Tag Archives: model


The aspern papers”, written by henry james (1888) follows a keen antiquitarian around the canals of venice, in search of a set of intimate letters written by the great poet. the narrator finds himself befriending a frail old woman and her daughter in order to gain access to the house and furniture that hold these elusive papers. by the end, we are taught the perils of an overfamiliarity with an object of desire, leading to the eventual burning of the papers by the daughter after she discovers how he has treated her and her mothers intimacy. throughout the tale, the narrators journey around venice is interchanged and merged with his journey around the locked furniture and coridoors of the house he is lodging in. james used this mix of scales to imply a haptic, distracted perception of the city of venice, comparing it to a city where streets are coridoors, building is furniture, details are clasps and the routes are infitite.


“With its little winding ways where people crowd together, Where voices sound as in the coridoors of a house, Where the human step circulates as if it skirted the angles of furniture,


And shoes never wear out”


the model is a culmination of a drunken walk around the streets of venice in the pursuit of getting lost. the haptic journey, seemingly impossible to make out from the city fabric is in turn perfectly clear, when the details and loci used to plot the journey are seen in isolation.

At some point I may re-order the content to form more of a logical progression through the project, but for now i’m adding things as they appear relevant.

The courtyard plan shows the hull in its ‘reality’; its ‘folded’ state. The plan also begins to address the project’s attitude to the existing tenement; in places such as the hull, the form is generated by the need to be held back, to allow the act of the voyeur. While in others, the project disregards existing boundaries, breaking into & taking over.

[While the aim of this blog is to highlight some of the more interesting ways of representing architectural space & the role the imagination can have, a standard drawing here & there is always good as a reference]

Here is a stage of the thought process I missed out… A lot of my work is based in elements of architecture that aren’t usually either a] recognisable through the viewing of the work itself [i.e. process], and b] influences from things that aren’t directly architecture [i.e. literature & film].

In looking at the architecture of films, we not only see an exercise in the production of space [which is needed to allow any form of convincing interaction between its protagonists], but also a necessity to show the intended impact of the space on its occupier; the perception of the individual distorts and contorts the environment.

To try and explore this, I produced a number of recreations of the set from ‘the cabinet of dr. caligari’, with the intention of highlighting how the set becomes the lead role, and how the everyday interactions with the spaces become even more terrifying; or uncanny.

excerpt from           ‘Haunting Houses – a Study into the role of the domestic setting in the pursuit of the uncanny’, Tom Hudson, MArch dissertation 2011.

‘The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari’, directed by Robert Weine in 1920. The hugely influential silent film presented the world as a dark, frightening, violent, and unstable place, reminiscent of a troubled psyche projected onto the world. With the advent of psychoanalysis and the role of the subconscious pioneered by Freud and Jung, Weine’s direction and style indicates this influence of a projected subconscious, the basis for the case study. The role of the home as a metaphor for humanness was to appear heavily in their work also, re-assuming the identity of the home as key to that of the self. Here, the homes and spaces intensified the thoughts and emotions of the characters as opposed to re-presenting them, culminating in a disfigured and uncanny vision of space. 

Murder! [Scene 5]

“That night, there occurred the first of a series of mysterious crimes”

The scene opens to a shot of 3 policemen leant over a disturbed bed. The victim is anonymous. The men then fix their attention on the broken window, looking out to Holstenwall.

Weine, letting the viewer in on the macabre discovery, outlines an immediate disconnection with the victim. Our imagination is instead left to fill the shadows with the evil event that preceeded our intrusion. The attic reeks of sordidness, murder, and evil. The whole composition a vivid intersection of shards of light and dark, of roof-lines, shafts of light and slanting walls pointing angrily to the bed of the prey. An ‘intrusion’ smothering the space by the means of the murderers entry. The room appears to be an effigy of the crime, of its’ murderous capabilities.

The window, the only release from the room is splintered and vacant. We as viewers cannot see an ‘outside’, detaching the room from the collective realm of the town. Talbot suggests the role of the window as an essential connection to the world, that everybody needs to keep an eye, a window, on the world to reassure the self that it differs from the world and thus reinforce the self ’s identity. In removing this we are faced with an uncanny rendition of the home, as it is through windows that we expect to see the ‘known’ outside.

Anxiety [Scene 12]

“Night again…”

Jane is asleep in her bed, and we see Cesare approaching. He breaks in through the window, and slowly leans over her with a knife. When recognizing his victim, he instead kidnaps her and carries her through the window in which he entered.

Holstenwall [Scene 2]

“Alan…My Friend!”

Alan is pacing in his room, reading a book. The window allows a pleasant square of light onto where he walks. He leans on the windowsill, and gazes out. We can see the rooftops of the town. He then gleefully departs to meet his friend.

We are shown a room that has precipitated itself in cavern-like forms, reminiscent of a primitive dwelling. Here space becomes cloistral and encompasses the human. Alan is reading by a well-used desk, allowing the image of what Lefebvre calls ‘lived space’. To dwell means to leave traces behind. We see him gaze out of the window to Holstenwall, giving the living ‘outside’ a voice within the image of the home.

This image of domesticity and shelter is soon expelled, reducing the same space into one of oppression and fear. The uncanny as an idiom for everything that should remain mysterious, hidden, latent is personified here by its eventual emergence, even when heavily resisted; symbolized by Alan’s struggle


Alan is laid in bed, and a shadow approaches him. He recoils in terror as it draws closer; personified by a close up of his clawed hands. His shadow struggles with the protagonist’s, but is silenced by the plunging of a knife.

Now, we are faced with the same foreboding shadows and deathly shards that were found in the first victim’s house; the room itself appears to have turned on the protagonist Alan. The room is saturated with the gruesome event of the previous murder. We no longer have the release of the exterior; the space begins to wrap around the viewer as a dark, strangling garment. Any allusion of ‘dwelling’ has been sent packing; we are again in a room of murderous intent, one that has the fate of the occupant sealed and daubed on the walls. Incarnated through shadows, we do not need the visceral details of murder; we are able to kill Alan with our imagination.

This gallery contains 3 photos.

        Following from the modelling technique of my 5th year work, this is a more sophisticated version…For a start, its much more interesting to look at, and unlike the original which had only one focus point [the whole image], this contains a number of viewpoints intended to pin down a narrative of …

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One element I am interested in pushing further is the modelling technique I began to explore during my 5th year work. The aim for most of my work is to force the drawing/model in questing into much more than a pure representation; they are used as rigorous research tools, either bridging two separate themes within the project, or setting up a sort of fictional site map that can be reconstituted by further developments.

The tricky bit was to work out a way to make a visually beautiful hybrid between standard drawing techniques, modelling, structural logic, and collaging that would all lead to, essentially, a ‘mis-representation’ of the project. A perceived view of the design process at the stage it was created.

It turns out you just need to build 5 separate models, then mash them together… Here are some stages of the production of the trained axo I created for my 5th year project [located within Park Hill for ease of reference]. I’ll follow with the more refined one seen in re collections of Berlin.

01: build a sketchup site model site reference

02: deconstruct a flat image of said model, & re-build as a ‘paper version’ model process document 7

03: fill with images in photoshop, as you would if it were a flat collage model process document 10

04: print out all the bits, and begin to re-construct the elements as a 3D axonometric model

So, I ended up being awarded the above prize for my final project ‘re collections of Berlin’, as well as being nominated to submit for the RIBA Silver medal this September. Here is a brief blurb of what it was all about.

Located within the courtyard of a Berlin relic, the new library grows from the foundation of a fictitious curator buried deep in its walls; approaching an architecture of the voyeur, and the intimate connection between subject and object.  Based upon Walter Benjamin’s Berlin, the project aims to connect literature’s prowess over the imagination, and the creation of a wholly uncanny space; be it uncomfortable or not.  From concept to completion, drawings and models have been used as rigorous research tools, to begin to convey the similarities shared by both space and the imagination alike.

Personally, I don’t know who the guy is, but going on feedback from some of the models I was producing for the project, its something to do with confusing influential people. Hence the irony; the irony that doing well at anything as subjective as architecture is wholly based in ensuring no-one can actually explain why it works.

Here’s hoping this method stays with me…