Platoon 15

There is HOPE!

Vietnam in a month baby.

Charlie Sheen, I heart you muchly.



RARF. xxw

I Draw Robot. Yes.

The clock in the corner of the screen is telling me its 03:27 in the morning and I think I may be losing the plot.

Rewind about two weeks ago>>
Trying to watch about 40 hours of Science Fiction in fast forward while reading the plot summaries on IMDB to get a sample population for Tuesday.

Rewind a week ago>>
Decide that I am going to attempt to draw nostalgia. or represent nostalgia in a drawing. or not actually draw an image that is nostalgic in form but shows the mechanics of nostalgia.

.....................................right.

Tonight>>
Working on drawing involving robot components.

Perhaps losing the plot now is not so strange. xxw

Nantes

Okay so my obsession with Beirut has done the obligatory:

1. first week constant i-pod round
2. second week replaying of favorite songs
3. weeks and months later, still give me the chills when I hear the singers voices.

Just like here:



..and what a long time long time it feels until we get to see them live! xxw

Selamat Hari Raya
Maaf Zahir Batin
xxwidakitek

Of Buildings and LV.

With starting school (yet) again it seemed quite appropriate to go and check out the Zaha exhibition at the Design Museum by Tower Bridge. During the first week at school her mention was of course inescapable especially when the head of school was giving an 'insider's guide to the AA' talk, listing everything in an A-to-Z way. Which is fair enough really. As much as my opinion swings from one end to the other there is no denying her talent and influence. I still remember the crit in third year when some guy was being shot down for his 'blatant exploitation of recycled, 80's Hadid-ism.' You can do the (minimum) seven years at school but getting the 'ism' at the end of your name is another lifetime altogether.

It was my first time in that end of London in recent years and found it was dotted with several little gems like this one:

We weren't sure whether the bridges were shared between two flats, were communal or were set between two parts of one flat. My favorite explanation is of course the last one, where you might have a small workspace on one side which has its own entrance, then when it was time to go home you'd just walk across the bridge. Quite like the people who have home offices at the bottom of their gardens. Only cooler.

So in the exhibition I asked whether we were allowed to take photographs and proceeded to go a little snap happy in he process. However I've just checked the website and apparently its not actually allowed so if you plan to go, perhaps its best just to ask.

There are two floors to the exhibition, the first one showing most of her actual building work in the form of draings, sketches and models. The second, displaying mainly her furniture and smaller pieces like tableware and lighting. As expected, the lower floor was by far the more engaging and seductive, but perhaps that has more to do with the fact that I prefer her work done in the 80s, some in the decade to follow but less of the blob-ular obsession with modelling tools of recent years.


Maybe the fact that they told us we could take photos was because they knew most couldn't come out anyway due to the low lighting. The space itself was a little surreal with the walls, floor and ceiling being so dark and black, everything else seemed wightless.

(note: I'd add more photos on here but these two were the only decent and relevant ones I thought best to put in.)

This picture I took of a chair upstairs simply to put on here. I thought it looked quite fun since you don't usually see the print in 3D.


On the way to the museum you pass Foster's City Hall. Surrounded immediately by generous open space that is walled in by a number of taller buildings it's no suprise there's quite a stong wind tunnel!


Oh and on a completely seperate note, Emma's started blogging again which is great! And with photos of the newest member of the fam too. Congratulations again Bobby and Emma,
I cannot wait to meet her. xxauntw

Chair

There's a stuff/junk shop near my house that was getting rid of stuff the other day when I passed it on the bus and I picked up a wee chair for 8 squid. Its seat was covered in this faded pink stuff so decided for a more vibrant (if a little on the gaudy side) colour to re-uphoster it in. The colours in the picture aren't quite right but its kinda yellow-y/red anyway.



Now. What on earth do I do with all these staples on my floor? xxw

Quit your jibber jabber.

So school has started again and once more I return as a new kid of many. It's reassuringly small though is therefore a difficult place to hide away if you are feeling particularly fragile. Moments of which there have been plenty from the first monday some two weeks ago.

However, smaller victories have been fought and won in the process, ensuring that I come out the other end with my head still attached if only by a button.

And of course what would a week be in the life of me if I hadn't already managed to wedge my foot firmly in my mouth several times? The first was of course admitting to a tutor that I was in fact in love with the ukelele orchestra and have recently had a massive revisit to ALL their youtube videos. Stopping myself short (luckily) before singing the chorus to Wuthering Heights.

Heathcliff! Heathcliff!

Hopefully all disguise as studious, normal, architecture student will remain intact for duration of diploma. Concealing much of, oh, all manner of thigh-slapping, foot-stomping, verbal-diahorrea-when-nervous and curly-hair twirling antics beneath swathes of cloaky impenetrable seriousness. Well... a 'cloaky impenetrable seriousness' viewed from the inside remains most probably in stark contrast to the bumbling idiot seen from the outside.

I'm reminded once again of being back at school as I scribble to my neighbour my enamoured ramblings. She giggles and thinks I joke. The following day I show my tutor an essay I wrote a while ago entitled ' Difference and Categorisation in the Understanding of the Formation of Culture and Why Will Alsop is My Hero'. She too laughs and thinks I joke.

I realise what a load of self-indulgent crock of crap I've just written. Oh well! Secret's out anyway. I can't write and not particularly exciting news of my fantastically bad taste in music has already made a couple of rounds at school. Now I can relax. Big hugs from wid's schizophrenic slightly shy-er alter ego.