Overview

I was nine years old. Sitting in the back seat of the family car as my father drove through the bustling and hectic Sydney streets. The intense summer sun was beaming through the car window. We had been held up at a traffic light for a rather long period of time. I subconsciously gazed out from the car window at the tall, linear skyscrapers and a fascinating thought ran through my juvenile mind. I was suddenly reminded of how a candle would stand straight and tall when cold, then melt and deform in heat (after all, the summer sun was making it difficult not to think about heat). “I wonder… if a candle could melt, twist and buckle, wouldn't it be exciting if a building did that too”.  I imagined the monolithic, glass structure beginning to bend and deform before my eyes. That moment was the catalyst for my fascination with unusual forms.

Alas, my childhood fantasy of creating whimsical forms slowly but surely seemed less likely to be fulfilled when logic set in. Educators and peers embedded the importance of a building’s function into my mode of thinking. A part of me longed to follow the exciting and experimental ideals of sculptural architecture. I became too concerned about sacrificing the building’s function for its form, dreading the notion that my designs would be considered architectural failures.

I cannot excuse the importance of function for a building nor can I excuse my desire for design experimentation. Function affects the overall atmosphere of the space and is necessary for the complete success of a building. My philosophy is that the beauty of the superficial form can be matched in the functioning of its plan.