. Its on the list stuck to the broad fridge door next to your children’s drawings. Something you shoe horn into your wonderfully full and progressive lives. Christ I’ve got to step it up.

“This project may help me in my exploration in the written word and how it related to Architecture.”

Listen to the sounds, the displaced gravel, how many different types of bird can you hear, we can still breath if there’s bird song even as the buildings march to the waters edge. Will she still be there by the stern brick factory wall mocked by colour and grimacing cartoons her spray can ready.

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WRITING

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CHARACTERS Sir John Soane’s Museum Writer /

Jon Wood

THREE CHARACTERS WITHIN THE SOANES MUSEUM The Visitor I see a masterly composition of nooks and crannies, shafts and facades layered with curiosities, creaking folds and cloaks of purpose against the erosion of the metaphysical- there’s human worth in the objects now, artefacts of man, each replete with meaning, a story exposed with each swell of light sent down from the unseen orb into these watery depths. We descend like curious fish down to where the pride and prizes of the dead are preserved our informed forensic gaze dusting the laminated obfuscation’s of the past. We see pieces made from other’s hands, from another’s land, purloined or acquired, for good, obsession or wealth, we don’t know but their physical moulds remain, their pattern, the resilient marks of their time accepted by every modern eye on every corner of London.

“It has been interesting and challenging.”

The Guardian Today I’m in the drawing room with the rows of seats never sat on and a table never eat on, walls no longer barriers, ceilings still celestial, doors almost always open for polite company in a steady flow to come and stare. I guide and advise, I’ve been here a year so I’m not an expert. Each time I look I find something new, the delicate curl of a brass handle, a pattern within a pattern, the statue’s melancholic gaze. The house lays its hand on me, I can feel its presence from stone cellar to terracotta roof tiles. The builders are in restoring, I’m anxious but I think the house accepts their presence, we will grow and more shall be revealed for our hungry eyes.

The Occupant Piranesi spoke to me last night, he took me by his hand, it seemed a perfectly natural thing to do, we passed through his ruins of antiquity, no, I mean literally walked through white hewn stone walls, mighty slabs of intent piled high and tottering. We walked straight through them. It didn’t seem to matter where he was leading me, it was peaceful, the many tones of light: the half lights; the dappling shades, then we sank deep into his dark subterranean chambers cut sharp with an irregular pulse of blue light from above. We were timeless. He calls me now in the wakened hours to join him, away from the cloying living with their piggy gaze, naive questions and suppositions. We are not curiosities we walk the earth of perpetual sublimity, they swoop and forage like half tamed, flaking locusts in a brief frenzy of existence.

SLIATED NGISED

WRITING

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SURREAL SETTING Barbican Gardens Writer /

Jon Wood

THE GARDENS

â&#x20AC;&#x153;I particularly like the architectural idea of space connected to a written description of space.â&#x20AC;?

From where have you come, mighty brushed rods and troughs of Gods, a reawakened dream of man unbent by selfish need? These upturned arches that slight civilisations past, this brute majesty, familiar yet unimagined does not compete but sits in its complex wealth of form unchallenged by the lesser city outside its walls: the modest church in white hewn stone in silent prayer and the tall glass and tin clad blocks that would bow if they had a soul. I am on one of the many decks of this great ship, standing in the presence of the three towers that command fear and reverence, they shift as I turn, tremulous sentinels, masts taut against time, they look out to where their toy town neighbours, fashioned from comic book images and false icons, dilute the eye. I dream of babylon and ageless wonders of the world and look upon the river within its girth and wait for the vessel to arrive that will take me to the origins of this invented place beyond the limits of my mind. Maybe it will take me back through epochs of old: past Greek capitals; Mayan arches; the cosmic geometry of tombs; cities carved from stone; ziggurats and celebrated Temples but I would return to this place here as rich as any seen. London I say treat this gift well and be generous in your usage we will not witness its kind ever again.

FEEDBACK

WRITING

ASSOCIATION Westminster Cathedral

QUALITY: PLACE:

Writer /

Prasanna Khanal

THE ENTRANCE An indifferent sky threw in a steady stream of rain onto the jagged fabric of the city, making its inhabitants rush. In an older part of its labyrinthine disorder, an elderly edifice stood triumphant as water seeped down its symmetrically carved portals. Its tall belfry tower and the curve of the cupola had seen many a thunderstorms. The building is a late nineteenth century structure built on marshy land reclaimed from the river; reads a pamphlet at the entrance. The redness of its façade interspersed by stone carvings of men wearing elaborate headdress holding cane- staff gesturing its visitors to gander inside. A large wooden door leads into its interiors; yellow light falling from hanging Chandeliers placed at intervals and lit candles placed on a table besides the door reveals its cavernous insides. People scattered about; sitting on wooden chairs, some walk about, others lighting candles. Towards the nave, a large wooden cross, on which is painted a half-naked man, hung from above as if it were a creature of the sky, its upper end lost in the darkness of the unseen ceiling.

“It gave me a chance to look at the city space with a different perspective and also write about it.”

Walking away from the door, a large stone pillar makes its presence felt, it too vanishing high above. The air feels stuck & heavy, the space holds an intrigue. It’s like as if the place were high up the mountains, a cave. Its walls depict pictures of faraway lands, where people wore robes, and kept animals. A large bronze foot stepped fleshly on a ‘leather sandal’. A loose cotton-like robe drapes its heavy body; its right arm flexed at the elbow with two fingers pointing up while the left arm hung, as if from a sling, across the chest holding a pair of keys in its palms. Moving up a broad chest, a thick neck led to a square jaw with verdant beard, and expressive large eyes glared out at whoever was in front, with an intense expression. Dark wavy hair had a circular sun like disc floating over it, completing the character. The figure sat on an elaborately carved chair addressing a person or an assembly. The whole architecture demanded attention, making the visitor one of its many parts.

“It would not only help my writing skills but also broader my imagination.”

A man in his late 60’s with long flowing beard was glancing down an open tome, alongside him stood a young girl as he reads out loudGuide me, O thou great Redeemer Pilgrim through this barren land I’m weak, but thou art mighty Hold me with thy powerful hand Bread of heaven, Bread of heaven Feed me till I want no more Feed me till I want no more.

SLIATED NGISED

DRAWING

QUALITY: PLACE:

ACTUALITY A Medical Museum Architect /

Po-min Kung

“The interesting part is that to ‘represent a representation (text in brief)’; from actual space to word description, and then the drawing, it was ‘translated’ twice.” “Different from own ways of thinking, it gives more space for creativity when expressing other’s imagination (text).”

FEEDBACK

DRAWING

QUALITY: PLACE:

DISSECTION Princess Diana Memorial Fountain Architect /

Yu-pu Lu

SLIATED NGISED

DRAWING

QUALITY: PLACE:

PERSPECTIVE A Historical Immersive Space Architect /

Ya-sin Tseng

“This is where I can play with my imagination more than most of the real projects I had. Especially it began with the text description, rather than an actual site.”

ㄆ妡⥩ἼƢỌ⎱䂡ầ溣Ƣ 堢⥤䎐䙫˛ ⻡䮰䙫⤎惏Ụ惤㘖⽯䏭『䙫ṲƏ娔姯⑳ペ₶Ṇℴ ᷴṭ䵨㈲䵨党䙫ƏἭ⎪凮怀㴢⊼⏖Ọ䏭㈧䕝䄝䙫孺ㄆ『ℬ㻦ペ₶Ə䕒怀⼜⛽䙫⟡䣵ᷴ㘖敞✏✆壈俳㘖敞✏㕮⬾ᷱƏᷴ䔏ペᷧ⟭丨䑊䙫Ṳ⯍Ə⏑奨ペ₶ ⤎凛ᷱ ⏯䏭䙫䩡敺䕒杉Ə堢ヰ⿒䙫┱ 㛰㱹㛰⾅Ḕ䍙⽾ầ溣⥤嘼Ƣㇽ㘖ỢἼ὇妡⽾㛰ヶ侐䙫惏⇭Ƣ䂡ầ溣Ƣ 恟䙫䩡敺㘖 D KLVWRULFDO LPPHUVLYH VSDFH 㕮⬾㔿志Ḕ㞷Ẃ⽯₶⯶㘩孧怵䙫⯶媑䈮㮜Ə✏ 免⬷壈⻡㦲怵桅ἣ䙫䩡敺㨊屳Ə怀㬈≂⥤㛰ῲ㩆㛪孺免塲壈⬿㩻怵䙫䕒杉⍗⇡ὭƏ⒯⒯Ə⏖ッ㈲巆ᷴᷱ免Ə䕒䙫巆ペ䙫恫㘖㛰吤ⷕ Ἥ怀Ṇᷴ㘖䬓ᷧ⤐䟌怺䙫Ṳṭ 44

㛰⛅䬻∗怀栳▵Ə⒍

⅝Ḕ妡⽾㛧ᷴ▃㭈䙫惏⇭㘖Ƣ 惤堢ヰ⿒┱ a 奶∮Ṇ䰈▕㗺ㆩ Ό㘖㛰滅⥤⤮塏䏥䙫奶∮⑳䩡敺㘖⥩Ἴ墒愴⯴䙫 ⑉ "

㛪ペⅴ⎪凮ᷧ㬈▵Ƣ⛇䂡Ƣ 㛪┱Ə⛇䂡 ☂ ⒯⒯⒯

FEEDBACK

DRAWING

QUALITY: PLACE:

ALIENATION A Regeneration Area Architect /

Ming-yen Chou

“It was a good chance for pure happiness of speculating and creating imaginative spaces.”

SLIATED NGISED

DRAWING

QUALITY: PLACE:

SPATIAL SCALE A Park with a Hill Architect /

Szu-an Yu

FEEDBACK

DRAWING

QUALITY: PLACE:

JUXTAPOSITION A Cathedral Architect /

Jacquetta Wang

“It was a great chance for me to experiment it on my own. Juxtaposing them and giving a new meaning to it.”

“I would definitely do it again. It was interesting, fun and inspiring. It would even be better if architects could have more contact or communication with writers. It should be interesting!”

SLIATED NGISED

DRAWING

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ORIENTATION An Underground Café Architect /

Ting-jia Chang

“It gives me a chance to rethink my thought of Architectural Design and life in reality.”

“These kinds of studies can jump out of the traditional design thinking in Architectural Design fields.”

“It’s a way to rearrange the reality and personal expression, into another level.”

DESIGN DETAILS

Trolley / Design Iteration

DESIGN DETAILS

Map / Design Iteration

Archive Box / Design Iteration

Scope / Design Iteration

Projector Box / Design Iteration

DESIGN DETAILS

Booklets / Design Iteration

Graphics / Design Iteration

FICTION

S P