ARCH1101_2012 CASSIE VICENTE: February 2012

CREATIVE WORK

The violent scarlet hue of the Poppies unsettle my mind. That’s why I’ve always preferred the yellow bloom of the garden- its honey Celandines and rich Marigolds bordering the adjacent side of the pebbled path. Hanging overhead; I hear the threats of plummeting leaves, rustling, swaying, battling to claim their place on the stark maples. The Earth breathes, exhaling a cool blow of confusion. The breeze reads of an overdue Summer wind, yet sundry of the oncoming chill which I am more expectant of. The pathway underfoot radiates a comfortable warmth, reminding me of the sun’s crockery gaze and afternoons that fade late into night. I realise, how everything feels familiar here, a delicate musk of damp rain stains my airways. With my realisation of its presence, it hides away, quickly camouflaging until it is mundane. A tepid breeze gently caresses my veneer, bringing with it, a whiff of displaced pollen. The gentle rise of the path has become more apparent recently, sauntering uphill,I persevere onwards. As always, I manage to emerge from the temperate incline, reclaiming my place on the sturdy wooden bench.

Most mornings consists of the regulars, the leather jacketed young man taking his leisurely stroll, the round bellied woman with her toddler daughter clinging upwards and usually complaining about the uncomfortable shoes she has to wear, and Rico. The only reason I know his name, is because me introduced himself to me one day, even came so far as to sit right next to me with this very bench. Today he strolls nearby a vibrant bushel of Gerberas, tracing their delicate faces with a soft fingertip and singing. Pausing a second, he bends down to select the stem sporting a lilac bloom, removing it with a slight crunch and handing it to the bypassing daughter of the expectant mother. Rico exchanges a smile, as the child’s sun kissed freckles reciprocate the gesture before continuing their separate ways. If there’s one character that intrigues me the most, it’s the gardener. I don’t know his name, I don’t think anyone does- in fact, I’ve never heard him say a word. But this similar aged man possesses a blissfully grey tinge in his irises, enough to say express more than any word could ever express.He sprinkles the pale Rose bushes along the paint chipped fence, crystalline droplets scattering into a million pieces, each possessing an individual reflective spectrum to hydrate the bush. The overused straw of his hat has thinned, providing a patchy shade upon the upper half of his Olive skin, leaving only a genuine beam to exhibit to the visitors. Perhaps he’s a mute, perhaps deaf. Maybe he doesn’t talk to people because he can’t speak English.

“Vroom! Vroom!”I hear from somewhere to my left. A boy of about four clasps a sky blue automobile toy, making fierce wavelike movements in the air. In a similar manner, he swivels side to side, letting his flying vehicle guide him. Trailing behind is a well suited man; attending to an even younger daughter, whose primrose dainty pinafore has come unbuttoned. The mother’s painted expression of calm concealment manages to suppress her internal sense of controlled chaos. She chooses the bench exactly opposite to mine ,though she’s much too distracted to notice; reeling in her bouncing son to sit beside her and what I suppose is his twin sister(the matching olive breeches and pinafore is an obvious clue). Her husband comes to sit beside her, with the younger on one his lap. They’re almost sitting on top of each other, the five of them scuttling to either edge to accommodate. The boy hasn’t stopped squirming, scrunching up his eyes and mouth to convey his disagreeable feeling of ‘squishhy’- as I see him mouth. Her husband looms over the olive girl’s head, craning his neck in a straining fashion to in attempts to appease the wriggling boy. The other daughter has her emerald tinted eyes on the flowers beside my bench- my favourite bushel of Daisies.

A pair of petite brown buckled shoes come into view against the pebbled background. Looking upwards, I’m unexpectedly met by two familiar beryl shaded irises. The porcelain of her skin is eccentrically complimented with a sporadic colony of sunshine freckles. She looks up at me eagerly, not saying a word. Her dress begins to slightly pinch at the seams as she raises her arm to point to the empty space beside me. For some reason she is nodding, as if to suggest something. Her tight copper ringlets bounce in delight, as a close lipped smile creeps onto her face. In most circumstances, I feel uneasy with people’s advances of this nature, though the innocent child poses an exception. Slowly, and unnervingly, I reciprocate a slight nod as she climbs upwards to sit next to me. There’s a relaxed silence between us, a conversation that needs no words, or gestures. It’s different, it makes me feel safe. I look downwards at my hands, not knowing what to do with them, as if I am now the fidgety boy, though I can observe her squirming too, turning her body to reach for something. After moments of indecision and moving, I lay my hands loosely pressed onto of each other, the way we used to sit when sitting for a high school photograph. Noticing the heavy lines of age carved into my fingertips, a set of delicately innocent fingers place a freshly picked daisy into mine.

This was a piece that started out as a year twelve creative writing assignment. Most of what happened actually occurred in a park near Dural on a Sunday morning. Sometimes I go there just to sit and watch people go by. I’m fascinated by the little details, delicate intricacies are of the most value to me. I really liked how the piece started and developed ( in a way much quicker than i had initially anticipated ). I didn’t end up keeping on track with the assignment requirements, So I couldn't submit the piece for assessment in the end. Nevertheless, I think this piece has a great deal of integrity as the people and moments in it are real. I hope I’ve done them justice.

ARCHITECTURE

Kotaro Ide, Shell house (Japan)

The Shell house designed by Architect Korato Ide is situated in the idyllic woods of Japan’s Nagano. The reinforced concrete structure depicts a subtle contrast to its surrounding environment through the gentle, organic shape and structure of the house. Ide has chosen to employ aesthetics which complement and harmonize with the traditional Japanese woods, whilst maintaining a conscious awareness of modernist architecture. Ide’s perfect balance between the two successfully conveys a notion of modern advances in cooperation with the environment. The shell inspired design, along with several sustainable features of the house furthers the concept of sustainable building. The sculptural qualities of the design enable the inhabitant to experience the connection between everyday living and the connection between nature.

The unusual “L” shape layout of the structure allows a vast use of glass, creating an experience through which the paramount connection between nature and everyday living is reinforced. Furthermore, the natural light and heating of the house is an exemplary depiction of sustainable building. Ide successfully creates an experience for the user, deliberately designing a piece which constantly evokes new views and manages to continually reveal new and interesting aspects.

Kotaro Ide’s Shell house is a prodigious piece of architecture due to the sustainable and original design which successfully creates a bridge between the traditional and contemporary environment.

ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPH

This is an original photo taken on a Nikon D3100 52’

It’s unfortunate how routine blinds you to seemingly mundane occurrences. Without fail, I would walk to my bus stop every morning and catch the 610 bus as exactly 7:35am. It just so happens that I had brought my camera to school this morning ( for a school event), looking down I realised the seamless gleam of a leftover puddle, and the extraordinary reflection of the fiery, shedding tree. In awe, I was in complete awe as the perfectly still glass of the untouched water seemed to invite me to peer closer. The slight indent in the neglected brickwork facilitated a minute slither of simplistic beauty. How many days in my life had I walked past this? I realised how incredibly easy it could be to miss such a thing, being caught up in the everyday hurry. Instinctively, I fumbled around for my camera, trying to do the moment justice. I missed my bus to school that morning.