Model Making Megan Werner Princeton Architectural Press,New York
Megan Werner Princeton Architectural Press, New York
Contents 9 Foreword 12 Preface 14 Acknowledgments 16 Concept Blocks 84 Materials 94 Tools 108 Applied Technologies 114 Tips Techniques 132 Architectural Concepts 140 Models 157 Bibliography 159 Credits
9 Foreword 12 Preface 14 Acknowledgments 16 Concept Blocks 84 Materials 94 Tools 108 Applied Technologies 114 Tips & Techniques 132 Architectural Concepts 140 Models 157 Bibliography 159 Credits Contents
Foreword Having kindly given over their basement for so many years to the storage of the paper,wood,acrylic,plaster,and metal remnants of my education Emily Abruzzo as a young architect,a few years ago my parents suggested that I take a look at my old models to see if any of them could "go."I had no hesitation about throwing the models away:most of them had been photographed, I was already in graduate school,and disposing of them would be,I thought,cathartic.No longer proud of that early,naive work that had at first given me such delight,I was glad to see it go,now fully invested in digital modeling.I brought the models out to the curb and piled them up for garbage collection. After a night of heavy rain,a mess of wet cardboard and rusty metal was all that was left the next morning.What were the previous day useless objects taking up space,embarrassing reminders of work I no longer liked,had now been melted by the onslaught of weather.The cardboard slumped,twisted,and bowed,the soft woods curved and delaminated, paints peeled,and plaster crumbled.I was amazed not only by what I saw-I had thought these to be heartier objects-but also by my complex, conflicted emotions regarding these rejected works:it made me sad, disappointed,regretful to see them in such a state. Of course,this destruction would have occurred regardless of the weather,but seeing that melted pile has,for me,made all the difference: it made me realize the intrinsic quality of models that I believe to be so important,and that is their ability to elicit emotion.While my regret was undoubtedly related to some remaining investment in my own work, it points to a larger truth:that,nearly always,designers,clients,or others who encounter and interact with models form a connection with them. A physical model is the material embodiment of an idea,and therein lies its magic.By becoming real,it gives life and actuality to an idea in a way that two-dimensional expressions rarely can.While a drawing might prefer,for example,a specific angle of view,the model often has no such luxury.With its three-dimensionality,its reaction to light and materiality, a model is perceived in innumerable and unpredictable ways.The viewer's active role-the onus to construct view,to place one's eye and hand on the object,and take in its space,details,shape,or texture-allows for an emotional relationship,a guttural connection,a feeling of investment and perhaps even authorship. While models might be seen as the most rational of all forms of architectural communication(simply,a building in miniature or a detail at full scale),they hardly seem to belong to a rationalized system.Unlike drawing,where the language of projections,the surreal flatness of the elevation,and the concept of the section are separations from reality that must be learned in order to be understood,the model does not require abstract methodologies for its comprehension.It is intuitive and liberated from over-rationalization,comprehended by the senses before it is interpreted by the brain.Models,it has been said,are real,and for this reason they communicate so well to so many.'This is why clients take such delight in them,why they convey the sense of a project even when
9 Having kindly given over their basement for so many years to the storage of the paper, wood, acrylic, plaster, and metal remnants of my education as a young architect, a few years ago my parents suggested that I take a look at my old models to see if any of them could “go.” I had no hesitation about throwing the models away: most of them had been photographed, I was already in graduate school, and disposing of them would be, I thought, cathartic. No longer proud of that early, naive work that had at first given me such delight, I was glad to see it go, now fully invested in digital modeling. I brought the models out to the curb and piled them up for garbage collection. After a night of heavy rain, a mess of wet cardboard and rusty metal was all that was left the next morning. What were the previous day useless objects taking up space, embarrassing reminders of work I no longer liked, had now been melted by the onslaught of weather. The cardboard slumped, twisted, and bowed, the soft woods curved and delaminated, paints peeled, and plaster crumbled. I was amazed not only by what I saw—I had thought these to be heartier objects—but also by my complex, conflicted emotions regarding these rejected works: it made me sad, disappointed, regretful to see them in such a state. Of course, this destruction would have occurred regardless of the weather, but seeing that melted pile has, for me, made all the difference: it made me realize the intrinsic quality of models that I believe to be so important, and that is their ability to elicit emotion. While my regret was undoubtedly related to some remaining investment in my own work, it points to a larger truth: that, nearly always, designers, clients, or others who encounter and interact with models form a connection with them. A physical model is the material embodiment of an idea, and therein lies its magic. By becoming real, it gives life and actuality to an idea in a way that two-dimensional expressions rarely can. While a drawing might prefer, for example, a specific angle of view, the model often has no such luxury. With its three-dimensionality, its reaction to light and materiality, a model is perceived in innumerable and unpredictable ways. The viewer’s active role—the onus to construct view, to place one’s eye and hand on the object, and take in its space, details, shape, or texture—allows for an emotional relationship, a guttural connection, a feeling of investment and perhaps even authorship. While models might be seen as the most rational of all forms of architectural communication (simply, a building in miniature or a detail at full scale), they hardly seem to belong to a rationalized system. Unlike drawing, where the language of projections, the surreal flatness of the elevation, and the concept of the section are separations from reality that must be learned in order to be understood, the model does not require abstract methodologies for its comprehension. It is intuitive and liberated from over-rationalization, comprehended by the senses before it is interpreted by the brain. Models, it has been said, are real, and for this reason they communicate so well to so many.1 This is why clients take such delight in them, why they convey the sense of a project even when Foreword Emily Abruzzo
10 drawings do not.This is why they are often the denouement of architects' presentations,and why students take such pride in them. My first job,building models by hand for Peter Eisenman,began a trajectory with model making that is somewhat of a shared experience for architects of my generation.I was a crack model maker at the end of that summer,but quickly put aside these skills as I entered graduate school and spent more time computer modeling than making actual things. Over the course of the next few years,model making became scarce in my learning and work:even though I discarded very little after that eye- opening purge,only a few student models remain. Of late,however,model making has experienced a kind of reverse bell curve.Once a mandatory part of the design process,it saw a rapid decline as computer modeling-though arguably a two-dimensional form of representation-came to replace physical models.But as quickly as we saw this decline,we have seen a reinvestment in making.While we are indeed more reliant on the computer than ever,this reversal is a result of the increasing ease of translating information created with the computer to reality through the use of digital fabrication techniques. As modeling and fabrication come closer together,more models are being made,and,despite less hand production,the process might be more engaging than ever.Rapid prototyping technologies short- circuit the design process:the model is no longer necessarily referential, and its role more often now better described by the term prototype. Even when not working at full scale,it seems useful that the tools that make the model could be the ones used for the final object,piece, or pattern. But better yet,as these new tools allow fast and accurate iterative production with ease,our emotions take an active role in the design process,helping to guide,along with objective information,each successive iteration.Models elicit gut reactions-you know what is right when you see it in front of you-and this reaction,or emotion,should be the most important tool used by every designer.The structural engineer Cecil Balmond has spoken about using intuition in design-the idea that as you learn,see,feel,and try,you develop a kind of internal sounding board that informs that gut reaction.?Models,especially when they come in greater numbers,are a useful design tool in that sense.While it is true that they can be very communicative to an audience-eliciting dreams,giving sensation,and engendering pleasure-they can speak volumes to the designer as well,if only he or she allows for the emotional. In Scott Hicks's documentary Glass:A Portrait of Philip in Twelve Parts(2007),Philip Glass speaks about the difference between writing and hearing his symphonies.In writing,one must imagine how an entire orchestra will sound when playing the piece,and so the live performance is always revealing of something unexpected,even for an experienced composer like Glass. In architecture,especially given contemporary technologies,we have the opportunity to test our compositions,to train our ear,as it were
10 drawings do not. This is why they are often the denouement of architects’ presentations, and why students take such pride in them. My first job, building models by hand for Peter Eisenman, began a trajectory with model making that is somewhat of a shared experience for architects of my generation. I was a crack model maker at the end of that summer, but quickly put aside these skills as I entered graduate school and spent more time computer modeling than making actual things. Over the course of the next few years, model making became scarce in my learning and work: even though I discarded very little after that eyeopening purge, only a few student models remain. Of late, however, model making has experienced a kind of reverse bell curve. Once a mandatory part of the design process, it saw a rapid decline as computer modeling—though arguably a two-dimensional form of representation—came to replace physical models. But as quickly as we saw this decline, we have seen a reinvestment in making. While we are indeed more reliant on the computer than ever, this reversal is a result of the increasing ease of translating information created with the computer to reality through the use of digital fabrication techniques. As modeling and fabrication come closer together, more models are being made, and, despite less hand production, the process might be more engaging than ever. Rapid prototyping technologies shortcircuit the design process: the model is no longer necessarily referential, and its role more often now better described by the term prototype. Even when not working at full scale, it seems useful that the tools that make the model could be the ones used for the final object, piece, or pattern. But better yet, as these new tools allow fast and accurate iterative production with ease, our emotions take an active role in the design process, helping to guide, along with objective information, each successive iteration. Models elicit gut reactions—you know what is right when you see it in front of you—and this reaction, or emotion, should be the most important tool used by every designer. The structural engineer Cecil Balmond has spoken about using intuition in design—the idea that as you learn, see, feel, and try, you develop a kind of internal sounding board that informs that gut reaction.2 Models, especially when they come in greater numbers, are a useful design tool in that sense. While it is true that they can be very communicative to an audience—eliciting dreams, giving sensation, and engendering pleasure—they can speak volumes to the designer as well, if only he or she allows for the emotional. In Scott Hicks’s documentary Glass: A Portrait of Philip in Twelve Parts (2007), Philip Glass speaks about the difference between writing and hearing his symphonies. In writing, one must imagine how an entire orchestra will sound when playing the piece, and so the live performance is always revealing of something unexpected, even for an experienced composer like Glass. In architecture, especially given contemporary technologies, we have the opportunity to test our compositions, to train our ear, as it were
11 With typical drawing or computer modeling,your brain must interpolate that third dimension so critical to form,space,and the je ne sais quoi that makes design sing.But with rapid prototyping,we have the ability to make actual material objects,to full scale even,that approach the designer's equivalent of the full orchestra. Like the symphony played live,the model,as an actual object in three dimensions,becomes an autonomous thing that one can hear,feel,or see for what it is.Freed from the work of having to invent a missing orchestra, or dimension,the brain is allowed to observe,analyze,and project. What do I see,is it successful,and,perhaps most importantly,how does it make me feel? Notes 1 Olafur Eliasson,"Models are Real,"in Mode/s,306090 11,ed.Emily Abruzzo and Jonathan Solomon(New York:306090 Books,2007). 2 Cecil Balmond and Eric Ellingsen,"Survival Patterns,"in Models,306090 11, ed.Emily Abruzzo and Jonathan Solomon(New York:306090 Books,2007)
11 With typical drawing or computer modeling, your brain must interpolate that third dimension so critical to form, space, and the je ne sais quoi that makes design sing. But with rapid prototyping, we have the ability to make actual material objects, to full scale even, that approach the designer’s equivalent of the full orchestra. Like the symphony played live, the model, as an actual object in three dimensions, becomes an autonomous thing that one can hear, feel, or see for what it is. Freed from the work of having to invent a missing orchestra, or dimension, the brain is allowed to observe, analyze, and project. What do I see, is it successful, and, perhaps most importantly, how does it make me feel? Notes 1 Olafur Eliasson, “Models are Real,” in Models, 306090 11, ed. Emily Abruzzo and Jonathan Solomon (New York: 306090 Books, 2007). 2 Cecil Balmond and Eric Ellingsen, “Survival Patterns,” in Models, 306090 11, ed. Emily Abruzzo and Jonathan Solomon (New York: 306090 Books, 2007)