Autographic

                Anyone who has made a physical object from scratch- a clock, a birdhouse, a fixture, has likely constructed a monologue of lines, an autographic conversation of drawings, scribbled notations, and question marks. These esoteric notes that emerge from the process of fabrication are emblematic of the author, the maker.

                They provide information, but only for the initiated. Whereas the blueprint or machine shop schematic is crucially, intentionally, clear-cut and subscribing to industry standards, the maker's scrawl is personal and confounding to the outsider. This is because only the information outside of the creator's head needs to be worked out.

Notes to myself for machining a quick part

                When one is skilled in a given craft or trade, a great deal of the process is absorbed in tacit knowledge. Hardly a conscious thought is required, much less a written phrase or diagram. For the most seasoned maker, the details may only amount to a jotted line or two, more for reassurance than necessity.  For the newcomer, the notations may be extensive- crossed out, revised, underlined and boldfaced.  In this extensive if slapdash script, one can read the rough outlines of what it means to grapple with a spatial problem. I find these notations fascinating both for their unmodified honesty and their incidentally captured history. They are the fabricator's equivalent of a diary, capturing their fleeting thought process as well as the technological/theoretical milieu of their time.

                By showing the human element of invention, the struggle, we see more clearly the connections between our past and present. 

The Skeleton Revealed

                 As I stated in the previous post, the process of design and fabrication that leads up to a final 'skeletonized' form is a costly exercise with questionable gains on all but large parts. So what about the large parts?

                In art, architecture and engineering, skeletal forms on a large scale are commonplace because they offer the potential for greatly reduced costs, reduced material usage, and shorter fabrication times. On a larger scale, the skeletal structure or form can be created through the assembly of smaller elements (bones, if you will) integrated into a larger system complete with the ample negative spaces that indicate a skeletonized form. Compare this to the relatively small forms of knives or watches in the previous post- these objects are small enough that attempting to assemble a skeletal structure from components would compromise design, create a need for many small fasteners or welds, and very likely lead to a device that is structurally weaker overall.

                Skeletal forms in contemporary sculpture and architecture have their origins in modernism and material science. Once the ornamental facades and unnecessary elements were removed, the fundamental forms that remained indicated structure and functionality more than anything else. The 'bones' of the building became the focus, with final shapes looking very much like the construction elements of wood or metal framing, before sheathing, siding, etc. is added.

Open Cubes (1991) by Sol Lewitt

(photo: Lauren Manning)

                Advances in design and engineering theory over the centuries meant that construction could move away from heavy, stacked, solid forms and toward lightweight, tensile, open forms. Gains in manufacturing processes of steel, glass, and plastics simultaneously allowed for and encouraged skeletal structures as architects developed new visual language, partly growing out of a fascination with newly available material technologies. Technology, as much as aesthetic philosophy, set the stage for modern design principles. 

Eiffel Tower under construction, 1888

When Less Costs More

               On a per part basis, the practice of subtracting material and carving out the most minimal form is sometimes referred to as skeletonizing. That is, anything non-essential to the most basic functionality of the object is removed. This is done ostensibly to save weight, to save cost, and boost performance. In instances where those gains are true, the 'skeletonized' form becomes no longer remarkable for its skeletal appearance. Rather it finds broad if not complete adoption within the category, becoming the standard: a bicycle frame, a spoke wheel, the wooden framing of a house. Rarely do we look at such structures and see them as minimalist statements of engineering or design. They have become too common to be remarkable.

An example of a form becoming skeletonized 

                Where the skeletonized form IS remarkable, is often where it is least necessary and most costly in production. These instances stand out in their rarity, precisely because they are economically and practically less viable than alternative forms, preventing widespread adoption. To create the internal cavities of a skeletonized part for instance, voids must be built into or machined out of the envelope of the part.  In all but very large parts, this provides minor weight reduction and frequently requires additional finishing work which raises the cost of the product.

                This cost/benefit equation tends to be the right decision in very specific set of circumstances, rather than the broad market. As of 2011, a U.S. soldier carries loads in excess of 80-120 lbs. depending on the specifics of the mission, according to ArmyTimes. When every additional pound creates fatigue leading to consequences of life and death, the additional fabrication costs of skeletonizing are more than warranted. As a result, utilitarian, survivalist, and military objects are the first to be carved out and skeletonized (knives, rifles, etc). These skeletonized forms become translated into the consumer market, in more extreme forms that loudly signify their 'tactical' importance more than they necessarily functioning as such. In short, skeletonizing loses its original impetus for existing and becomes (primarily) an aesthetic fetish for the consumer market. 

Google Image Search results for 'skeletonized design' returns 
mostly exotic knives, polymer rifle stocks, and designer watches

Subtract and Simplify

         Subtractive processes in industry are usually the domain of two shop practices: the woodworker's shop and the machinist's shop. In each, a project or product is created through the careful manipulation and cutting of (generally) oversized parts, reducing them down, one operation at a time, until they are perfectly fit to the desired dimensions and use. These actions are reductive, peeling or shaving more and more material away. These pieces may be joined, fastened, or bonded, but it is an assembly of reduced parts, rather than a truly additive process.

A small milling machine cutting HDPE

         Efficiency of form is not necessarily efficiency of action- the subtractive shop practices require a great deal of time, energy, and precision to achieve a quality result. When so much is reduced and laid bare, there is little room to conceal the gap or blemish. Surface quality, fit and finish become critical, and all take time. Similarly, the conceptual framework toward a 'subtractive' aesthetic was long in the making. 

        In the middle to late 20th century, the philosophical Venn diagrams of architects, engineers, and artists began to converge around the concept of  'less  is more' minimalism. For architects like Mies van der Rohe, it meant stripping down the forms of buildings themselves, removing the excesses of ornament and superfluous features. From the conceptual building blocks of the past, he was extracting the most meaningful and essential aspects. 

Untitled (1988-1991) by Donald Judd
(photo: Talmoryair)

       Engineers were developing subtractive systems as well, not as aesthetic statements but as practical and ideological aspirations towards optimally efficient and elegant solutions to mechanical problems. Fueled by emerging synthetic materials and the space race, engineering became focused on boosting performance while reducing weight and cost. 

      Finally, artists subtracted the figure (long a standard of Western art), first to more basic representation, and then completely, allowing geometric forms to speak for themselves, rather than as mouthpieces for allegories or metaphor. Just as in shop practices, sculpture's formal language had become more and more about surface quality, fit, and finish. These developments meant that beyond conceptual commonality, the tools and materials of these distinct fields would become shared, part of a new visual and structural language. 

The Form of Function

       Tradespeople have been taking the same skills they use every day at work to make a living, to make their home lives more fulfilling or more interesting. Part financial need, part personal challenge, they customize their possessions or invent them totally anew.

Freezer turned meat smoker, Daniel Edman 2011

      Rather than an outward display of identity or class aspirations, the worker's bricolage represents some privately meaningful end. Often it is practical, as in the case of the freezer turned smoker, though sometimes it is for the simple pleasure of making something.

     One can also view the hacked object as a sort of artifact of eccentric labor, emerging from the challenge of developing a particular skill (wiring a successful circuit) or a proof of concept (the icemaker). The physical evidence left behind from a specific attempt to repair, replace, or reinvent  says a great deal about the thoughts and priorities of its maker(s). When materials and means are limited, hard choices must be made about what is critical, what can be sacrificed, and what merits the investment of more time. Even in the most practical of creations, there are always aesthetic statements made, consciously or unconsciously.

Icemaker (collaboration with Jon Kessler), Tom Sachs 2009
(tomsachs.org)

     While these creations are sometimes thought of as inelegant, to my mind the elegance is found in the invisible elements of the work. My primary interest in these objects is in the clever repurposing of existing materials and devices to new concepts; in the mechanism of the function, rather than the form itself.