Ceramics and Architecture
I've only occasionally been engaged with ceramics and architecture. In my last year at Columbia College, intending to get certification as an art teacher, I enrolled in a few classes at Teachers College. One was a ceramics class, where we worked in stoneware - as distinct from earthenware, which uses another type of clay and is fired at a lower temperature in the kiln. Stoneware is also much more durable.
In our first class, our professor demonstrated the use of the potter's wheel, in this case turned by a large, very heavy wheel at the base, which was propelled by repeatedly pushing away with the heel. Once set in motion, the momentum of the wheel kept the upper, smaller wheel (where objects were "thrown" or shaped) turning for a good long time, requiring only an occasional kick when it started to slow down.
Starting with a big ball of clay, he gradually threw an enormous bowl - at least 24" in diameter and 16" high - with sides no more than about 3/8" thick near the base, and thinner near the top. (All the while with a tobacco pipe clenched in his teeth.) It was an awesome display of skill. When he was done, he put his pipe down, took a thin wire stretched between two corks, and mercilessly sliced through the clay from the upper edge to the base. We were then even more aghast that he would so casually destroy what he had made. He pointed out minor defects in the bowl - slight inconsistencies of thickness, an occasional bubble. Then he said, "Whatever you make with stoneware is going to last 50,000 years. So make sure it's worth keeping."
In my last year of high school, when I was considering a career in architecture, I took a class in architectural drawing, where during the semester I drew up plans for two residential houses. The plans were done with technical pen and ink on large sheets of tracing paper. We had a blueprint printer mounted on the wall at the back of the classroom. You just had to feed your completed drawing in the long horizontal slot, then press start, and a same-size blueprint would emerge, along with your drawing.
The drawings for my first project somehow have been lost somewhere along the wayside of life. It was a two-story house with a modern style, lots of wood and glass, and a balcony in the front. Its floor plan was a conventional rectangle. But my second project had a pentagonal floor plan, and I have kept these drawings in a big cardboard tube for all this time. It was also a bit more adventurous in its design, the whole house being balanced on a cylindrical base much smaller than the house above it, supporting it with five steel cantilevers (and a bit suggestive of a flying saucer perched on its landing gear). The house, with prominent wooden and glass elements, and balconies all around on both main levels, had large picture windows all around, and - my favorite touch - skylights all over the top floor, where the bedrooms were situated. The setting for the house was a partially wooded section of the grounds of our high school, with a stream running nearby. I held firmly to Frank Lloyd Wright's dictum that a house should be integrated with its setting, that it should appear to belong there and to grow from it organically.