This is a sight you don't see so often these days: a drafting table and drafting machine occupying a central place in a design studio.
I was visiting a client today who is a landscape architect; let's call him Andrew. As we walked into his office I was shocked to see the above; it's become so normal to behold the office setting adorned with CAD machines.
Andrew and I got into a discussion I've had before with several architect friends: what is the place of manual drawing and writing in an age of CAD?
Whenever I've had these conversations with architects who prefer to work manually, the conclusion is almost always the same: too often there's something that gets lost in translation between the mind of a designer and the clicking finger of a CAD operator.
Andrew (still in his thirties) spoke very passionately about his deliberate avoidance of CAD for the older 'technology'. (He has worked in CAD-saturated contexts previously.) In his mind there is clearly some sort of invisible line that connects the mind and imagination of the designer with the pencil in his hand.
He also spoke of the tactile benefits of working with real paper, real pencils. Of the way they bring contours and sweeping lines to expression. Of the ability to stand back from the drafting table and get a bird's eye view over your A1 workspace - and not a flat 22" screen. The fact that he does most of his drawing standing up allows him to 'zoom in and zoom out' with only a footstep or two.
As I looked around his office, I was also struck by the amount of hand-writing evident everywhere. Covering the wall above his desk was a massive collage of photographs he has taken over the years - every one with a date and a brief description. And all in his tall, tidy print.
"I'll bet your wife gets you to write out all the Christmas cards," I joked. "Actually," he replied, "I don't write on pre-made cards; I prefer to print off one of my many photographs and create something from there." "You have stunning handwriting," I remarked. "Yes, he responded, "I really like writing. I've done all sorts of calligraphy over the years." "And drawing?" "Oh, I really love drawing."
And as I looked over Andrew's work, it was obvious no lies were being told.
2 comments:
'Andrew' must also have an excellent spine!
Did you watch him draft at all? - I used to love watching my seniors spinning their lead clasped pencils on film to constantly maintain the line weight.
For those like me, a computer has made it possible to stay in design, as the computer interprets what is inside my head far better than my unco hands are ever able to, and protected my back from hours of stretching out over a board.
To me, the best designs arrive when pencil and mouse work together - whether setting up a quick 3-d to trace and define, or sketching a house layout followed by converting it into CAD format for email to client for approval, one without the other, seems like a disadvantage in today's market.
Being a practical designer, I could never envisage a switch to manual for reasons too numerous to list, most of which relate to time=money and the incredible speed and accuracy CAD provides.
Hey Laura.
Really good to have someone in the field of design work responding; I'm glad you've weighed in with a thoughtful comment grounded in experience.
I'm even less than a novice when it comes to speaking to the field of architecture, so I'm always interested in the experiences of those who know their field well.
Your comments on the practical nature of CAD makes sense.
I think the whole debate is not unlike another debate that I have some familiarity with between woodworkers who prefer hand tools, those who prefer machines, and those who prefer a marriage of the two.
For Andrew, the drafting board is perfect (and yes, his posture seems to be excellent!). For Laura, a combination of CAD and drawing is the right solution.
Horses and courses, perhaps.
Do you think that's right?
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