So, here is what I've been doing:
Not only am I in John's prototyping class on Fridays, but I am in the middle of prototyping this project. I've got prototyping on the brain. What distinguishes prototyping from making models? It's funny you should ask that, dear reader. Prototyping is the process of making and then evaluating models. A prototype is a model, but a model is only a prototype if it was used to consider aesthetics, function, size, etc, of the finished object. John would say that prototyping is a "design method used to remove guesswork from the design process," and I am inclined to agree. So, here is what I've been doing: I'm currently working on placing the copper tubing along the wings in a way that I can later secure the pond liner to them. I then have to work out the issue of sealing the liner so moisture can't escape, and I need to find a way to keep the liner in the seat position without the wings opening completely. I'm sure there are ways. I could attach a rope to the seat part of the liner and attach the other end to the bottom of the frame, that way the rope would slacken when the seat sunk, but would tighten before the seat tried to rise above the right position.
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Using the plans and models that I made, I did a little research into how expensive it would be to purchase all of the necessary materials to make a chair or two (not counting more pond liner or more non-newtonian fluid). As per usual, it was a lot. As the bards of yore once sang, "Money money money/ must be funny/ in a rich man's world." I ain't laughin'.
my opinion, the creativity that presents itself when resources are low is the most amazing and valuable kind. Knowing how to make and fix things on a very low budget is an art form. In my own artwork separate from schooling, I build sculptures out of found E-waste. I want to design and build things that recycle old materials. To stay on budget for this project, therefore, I am likely going to build the finished product out of more found objects than previously thought. I was already doing experiments with used chairs, now perhaps the frame of the finished chair(s) will be made of dismantled chairs. Speaking of which, I spent all of yesterday shopping:
It's okay. Everything is better now. Pond liner is here. I also brought some wire hangers all the way from my dad's car trunk in DC (he was going to return them to the dry cleaners). Before making models, I took a set of measurements to try and get a sense of how big the finished chair should be. It needs to fit people of the larger persuasion but still fit through the doors of the IP studios. Here is what I came up with according to measuring my body and adding a heck-of-a-lot-of inches to the seat width: In the future, after the wire models (which I haven't shown you yet), I made a full-sized model construction to figure out if the dimensions I used worked well. However, it makes more sense chronologically to show those models before the wire models I made. I then proceeded (before the wooden structure) to make a series of models out of the wire hangers to get a sense of how a pipe-construction structure would work and a sense of the amount of material needed.
Here's what the mechanism in the third model looks like on tape (wait, it's not actually tape any more): Model from Theo Zizka on Vimeo. I tested the wooden model's size against Camilla's butt (one of my last mock-ups was too small for her and therefore useless) and found that it was a good size. The model, I mean. That is to say, I'm not calling... forget it. You know what I meant. Roland loved the wire models and said how excited he was for the second half of IP, when everyone would start making things (for his sake I hope others start making things). He made some suggestions, including getting rid of the bars at the bases of the armrests. I agree that having exposed pipes there would be pretty ugly, and I think with a little innovation, I can do without them. For next class (next Wednesday because we have MLK day off [not that it matters because I'll still be here on MLK day {I mean really, at this point days off are a nuisance <but I digress>}]), Roland wants me to have some things to sit on and experiment with. He wants to test the pond liner's elasticity and strength, and I don't blame him. He's also concerned that I might need an industrial mixer to mix my non-newtonian fluid to keep the consistency. Unbeknownst to him, I intend to use the material already in the couch mock-up, so don't tell him. It'll be our little secret. Checklist Accomplished:
Submitted Wallenberg application (which may not have much to do with IP, but it means that's one huge thing off my chest and more free time... to do IP....) A couple of models and ideas to test (can you accomplish ideas?) Pond liner acquired Working on: Making stuff to test Investigating materials at Stadium hardware To do: Postcard image (due the week of the 21st of January) Sleep Just one more blog post today, I promise. I mean really, this blog is more for me than it is for you, incorporeal reader. I'm just telling myself things. Here is my plan, written down so that I know what the hell I'm doing for the next little while. One of my holiday gifts was this lovely book, DIY Furniture by Christopher Stuart. In it, several designers present plans for some of their projects. It's a great book for getting ideas and visualizing projects from start to finish, but especially for me it's a nice reference guide. Looking at Erwin Zwiers's To Become One Seat stool, I learned about rubber pond liner, which could be a good material for containing the non-newtonian ooze and stretching when sat on. It would allow for much more movement.
HOWEVER, before I make any big purchases, I'm going to make some models out of wire clothes hangers and plastic wrap. This will allow me to work with the form and to see how to best contain the ooze with geometry and gravity. My hope (as in, this has not happened, I have no proof that it will happen, and I am not making claims for what my project will do) is that I can leave the arms of the chair hollow and connected to the bottom. When someone sits on the seat, the ooze is displaced up into the arms of the chair and then, because the sides of the arms will be elastic, the material spreads out, effectively grasping the person seated. Again, no evidence that this will happen. I am not making a warrant for the arrest of a project to call my own, I am saying what I hope and expect will happen with this experiment. Perhaps in the meantime, I will work on transporting the ooze into a container that takes up less space than the massive couch mock-up. Note to self: the finished product must fit through the doors of the IP studios. Checklist Accomplished:
Enthusiasm boost Working on: Making models out of wire hangers and plastic wrap Researching materials at Stadium Hardware To do: Design specific lengths and size and form in Rhino You know that feeling when you're in the water at the beach right where the swells break into waves? That tumbling, head over heels over head, in a flurry of sand and saline into a puddle on the shore? And then the water withdraws to send another wave reeling, and you feel yourself sinking back into the big pond? That last feeling is where I am. I finished the first draft of my thesis yesterday, confident in my new concept. No more was this project in an obscure little corner, indescribable to family, and perceptively useless for my future. The new project was called Take A Stand, and it focused on designing furniture for use when not in a chair (i.e. standing desks and floor tables). I turned in the thesis and felt ready to face the next semester. And then I talked to my professors. That last sentence should not be read with any malice, just the sinking feeling of falling back into the water. Their faces all said "...huh? What are you doing? What about the stuff you've already done?" The question again arose, the question I thought I had answered but hadn't: What do you want? Roland was the most active in his surprise and dislike of the new idea, saying that the last project was definitely getting somewhere. Both he and John mentioned something I have never thought of: companies looking to hire new designers and artists aren't looking for the already-done, describable, simple projects. They're looking for the strange, the difficult, etc. I was advised to keep making things and to see where it lead me. And make things I will. So. My project is "Chair?" (I got rid of the clunky acronym behind it). It's what I've been working on for the past four months, and it's what I will work on for the next four months. I've just resubmitted my thesis (I hope it's not too late). I know I am perceived as being wishy-washy, but I'm slowly finding my way. I'm going to bump into things and recoil. I am going to squeal. These are the noises I make as life squeezes me. *Edit* Here's a pizza place commercial John and Roland saw over the break that made them think of my project: Checklist Accomplished:
Thesis 2x, one better than the other Working on: Making stuff, making my chair better, experimenting with containing material, and Form form form. Form. Form form form. To do: All of the things. I'm taking a break from writing my first draft thesis to ponder a conundrum. This project has been about making a chair. Simultaneously, the research behind this project aims to prove that sitting is unhealthy, and that western, post-industrial society has become too dependent on chairs. Regardless of what my chair hopes to accomplish, it is still a chair. This is precisely why I stopped wanting to be a product designer. I don't want to perpetuate the creation of unnecessary products that end up in dumps. Now I don't want to perpetuate the creation of furniture that truly is not necessary. And yet I am. Is this me actively doublespeaking to myself? I am paradoxically introducing a dilemma that cannot be solved and then trying to solve it. I was writing my thesis, looked at the paragraph I had just written, then backtracked to my first paragraph. They were polar opposites. Poetically, we depend on chairs but we don't really need them per se. The chair was introduced to us at a very early stage in life. As we grow, we are told to stay seated, to not move, and to pay attention. The high chair, the school desk, the college lecture seat, the office desk chair, the sofa, the rocking chair, and the commemorative bench: thus is the life cycle of westernized post-industrial man. E.M. Forster in his 1909 story The Machine Stops (considered the first ever dystopian tale) depicts a world in which humanity is reduced to weak blobs entirely entertained and dependent on a god-like automatic infrastructure called The Machine. People sit in their rooms all day, watching their screens, listening to music, and video-calling people (sound familiar?). When they want to go somewhere, they take the train that is right outside of their door, or an airship for long-distance travel. The main character, Kuno, realizes this dependency all around him and begins exercising, walking instead of taking the convenient transportation, climbing instead of taking elevators, etc. Many societies sit on the ground, and for some bizarre reason, we see this as barbaric. Truly, being able to support one's weight without the need for a chair is an act of independence. Considering the lack of cushioning solid ground gives, one must shift positions to avoid cramps, allow blood flow, and stay comfortable. The more movement the better. The latest paragraph. All things I consider strongly to be important. Compare to the first paragraph: I am exploring human disregard towards seating furniture. I will do this by designing and constructing a piece of furniture that keeps the user conscious of his or her actions and environment by flipping the object-subject relationship. I aim to do this by creating an interactive mechanism that changes the experience constantly, making it seem as though the chair is using the sitter while the opposite is happening, establishing a non-abusive relationship between the two. My goal is that the user will acknowledge the chair and appreciate it without needing to sit upon it for hours on end. I'm trying to get people to stop sitting by making a chair. Why oh why has that just occurred to me? My project in a nutshell:
"Chairs are pretty. People sit on chairs. Sitting is bad. People should not sit on chairs. I make good chair that makes people not want to sit." I suppose such a statement can be used to describe an art piece, but it would fail as a piece of design any day. Although... design is supposed to better the quality of living. This is tricky. How on earth is this going to benefit me in the long run? Oh, and if you haven't noticed, I've switched to solely focusing on "disregard": the act of grabbing a chair and sitting on it without thinking about how long one will be on it, who made the chair, what it might feel, etc. how absurd is that? I don't know how long this will last as my focus--things are changing rapidly. John likes to ask "what do you want?" I'm trying to figure that out. Right now. Wish me luck. Hello. It's been a while. The semester did not end with IP Critiques, it ended with two papers and an exam, and for that reason, I finished my critique and scampered off to write papers and study. I sulked about my performance in the critique, but not about my feedback, which was true and helpful, though I did not, and for that matter still don't know how to proceed. Here is what my panel, consisting of Jan, Marianetta, and Roland had to say: Theo – the committee appreciates your material exploration but is confused regarding your intentions and the final form of your project. Remember you are designing a form as well as an experience. Consider how the form itself (through material, gesture, scale, etc.) can express or suggest the experience. The visual perception of the final object will set the expectations that prime the kinesthetic and tactile experience. In all experience design, expectations – or the breaking thereof – are half the deal. On the night after my final final exam (and I mean final exam of my undergraduate career [!!!!]), I could not sleep. I was tormented by memories of the IP critique, the advice given, the ideas flung, and the work to be done. How does this work fit into my life? Into the life I want to live after college? How much money must I spend on it (I've already spent about one thousand dollars, and the project is crap)? When my partner's alarm went off at 6am and she rose to get ready for work, I finally fell asleep. I dreamed that it was April and that my project was completely finished. I meandered through the empty halls of the Art and Architecture building and entered the Slusser Gallery wherein the culmination of my year, nay, the culmination of four years resided. I had built a chair that was too delicate to be sat on. When observed, it simply stands there, immobile, just like a chair should. But as soon as it senses that it is alone, when there is no movement nearby, it begins to frolic and dance, legs bounding, jumping into the air like a happy goat. This of course would not have been enough to appease the critique panel, so in the dream the chair was accompanied with a projection of a play that I had written, acted in, taped, and edited. The play was a dialogue between me and the chair. The chair could indeed speak: with the push of a slideshow clicker on my end, it would say the next of its lines; the entire performance was staged. We discussed art, design, audiences, and education (I recall the chair shouting at a crucial moment "How can I be art if the audience never sees my movement? My purpose? If there is no audience for my existence, then my creation is meaningless. Why should I have unobservable features?"). Digression: I do not remember my dreams often. The dreams I do recall, however, are bizarre and filled with architectural marvels of my subconscious' making, stories and characters I have never encountered, and so I chronicle said dreams. Dreams are almost always fodder for creativity, not only in the writing cases of Coleridge and Stevenson, but also, I believe, for design and architecture. Upon waking, I thought it was bloody typical that I would make something that could not be watched. After a little reflection, however, I began to mull it over in my head. Writing a play between a work of art and its creator would allow me to physically talk about the things I've been pondering for the past three months. I would not be implying a struggle so much as actually showing it. The piece it self would not be too difficult--I saw how it was constructed in my dream (dream logic is admittedly flawed). I would also be able to combine elements from my creative writing minor, and my senior thesis integrative project would be one part design, one part artwork, and one part play. I talked to a couple of people about this idea (mainly my mother, who is herself a published author of three novels). My mother loved the dream and that my mind combined my stresses into a coherent, albeit absurd solution, but she did not think it should be my final project. At this point, I don't know what to think. Currently working on a book contract, a grant proposal, a collection of short stories, and this project on top of school, work, and family vacation time is making thinking difficult at the moment. My hope is that once I'm back in Michigan, isolated 500 miles from home, I'll be able to work nonstop and come up with some solutions. I have not, as of yet, started writing my 1500 word thesis draft, but because I keep this blog so maintained, I don't believe I'll have much difficulty talking about what I've done and the research behind the project. Now to just figure out what the hell it is I'm doing.... Checklist Accomplished:
One semester. Working on: Relaxing, reflecting, figuring things out. Writing thesis draft numero uno To do: One semester What's goin' on? Crunch time. Sort of. Not really. Every semester, my fellow students freak out and complain about all the work the end of classes brings, and every semester I find it to be the same amount of work that I've had for the past several months. So really, what's going on? The usual. I spent all of Saturday building a bottom for the broken couch I'm using for the current mock-up. It originally had springs as the bottom, which I removed, tacked on boards of MDF, screwed on support beams, and then screwed on the MDF boards. The result was able to support my weight, but I worry that it won't handle one full Jan (a unit of mass equal to approximately 250lbs. It varies on the season). I then lined the newly-created trough with a large polyethylene swath and spent all of Sunday filling it with batches of the new material. I have yet to come up with a name for the stuff. Maybe Oober (Oobleck+Flubber)? Sounds like Über? I didn't heat seal this polyethylene; instead I used industrial strength duct tape. My thinking is that the Oober doesn't separate and doesn't leak liquid. At the same time, the heat sealing caused breakages in the polyethylene. So far the tape is working fine. Checklist Accomplished:
An experiment that didn't fail! Working on: Adding to said experiment Presentation for faculty critique To do: Faculty critique First draft of thesis Editing my title for this project has been very difficult thus far. So here's a quick progression:
The main thing I'm trying to convey with this title is "Can Humans Become Conscious of Sitting" or "Can Humans Stop Being Unconscious of Sitting?" , but "CHBCS?" and "CHSBUS?" don't have the same ring as "CHAIR?" I should also stress that Reliance is indeed part of my project (John argued that I did not say anything about Reliance during my mock-presentation, and that's my fault. Though if I couldn't even remember to do that, then how important is it for my project? Hmmmmm...). We are unconscious of sitting because we rely on chairs, we take them for granted, they're ubiquitous. Yeah. I also like John's idea of embracing the question mark and making it the banner of the project. The title then has a dual meaning--the meaning of the actual phrase, whatever it ends up being, and the meaning of asking "Chair?" As in: "Is that a chair?" (and by extension, "what is a chair?") "Do you want a chair?" "Should I use a chair?" "Here chair, where are you?" Stuff to think about. Still not completely settled on a name yet, but it'll come eventually. Just need to coax it out. Also: Seemed appropriate. Frustratingly appropriate. It's sad that the (overwhelmingly accurate) stereotype of art students is really just the stereotype of hipsters in an academic setting. This is something that I endeavor not to be and/or do, although I must admit the "Art Bullshit" makes its way out of my mouth upon occasion.
For the past two weeks, I have continued experimenting. I worked with more non-newtonian fluids and sealed some samples in between polyethylene sheets. These included Flubber (PVA glue [like elmer's] + Borax), gelatin (mixed with water), and other mixtures of Oobleck. The main issue I was experiencing was that Oobleck separates back into solid and liquid because it's made up of particles suspended in liquid. No matter how much emulsifier I add, it still separates. One of Camilla's friends suggested adding rubbing alcohol or sugar or heating it up, all of which change the properties of the Oobleck, but don't solve the problem. The alcohol makes the separation take longer, the sugar makes it grainier, and heating it up completely changes its composition into a gelatin-like consistency. The other two non-newtonian fluids did not separate, but they didn't have the same pressure-activated properties that Oobleck has. That and the gelatin went moldy. Regardless, I went with the Oobleck material and created a massive, mattress-sized bag full of the stuff, with the idea that a thin layer wouldn't separate as easily. This worked very well to show how easily the body sinks into the material, even when it's layered thinly. Needless to say, it didn't do much else. It was too heavy to lift all at once, and when I tried to use it as a cushion on a new-found couch, I couldn't even get it into the proper section of the couch. On top of that, the seams of the bag were too weak. Oobleck leaked all over my studio. More Experiments from Theo Zizka on Vimeo. So I made smaller packets out of the polyethylene sheets and made sure to reinforce the seams with duct tape (which is also not working super well. I need to look for another material, like rubber sheeting). I then transferred all of the old Oobleck into the new bags (after rejuvenating it with more alcohol for the liquid part of the separation leaked out). However, once I finished that part, I needed to make more Oobleck. Before doing that, I decided to do some more material experiments. And a new material was born. I mixed up a fluid using the ingredients for both Oobleck and Flubber at the same time, being careful to add them separately and slowly (for the Flubber is a chemical reaction that cannot be undone). Glue with corn starch and water until a wet paste is made, then borax mixed with water slowly added while stirring. This produces a flubber-like substance, but more pliable. I then added more corn starch until it got close to the original Oobleck consistency. And get this: It didn't separate overnight. Because Flubber is a polymer, and cornstarch is a particle, the particle gets stuck in the polymer. The only risk is that the material might harden, and unlike Oobleck by itself, this stuff can't be rejuvenated. New Stuff from Theo Zizka on Vimeo. Checklist on next post
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