A Coca-Cola can stands apart in a small clearing on an otherwise cluttered drafting table. The cylinder has been perforated with a multitude of tiny holes, as if it has been used for a target on a rifle range.
The little monument is actually a product of spontaneous creative energy, harnessed by an anonymous student in the Department of Architecture. A futuristic design for a new and improved Guggenheim Museum? Perhaps. A way to relieve late night designer's block? Definitely.
Sheryl Beard, a first-year architecture student, has spent nearly 10 hours in the design studio on this particular day, but she doesn't know the source of the Post-Modern Coke can sitting on her table. It is not her creation.
Instead, she points to her current project: a maze of intersecting cardboard planes adhered to a balsa base.
When asked what the assignment is, she laughs.
"I must have started this project 30 times from scratch. I'm not sure what the final project is. If I did, I would be finished."
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Welcome to architecture studio. Nestled on the second and third floors of the Engineering Units, these large open spaces are home to a "family" of students, bound by the goal of one day creating good architecture people can live and work in comfortably.
With the exception of third-year students who study abroad in Europe, life for the budding architect revolves around the Engineering Units. While Beard freely admits she is a bit overzealous in the daily hours she keeps, the average student spends at least "four or five hours a day" studying, designing and talking architecture.
The University's five-year architecture program brings new challenges and pressures with each passing term. This division is apparent in the studios, which are divided by year. The atmosphere in each area reflects the mindset of a particular class of developing architects.
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A hammock set up in the first year studio tells a lot about the students who work here.
A casual, informal air permeates the atmosphere. UB40's "Red, Red Wine" emanates from a boom box in the corner. Beard is cheerful and witty as she greets Paul Salvaggio, a fifth-year student visiting from the floor below. They chat about the music and the great amounts of graffiti on the white brick walls around them.
Welcome to the architorture department reads one logo elegantly executed in grease pencil. Salvaggio says the department is not too pleased about the graffiti, especially when it gives visitors a tour of the studios. But he adds the faculty does realize the necessity of the witty scrawl on the wall as a benign release of energy.
"Recently someone came in and spray-painted some of the walls white," laments Beard. "My beautiful column (next to her desk) is wiped-out. I'll have to start over."
Later on, Salvaggio explains why the students here are so relaxed.
"The first year determines whether or not you want to do it," he says. "The classes are tough, but there is a lot of interaction, a lot of late nights. Those that remain become a tight-knit group in this room."
Matt Mindrup is one person who does want to "do it." A quiet, unassuming figure with bobbed hair and Walkman headphones, he realized his interest in architecture after he arrived at the University last summer. By taking two classes during summer session, and proving his talent to his instructors, he was one of a select few to enter the program without officially applying to the College of Arts and Architecture as a high school student.
"I'm really happy I made it," he said. "It was hard -- the buildings are not air-conditioned and it was miserably hot last summer -- but I had a blast."
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The fact that architecture students are tight-knit group is reflected, ironically, in the very high attrition rate of the major.
Salvaggio explains that the department accepts 60 to 100 students a year, but only 20 to 30 complete the five-year experience. Those that remain become a blueprint for a model student group.
"Many are disillusioned with what it means to be an architect," he says. "That, and the workload, and the portfolio required to enter the fifth year discourage or deny some from the program."
Presently, the fourth and fifth-year students are in the midst of a ten-day competition. At the end of that period, the eight "best" designs will be entered into a state-wide competition against such schools as Temple, the University of Pennsylvania and Carnegie-Mellon University.
Fourth-year student Kirsten van Aalst is in a pensive mood. She walks quickly amongst the partitions with an alert look in her eyes. She is working late on an entry for the competition. Despite the long hours she has put in, her hair is well coiffed, her clothes unrumpled like her colleagues.
"Stress keeps you awake," she says. But if it is stress she is suffering, it is not visibly apparent. Others in the room are hunched over drafting tables, running fingers through their hair, fidgeting.
Salvaggio laughs, and says that No-Doze and Vivarin can, and often do help the late night crowd here.
But, stress is understandable in this situation. A winning design in the competition could very well secure a spot in the fifth year of the program.
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The tone of the fifth-year studio resembles the first year, but with an added calm and order that comes with the maturity gained after four demanding studios.
Bob Anthony is a fifth-year student. He is working on the competition too, but he has time to sit back in his chair and put on a Bob Dylan cassette.
"Since we're all in this room we see each other a lot," he says. "This (competition) week seems like one very long day to us."
Anthony goes on to explain that the location of the design studios are ideal. "Here in the Engineering Units we are right across the street from town, from the bars, which is very convenient," he says.
Salvaggio points out a weathered upright piano by the door. He says someone donated it one day and it has become a permanent fixture.
Then he swings his arm around the room, presenting the pet project of the fifth-year students: a recently redesigned and constructed studio with new partitions. A more sturdy and organized working area has been built. The post and lintel construction has a sense of permanence to it, unlike the old lockers and tables of the first-year studio.
They have graduated from graffiti and Coke cans to full scale interior design. Next stop: the real world and real commissions.
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Eventually, all of these people will be practicing in an architect's office.
Salvaggio explains that after graduation, some will start out as draftsmen, others will jump right into design. After several years each will have earned enough credit points to take a four-day exam which will license them to practice.
But until then, they will remain, spending long hours in their customized studios -- working, studying, playing -- and doing interesting things to soda cans.
