Iteration_01: "NJIT Reviews NJIT"
Architecture students venture out of studio and onto campus
We are happy to introduce Iteration, a new broadsheet published whenever the editors have convinced enough people to write something for it. In the spirit of iterating through various design options, we see the publication in a state of constant reconsideration and recalibration, more a record of our thought process than a polished final product, a forum to jumpstart conversation in architecture and design. We hope you enjoy our first issue! :)
“ NJIT reviews NJIT “
Architecture students spend a lot of time on campus. Too much, perhaps. We inhabit these places so thoroughly that they have become an afterthought in daily life, our concern more with the activities within than the spaces they take place in. Here, we reconsider NJIT through the lens of its physical spaces, investigating what they mean, what makes them work (or not), and what could make them better.
Editors: Daniel Girgis and Jacob Swanson
Graphic Designer: Ummi Green
Contributions by Jimenna Alcantar, Fatima Fardos, Daniel Girgis, Alyssa Laurenciana, Jeongseo Lee, Loc Nguyen, Samantha Pyne, Dhruvi Rajpopat, Jacob Swanson, William Totten, and Kathy Trinh
Illustrations by Silvester Eduardo
Settlers of HCAD
William Totten
When an architecture student first starts working in studio, they are faced with an important choice: what class will they be? These “classes” describe how a student interacts with their studio. Like D&D classes, each class has their benefits and detriments, and each interact with each other in unique ways.
The Homemaker
To this class, studio is like a second home. To them, studio becomes the space where they spend most of their time, even continuing to occupy studio when they aren’t working on their project.
Their Desk: Students of this class seek out others of the same class. They move couches and amenities into their studios, creating small communities among them. Consequently their desks are always messy, with utensils and empty food containers mixed in with their drawings strewn across their desks.
Relationships: Workers serve as the Homemakers’ clocks, with their arrival and departure from studio signifying significant working times. The desks Ghosts leaves behind make prime real estate for Homemakers to take over.
The Worker
This class sees studio as a working space. They enter studio to work, often with the goal of finishing as soon as possible, and wouldn’t be caught dead spending one moment longer there than they have to.
Their Desk: This class is as efficient as is reasonable with their desks. They keep them clean enough to make room to work, while having their materials and their references on hand.
Relationships: Workers are divided on their opinions of Homemakers. For some, Homemakers are welcome company who they can always count on being in studio. For others, Homemakers are obnoxious noise makers. Ghosts serve as companions for Workers during studio, keeping each other on track and updated on what’s happening.
The Ghost
A Ghost’s studio is just the place they sit during class. This class works elsewhere, in their homes or dorms or the libraries; however, HCAD requires them to show up in person to class, so they show up, sit at their desk for the length of studio (sometimes not even that long), and then leave so they can actually get some work done.
Their Desk: Like their namesakes, it's impossible to tell whether Ghosts students exist until they make their presence known. Their desks look indistinguishable from an unused one, as anything they take to studio with them they take back when they leave.
Relationships: Ghosts’ desks serve as the targets for Homemakers looking for extra space, or to hop studios. Optimally, these are mutual agreements between the Ghost and the Homemaker, but not always. Workers serve as Ghost’s lifelines to studio, checking in with them and keeping them updated on anything they miss while they’re not around.
Littman Library
Dhruvi Rajpopat
I’ve spent a lot of time in the Littman Library because I actually like going there to look through the books. Like many comforting libraries that I visited when I was a kid, the library has a cozy but dusty carpet, fluorescent lighting, stools to reach books out of reach, and winding pathways that lead me deeper into its Pandora’s Box. And unlike many other libraries, it is flooded with daylight, even on a cloudy day. This works mainly because a majority of the library is not filled with books. In fact, a typical library would avoid daylight to protect its treasures from damage. On the contrary, it is primarily programmed with working spaces– which we’ve realized, due to the pandemic, are very necessary for remote work and just for getting us out of the shoeboxes we call dorm rooms and homes we call studio. The daylight is not the best for books, but it is proven to be good for studying, for meeting, for learning, for lecturing– and its source, the building’s iconic double-height curtain wall, also provides an aspirational view towards Manhattan. A few years ago, I used to think, “Why does anyone go to the Van Houten Library anyway? It’s nothing compared to the library in Weston Hall.” And today, this proclamation has come back to bite me. Students in other majors who have classes in Weston Lecture Hall I and II come to use our library to work in before class. I even overhear conversations about planned rendezvous in the Littman Library when I am in other buildings like, “So I’ll see you later before class in the architecture library?” or “How about we meet in the HCAD library? It has really good sun.” Within my 4 ½ years at this school, this space has transformed from my personal, secret oasis into many others’ communal watering hole. Still, when I really need to get away from the noise, I can always sneak away to the Mostollor Room, following the maze of bookshelves away from the infiltrators and deeper into the library’s shelves.
Backrooms
Jimenna Alcantar
As an architecture student, I am always on campus working on studio projects. However, and I am sure we can all relate, studio work tends to get stressful. One of the ways I take breaks from studio is by stretching my legs and exploring my surroundings, and as I kept exploring a common eerie theme began to appear in certain spaces that reminded me of a short film I had watched. Kane Pixels on YouTube uploaded a series of short films titled “The Backrooms,” a found footage horror anthology. The back rooms in his short films can only be described as uncanny spaces that feel unnatural and uneasy to walk through.
An area in Weston Hall that I believe to fit such a description would be the stairwell by the fifth-floor gym studio. These stairs are often locked, which already gives them an enigmatic aura, something that you can look into but not interact with, however, I was lucky enough to stumble upon them one day with the door slightly ajar. An opportunity to explore arose, and I seized it. Immediately, after walking through the doorway it had already felt as if the energy had shifted. I began to slowly go up the stairs, taking time to look around thoroughly. The dull green paint made me feel nauseous and began to make the journey upward feel like it went on forever. I could only describe it as feeling stuck. At some point, I had reached the top only to arrive at a dead-end which had only added to the anxious feeling, because why build a staircase that leads to nothing? I decided not to think about it at the time and instead just make it back to where I was comfortable, and even after I had touched familiar ground, something from the encounter stuck with me. Since then, I have encountered more spaces that gave the same feeling of unease, adding them to the mental checklist of places I do not want to be stuck in.
Weston 540
Samantha Pyne
Three white walls and one glass plane, fluorescent lights, and exposed HVAC systems. This is all one sees entering some of the first-year studios. Scattered with metal desks and a few stools, this space is the supposed “home” for architecture students to inhabit during their creative processes, late nights, and reviews. These underdeveloped spaces are a hindrance to student’s accomplishments in studio. It stands to reason that interesting and well-crafted spaces enhance people's lives through positive interaction and inspiration. Rather than limiting students' potential, the spaces should inspire and push them to new creative lengths. Instead of purely functional spaces, housing the bare minimum of craft, these spaces should offer insight into the possibilities of architecture. Then again, why would a building priding itself on great architectural education not present great architectural installments itself?
Other spaces first-year students inhabit are the gym and fishbowl. These large spaces house many studio sections altogether. While having this large number of students all together may seem like a good way to encourage collaboration and socialization, it can also be a detriment to students’ focusing abilities. The school forcing all of the students into one space seems to be an easy way to utilize the extra space while giving the excuse of “enabling collaboration” between students. This leads to the question of traditional architecture education as a solo versus collaborative craft. Though we are taught it is a collaborative effort, do current students prefer to be solo?
These underlying values behind the design and organization of studio spaces call into question what is best for the students. Our school of architecture is responsible for pushing future architects to develop unique and innovative designs; however, the school itself can only seem to offer mediocre and limiting spaces. Now isn't that ironic?
Balancing Creativity and Burnout in Studio
Fatima Fardos
I romanticized architecture in high school, being the designer behind spaces others will work in and entertain– a place where special moments can be made. Two years into my Bachelor of Architecture program, I found a demanding reality I did not fully grasp before attending. While architecture school nurtures creativity and innovation, it comes with challenges and relentless pressure. Studio encourages us to think beyond conventions, challenge established norms, push boundaries, and not be afraid to break the rules. But as we test these boundaries, the pressure to create designs and produce drawings that are nothing short of perfect becomes a constant reality.
The desire to achieve perfection has changed my perception of the studio into something negative when everything begins to feel like a chore. I slowly began to find myself being inspired by the fear of producing just another average project. It is in these moments that burnout sadly becomes a part of our everyday life. Burnout (generally understood as physical and emotional exhaustion) is an all-too-common feeling during our journey in architecture school. Mental exhaustion especially becomes a frequent adversary in the architecture student’s life. While working hard and being dedicated can be very rewarding, the creative process can also be a mental challenge. Battling self-doubt and the continued exploration for originality often results in mental exhaustion, allowing anxiety and depression to take over. Balancing creativity and avoiding burnout demands a shift in the culture and pedagogy of architecture schools. As students, professors, and individuals, we must reconsider the standards that have cultivated this practice and create an environment that does not compromise the mental and physical health of future architects who become the creators who envision and shape our future. We can start by fostering open conversations about mental health, allowing a shift in the culture of collaboration over competition to unfold. This is the initial stride toward dismantling the stigma surrounding burnout, fostering a healthier and supportive atmosphere where teachers and students can freely express themselves, enabling a holistic approach to architectural education.
Weston Green Stairs
Daniel Girgis
Entering from the first-floor entrance of Weston Hall, one is greeted by a set of neon green stairs. To begin to climb is the obvious step forward.
Confidently, one occupies the center of the stairway before looking up and realizing someone is waiting. Glancing to the sides and realizing there’s no space, quickly shuffling to the side and jumping the last few steps to allow them passage.
Turning 180 degrees and mounting the next step…a mistake!...stepping back down. Another student carries a broad model past
Finally - the third floor - but you decide one more. The Littman library is the best on campus, so 180 degrees (again)...another surprise! “Hey! Yeah, headed to the library right now. Oh, the storefront is a great review space. Ok sounds good! Yep, see you later”
Landing: Pause…sunlight streams through the curtain wall window, Newark gleams in the distance. A quick glance up, the library peaks through its window, the fishbowl through its. A quick glance down, the gallery window wall reflects the entrance…a red line in the corner of one’s eye. A quick glance up…the stairs begin to levitate.
A tap…oh man… “Um listen maybe another time, a bit busy right now. It’s been 2 years, let it go”. Deep breath in, deep breath out, 5 steps more.
The fourth floor, a solid slab. Only 4 floors climbed, yet so many stories to tell.
Front Steps of Central King Building
Alyssa Laurenciana
The steps leading up to the Central King Building is one of my favorite spaces on campus because it is one of the most active. Three different levels of stairs allow for circulation into the building as well as space for pause, with the differently-spaced stairs orchestrating a rhythm of ascent and descent. They extend out into one of the campus’s main thoroughfares, capturing the attention of passersby. A pit on the lower level connects to the basement level and becomes a place to have an outside lectures or to pause and say hello to friends on the platform on the other side.
One of my favorite campus sights is the Skateboard Club using the CKB stairs to skate down. Upon close inspection, these stairs were obviously not built to handle the wear and tear of skating, evidenced by the chips along the edge of its exposed-aggregate concrete. However, this should be embraced! Instead of being snuffed out by metal plates so common in other places, this unplanned activity on the CKB stairs adds another layer of use and intrigue to these stairs.
Kupfrian Hall
Kathy Trinh
While good design can make a building memorable, bad design is almost certain to do so. Kupfrian Hall is an example of the latter.
The first issue is a lack of windows. Rooms on the building’s upper levels, as well as the lecture halls on the ground floor, are completely enclosed within the building. Given no connection to the outside, students can feel like they are in prison. Taking classes in the building, I found myself fighting the urge to fall asleep in classrooms that feel confined and locked away from the rest of campus. The poor interior lighting does not help the situation, with old fluorescent lights throughout the hallways drowning out any possibility of color with a sickening yellow tone. Coupling this with the walls, all varying shades of dull yellows, the lighting only adds to the drab effect.
The missteps in the architectural design of Kupfrian highlight why it’s important to consider the user experience of walking through the building. Not only does the aesthetic appeal of the interior leave more to be desired, but its influence on productivity and well-being is evident as well.
Fenster-Campus Center Skybridge
Jeongseo Lee
Floating above campus, the Fenster-Campus Center Skybridge offers a serene retreat between the third floors of Campus Center and Fenster Hall, that, while not a well-kept secret, often eludes the notice of students.
What sets this corridor apart is its tranquil ambiance away from the everyday bustle below, with ample natural light streaming, weather permitting, through its completely glazed walls. It's worth noting that this open corridor lacks climate control, making it most inviting during the temperate seasons when you can enjoy the ambient sunlight.
The passage contains a string of tables and chairs where students can briefly rest, chat with peers, or grab a quick meal. The existing furniture gives the space a temporary vibe; more comfortable seating options would entice people to stay longer. Additionally, the glazed flooring and cool-white lighting don't contribute to an inviting atmosphere. Warmer lighting would make it cozier.
Beyond serving only as a connector between buildings, this corridor has become a peaceful haven for students seeking respite from the daily horrors of academic life.
Summit Street Plaza
Jacob Swanson
The administrative center of NJIT, Summit Street Plaza, is an expanse of square pavers wedged between the clashing rusticated beige stone and metal paneling of Fenster Hall and Campus Center. A big, red banner touting the university’s number one ranking is plastered to a skybridge suspended above, and what I can only describe as a Mussolini balcony addresses it from Fenster’s office suites.
The plaza is intended to serve as a pivot, redirecting the Summit Street axis towards the Green with the skybridge serving as its implied edge. However, taken together, the plaza instead suggests the extension of Summit. The skybridge brings to mind a gateway that proclaims an arrival in the hallowed halls of academia, not an area of collection and redirection. The alley between Campus Center and Kupfrian that does provide the intended connection is relatively uncelebrated, comparatively tight, and neither defining facade is inviting. Such a connection only becomes obvious through habitual use, at odds with the architectural expectations the space sets up.
This spatial lacuna is heightened by its distinctly postmodernist sterility and disjunction, its use rendered secondary to its image. There is little here to translate its architectural monumentality to the human scale. The clock tower, a glorified billboard that occasionally plays ringtones (sometimes even doing so at an appropriate time), overlays a veneer of hyperreality. All of this coheres into a space that feels like a stage set, one that is not quite thought out in its relationship to the rest of campus. Perhaps it will make an appearance behind actors in the Jim Wise Theater someday. No wonder, then, that this plaza looks more alive in NJIT’s promotional images than in person.
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Happenings
October 4: William Totten returns a box full of copies of Transect Volume 3 to the Transect team. The box had been sitting, forgotten, in the AIAS Shop for two years. A few copies lighter, it finds a new home under a bench in the 3D Lab.
October 12: Multiple people, including Professors Steve Zdepski and Gernot Riether, are seen quickly scurrying away from the cookie table outside the lecture hall, cookies in hand, as the school’s second roundtable of the semester took place within.
October 13: After a number of false alarms over the week, a small fire breaks out in a Colton Hall janitor’s closet. Charlie Firestone and Erin Pellegrino’s design-build studio relocates to the gallery to finish their mid-review deliverables.
October 20: Yet another banner for the 50/15 anniversary appears in Weston Hall, this time behind the third floor hanging stairs. Jacob Swanson and Elizabeth Stoganenko speculate about where the next one will appear. It appears on the fifth floor in front of the fishbowl mere days later.
October 26: The 50/15 anniversary colloquium packs Weston Hall's Alumni Lecture Hall with students, faculty, and, well, alumni. NJIT president Teik Lim is seen standing at the back checking his phone. Professor Emerita Karen Franck asks a question that doubles as a speech.
October 30: Critic Joe Berlinghieri complains that his studio showed him "too much architecture" during the day’s desk crits.
November 3: CalArts professor Gail Swanlund gives a lecture on slowness. It begins 40 minutes late.
Event Reviews
Blade Runner
As J.F. Sebastian takes the seemingly-homeless Pris to the apartment building he’s squatting in 1982’s Blade Runner, shown as part of the HCAD Film Festival; she asks if he is the only one living in the building. He answers yes–after all, “there’s no housing crisis here.”
In the film, population growth has left earth’s cities starved for places to house everyone. Cities do what they can; refurbishing and retrofitting and demolishing and building a series of haphazard layers into the sky. But just as the cities transformed themselves into urban hellscapes, and just as they finally had enough space to house everyone, they emptied– Offworld colonies meant that anyone who had the means packed up and left earth, leaving only the sick and poor behind. And enough housing to house millions who now no longer need the space.
That was years before the events of the movie, and by the time of the opening scene, all that is left of the city is a hollow and decaying shell. No one cares to maintain housing for the poor so it is left to decay and crumble.
Something similar happened in real life when the rich and privileged left the cities (for the suburbs instead of space colonies), and the infrastructure of the cities they left behind was simply allowed to rust. Blade Runner’s sets bear a striking resemblance to the husks of buildings left abandoned in Newark after 1967. However, where these cities have begun to be revitalized and reinvested in, Blade Runner imagines a future where this did not happen. Its future is one in which urban decay was allowed to continue on the trajectory it was on in 1982 into what is now our present; where the powerful have left and never returned, simply leaving behind the cities to be filled in whatever way they can by those left behind.—William Totten
AIANY Samuel Ratensky Memorial Lecture: Tatiana Bilbao
Tatiana Bilbao's lecture on rethinking the home was truly enlightening and challenged the traditional notions of living spaces. Her emphasis on individual users shaping the spaces they occupy was a refreshing perspective, highlighting the personal connection between residents and their homes. Bilbao's idea of living spaces as blank canvases, awaiting the unique touch of its inhabitants, resonated deeply. The lecture urged architects to reconsider their approach, emphasizing the importance of flexibility and adaptability in design. In the context of a post-pandemic world, Bilbao's insights gained even more relevance, as the concept of home evolves to meet new needs and lifestyles. Her thought-provoking discourse on relabeling home spaces encouraged a broader, more inclusive outlook, fostering a sense of ownership and identity among residents. The lecture was captivating, offering a fresh perspective on architecture and the profound impact it has on our daily lives.—Loc Nguyen
Second Year Installation Review
Weston Hall’s hanging stairs and outside green were abuzz with students, critics, and onlookers as second year studios held reviews for their second project, installations that reimagined everyday spaces with new programs and spatial affects. An array of red strings somersaulted between the stairs and exposed structure of the first floor near a set of mirrors arranged to fit onto the unitized masonry façade (immortalized on Interim Dean Gabrielle Esperdy’s Instagram account as a throwback to the disco era). Three iridescent fabrics contorted themselves near the landing between the second and third floor. A table and two benches hung lightly from the underside of the ramp, a set of instructions describing how to get onto them without falling conspicuously hung nearby. To the uninitiated, it might look like the aftermath of a week-long tornado (something to which the building’s janitors can surely attest), but was one of the rare times students have been able to investigate and test the physio-spatial effects that elevate architectural experience in real life and do so in ways that question what everyday spaces are. It was enough to make you wonder what other routinized spaces could become.—Jacob Swanson