I began making houses on the first day of a new job, my first in residential architecture. The home is more than shelter; it’s a safe haven. With this in mind, I made a few, marking various personal events.

This house is stamped with the words, “I hope everything is okay”, and appears to be on the verge of collapse. I built it around that phrase, out of too-thin clay; the edge ripped, the walls tried to collapse so I braced them with wet clay; one brace fell out and the other two stayed. Cobalt seemed the obvious choice for something so dramatic. Great results.

[I’ll add a photo of my mockups here.]
Within a couple of months I’d realized the limits of a typical 25′x125′ Chicago lot; in plan, every house begins to look the same.

The Future
After making a few groups with that in mind, I started wanting a horde of houses, enough to cover my living room floor, or more. I don’t know whether I’ll ever do a living room installation, but I would like to do one, someplace. The architect in me wants to see a room where they’re on the floor, where people walk on a raised path, where the field of houses is raised, to experiment with different viewing perspectives. Contact me if you’re interested in hosting such an installation!

The napkin holder house (first photo this post) made me a minor (very minor) celebrity at NSUC Art 2007, as it was featured on the show’s postcard. The groups were a hit, something I hadn’t anticipated. It’s nice that they’re so dear to others, even as sending houses to new homes moves me farther from realizing my installation. I enjoy making them, enjoy the attentiveness to an object so seemingly simple.

I’ve kept a few for myself; the two at work tend to house business cards, one at home is a napkin holder, others are purely decorative. Despite the sculptural intention, I can’t seem to stop stashing important little bits and pieces in them: the defining difference between condo/apartment and house seems to be the capacity for storage.