Class today is awesome.
We start by talking about landscape architecture. Artifacts, symbol, iconic, abstraction, citizenship, stewardship, peace, transformation. We are going back home soon. How do we bring back what we have learned to the States and apply it? There is straw and there is steel. What will we be? How do we get into infinite shades of gray? Into layers? We are extremely operative outside of the nonverbal. We must give ourselves permission to do things where definitions do not exist.
Tate talks about visiting his son in Germany this past weekend. Lee lives in a region of Germany called Franconia, part of Bavaria in southern Germany. It is a wine region, and there is a holiness with which they treat their ground. He cites Whitman, and tells us to do the reflective practice with how we live. What do we have to say with what we make? “The poetics solve the pragmatics,” he says. “Change your perspective. Raise questions of the status quo.”
Then we talk about photography. We see pictures of a photographer who, coincidentally, shot Venice as a subject. There were no photos of Saint Mark’s or Scarpa. Nothing so famous or particular. We see shots of how things meet. How water meets path. How bridges make shadows and invite us to look. We see pictures of Prague. There are not many straight lines, but the rigour of the curve.
I know James makes fun of me for talking about where I eat when I travel, but the place we eat at lunch today is worth the teasing. It is a sushi restaurant, the central feature of which is a conveyor belt which brings food out to us. We select which dishes we want—sushi rolls, lo mein, egg rolls—and pay one all-you-can-eat price. It is a brilliant setup.
In the afternoon, we visit a firm called pool. A sign on the wall reads, “So small happiness can be.” The architect who meets with us, Florian, tells us that pool consists of friends from university who started working together before graduation. I have found this to be a common theme among the firms we have visited thus far. The pool studio is a former exhibition space, which I find fitting—their fantastic models and beautiful sketches are out and on display as if in a gallery.
They get bigger projects from competitions, but they talk about the ability to realize more with a smaller project, which they get by word-of-mouth. There is a communication, a movement between their spaces. One blueprint looks like one of Plecnik’s gardens, or a vineyard. “We have to have a sort of distance from the historic, lest we imitate or something,” says Florian. Someone asks who his influences are. I see Mau on the shelf, another common thread I’ve noticed among other firms we’ve visited. “Oh, you know,” he says. “The ones everyone else has.”
Before leaving pool, I decide with Kevan, the other graphic designer on the trip, to approach the adjoining graphic design firm who shares studio space with pool. I first talk to a man and explain to him that we come from the States and are interested in learning more about his firm. “You’ll have to talk to him,” he says, pointing to a much less conspicuous man at a desk across from us. “I’m just an assistant.”
I walk over to the man and introduce myself. He explains that his name is Erwin Bauer, and he is excited about talking about himself with us. He is formerly a farmer, hence the name “bauer,” which is German for farmer. He says that it’s sort of an inside joke among clients and colleagues, and he incorporates rural Austrian imagery into his work when he gets the chance. He started over ten years ago, and teaches currently at a nearby university.
We go over some of his work—annual reports, exhibition catalogs, posters, a book. “How long did this take you?” we ask in regards to the book. “Oh, about a month and a half,” he replies nonchalantly.
He stresses the importance of written and verbal communication, as well as the nonverbal. “If you can’t think in language terms, you can’t express the client’s vision.”
Before we leave, he gives us his card. It is less of a card, and more of a sticker that he places on blank business cards. It wraps around one edge. There are many different designs—a portrait of him cropped just below his head, an illustration for a children’s book, a cow. We ask for several.
We start by talking about landscape architecture. Artifacts, symbol, iconic, abstraction, citizenship, stewardship, peace, transformation. We are going back home soon. How do we bring back what we have learned to the States and apply it? There is straw and there is steel. What will we be? How do we get into infinite shades of gray? Into layers? We are extremely operative outside of the nonverbal. We must give ourselves permission to do things where definitions do not exist.
Tate talks about visiting his son in Germany this past weekend. Lee lives in a region of Germany called Franconia, part of Bavaria in southern Germany. It is a wine region, and there is a holiness with which they treat their ground. He cites Whitman, and tells us to do the reflective practice with how we live. What do we have to say with what we make? “The poetics solve the pragmatics,” he says. “Change your perspective. Raise questions of the status quo.”
Then we talk about photography. We see pictures of a photographer who, coincidentally, shot Venice as a subject. There were no photos of Saint Mark’s or Scarpa. Nothing so famous or particular. We see shots of how things meet. How water meets path. How bridges make shadows and invite us to look. We see pictures of Prague. There are not many straight lines, but the rigour of the curve.
I know James makes fun of me for talking about where I eat when I travel, but the place we eat at lunch today is worth the teasing. It is a sushi restaurant, the central feature of which is a conveyor belt which brings food out to us. We select which dishes we want—sushi rolls, lo mein, egg rolls—and pay one all-you-can-eat price. It is a brilliant setup.
 |
| The conveyor belt service idea. |
In the afternoon, we visit a firm called pool. A sign on the wall reads, “So small happiness can be.” The architect who meets with us, Florian, tells us that pool consists of friends from university who started working together before graduation. I have found this to be a common theme among the firms we have visited thus far. The pool studio is a former exhibition space, which I find fitting—their fantastic models and beautiful sketches are out and on display as if in a gallery.
 |
| Allie with one of the models. |
They get bigger projects from competitions, but they talk about the ability to realize more with a smaller project, which they get by word-of-mouth. There is a communication, a movement between their spaces. One blueprint looks like one of Plecnik’s gardens, or a vineyard. “We have to have a sort of distance from the historic, lest we imitate or something,” says Florian. Someone asks who his influences are. I see Mau on the shelf, another common thread I’ve noticed among other firms we’ve visited. “Oh, you know,” he says. “The ones everyone else has.”
 |
| Some drawings from pool. |
Before leaving pool, I decide with Kevan, the other graphic designer on the trip, to approach the adjoining graphic design firm who shares studio space with pool. I first talk to a man and explain to him that we come from the States and are interested in learning more about his firm. “You’ll have to talk to him,” he says, pointing to a much less conspicuous man at a desk across from us. “I’m just an assistant.”
I walk over to the man and introduce myself. He explains that his name is Erwin Bauer, and he is excited about talking about himself with us. He is formerly a farmer, hence the name “bauer,” which is German for farmer. He says that it’s sort of an inside joke among clients and colleagues, and he incorporates rural Austrian imagery into his work when he gets the chance. He started over ten years ago, and teaches currently at a nearby university.
We go over some of his work—annual reports, exhibition catalogs, posters, a book. “How long did this take you?” we ask in regards to the book. “Oh, about a month and a half,” he replies nonchalantly.
He stresses the importance of written and verbal communication, as well as the nonverbal. “If you can’t think in language terms, you can’t express the client’s vision.”
Before we leave, he gives us his card. It is less of a card, and more of a sticker that he places on blank business cards. It wraps around one edge. There are many different designs—a portrait of him cropped just below his head, an illustration for a children’s book, a cow. We ask for several.
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