- You make a chair. You design it a special way because Mr. Smith ordered it for his salon. And you, being a good worker, you design it according to assessed principles, like the width of Mr. Smith’s behind. So your chair becomes an exhibit at the gentleman’s salon. That is architecture for Private Individual.
- Or on the other hand, you make a chair for the city and the municipality clinches it at a park. Years pass by and old ladies come to rest, there is someone who ties his shoelaces and pigeons make a use of it too. Dogs make their need at the legs and loved ones carve their names on. But it is still the same chair you made, about 10 years ago, and it is under the rain, the sun, the dust, dirty, and someone in great despair, broke a leg of it. That is public architecture.
- But at some given moment, someone looks at it, and gazes at the magic moment of the conception of the idea or the greatness of a design. And thus takes it home, cleans it and puts it on a stand, with glass and ropes around it. People then say “oh it is indeed beautiful” That is museum architecture.
This is a blog intented to exhibit some of my sketches, my drawings and my view of life. It is not a selected work, it is a process, so you will mature with me along the way.
Αυτό το μπλογκ προορίζεται να παρουσιάσει μερικά από τα σχέδιά μου, τα σκίτσα μου και την οπτική γωνία που βλέπω τη ζωή. Δεν είναι επιλεγμένη δουλειά μου, είναι μια προοδευτική διαδικασία, έτσι που και εσείς θα ωριμάζετε μαζί μου στην πορεία
Αυτό το μπλογκ προορίζεται να παρουσιάσει μερικά από τα σχέδιά μου, τα σκίτσα μου και την οπτική γωνία που βλέπω τη ζωή. Δεν είναι επιλεγμένη δουλειά μου, είναι μια προοδευτική διαδικασία, έτσι που και εσείς θα ωριμάζετε μαζί μου στην πορεία
a chair problem, pencil and marker on paper
FACEii, watercolour, pencil, carchoal on paper
Take the cloak from his face, and at first
Let the corpse do its worst!
How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And, absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.
Ha, what avails death to erase
His offence, my disgrace?
I would we were boys as of old
In the field, by the fold:
His outrage, God's patience, man's scorn
Were so easily borne!
I stand here now, he lies in his place:
Cover the face!
Robert Browning, After
Figure II. pencil, water colour, carchoal
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