Its been just over two weeks of classes now. Three mornings ago I awoke with the knowledge that I had two major projects due that day that were not yet finished and two more due the next that hadn’t even been started. This isn’t for lack of trying. I’ve not been procrastinating. Even this blog entry has been pushed back and back and back as I continue to find more pressing, more important things on which to focus my energies.
The anxiety increases: How can I expect to be a good designer if I am able only to complete my projects at the last minute? Yesterday, a major review of our first real 3-D project was scheduled to begin at 1:30. I was still working on the model at 1:25.
In spite of this though, my first couple of weeks have been filled also with excellent opportunities to grow and discover. I’m beginning, ever so slightly, to think like a landscape architect. I’ve begun to notice things around me: The slope of a sidewalk, the circulation through space, the interplay of light and shadow. I’m being taught by excellent teachers –including my fellow students– that there are amazing designs everywhere.
My class has found itself slogging through the murky world of Adobe programs, has fallen into the rain gardens that slow storm runoff to begin the purification process, and lost itself entirely in scribbled pages of long division slope formulas. We’ve recently been asked to identify our personal favorite spot in our own designs. Today we drew negative spaces. As I look around the studio and see these students bent over their designs squinting to imagine what it might be like to actually roam around our foam core gardens I am reminded of words I found while researching labyrinths for my own studio project. “I am here so that something within me can come into motion; I am here to experience something without knowing what it will look like.”