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First of all, they are stones, not rocks. Stones are rocks with prestige.  This goes back to a third-year design studio icebreaker project.  We were asked to collect nine stones in the middle of winter. And yes, the ground was blanketed in snow, so I could barely see what I was grabbing.  Then, when we brought the stones into studio, we were instructed to analyze and imagine them as a collection of rooms, or spatial bodies; later, we came up with some preliminary drawings on how theses spaces could be transformed into buildings.  Not knowing where to start, I grabbed the stones in my hands, proceeding to drop them from varying heights.  I mapped out where they landed, getting an idea of how the spatial bonds changed according to distance.  The closer the stones were, the stronger the connection was between them.  The background of my site shows this illustration.

The project seemed like a silly week-long project at the time, but I later kept thinking about the idea of connections. Architecture has opportunites to unite unique people within a common space, foster positive relationships, and promote good health. Since this project involved stones, I considered the possibility that deliberate material selection, too, is one example of how architecture has the ability to connect people to their earth in unique and humble ways.  


Additionally, through the process of this project, I remembered that new ideas are often generated by asking how two or more things are unexpectedly related.  How can architecture address sustainability? How is history connected to form? I believe this idea of complexity and systematic thinking is the primary reason I chose to enter the field of architecture. I am curious with infinite questions about how people, design, and culture relate to one another. To me, completedness is addressing the complexity a seemingly simple space is connected to.

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