Recently, I’ve been polishing one of my hobbies, drawing, and participating in the Inktober challenge, which has been my way of committing to daily practice. The challenge, however, didn’t come without its obstacles. Balancing my job as a researcher and other responsibilities made consistency difficult, especially in the first few days. My early sketches were hurried and more about getting something on paper than creating meaningful art. But as the month progressed, I found my rhythm. With time, I started to explore different mediums and techniques, which led to some interesting discoveries. Experimenting with Mediums: From Ink to Digital Inktober gave me the push to try various art tools, from traditional mediums to digital platforms. The first thing that comes to my mind is that each tool requires a different approach, especially when it comes to controlling pressure. For example, dip pens and brush pens both use ink, but the way they respond to pressure is worlds apart. The brush pen needs a delicate touch; push too hard, and you’re left with a mess of ink. Dip pens, on the other hand, offer smoother control and flexibility in line thickness depending on how hard you press. Then there’s digital art, which I’ve only recently dabbled in. Digital tools like zoom, undo, and the lasso tool make the process so forgiving—you can correct mistakes instantly! I find these tools especially helpful since I tend to make plenty of errors. However, drawing on a tablet without a screen was strange at first, as it didn’t have the same direct hand-eye connection as traditional media. But once I got the hang of it, I realized how convenient and liberating digital art could be. Art, Consistency, and the Price to Pay One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from Inktober is that consistency comes at a price. Balancing art with the demands of my job and daily life wasn’t easy, but I realized that if I wanted to improve, I had to make time—even if it meant squeezing in drawings during short breaks or late at night. I started carrying my art supplies everywhere, forcing myself to sketch whenever I had even a few spare minutes. Through this process, I discovered that consistency matters more than perfection. Some days, my work was far from ideal—rushed and messy. But what counted was the daily practice and showing up, even when I felt too tired or uninspired. It’s in this perseverance that I saw the most improvement, pushing me to experiment with different techniques and mediums. In the end, I learned that the true price of consistency isn’t perfection—it’s making time, committing, and letting go of the need to always get it right. By the end of the month, I had a collection of artwork that reflected not just my growth in technique but also my persistence in showing up, even when it felt tough. In this post, I’d like to share some of the works I’ve created during this journey. Oh, and I also started my YouTube channel to document and share this creative process!
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Imagine this—started with a small notebook, a freebie I snagged from a random conference. Little did I know, this simple act would reignite a long-lost passion, drawing. But as I drew, I soon realized something—I had lost the touch. The answer was crystal clear: nearly a decade had passed since I last practice this. Thus, my journey to reclaim my skills began, driven by a single principle: consistency Not so long ago, I rekindled an old hobby of mine—drawing, specifically character sketches. Some of you may have noticed that over the past few months, I've been sharing a lot of my drawings. Drawing has been a passion of mine since childhood, which is why I pursued Architecture as my major and profession (sounds stupid, I know). However, after entering the world of Architecture, I found myself missing the pure joy of drawing. Don't get me wrong, I still love designing buildings, but there's something different about drawing something you truly adore.
It all started with a free notebook I received at some random conference on green building. "Great, free stuff!" That was my broke ass mindset speaking. That same notebook sat untouched for nearly a year until one day, out of sheer boredom from reading papers, I picked it up and started doodling with an (also free) IKEA pencil. Ah, the life of a broke graduate student, hahaha. Stroke by stroke, a long-lost sensation began to flood back, a feeling of getting drown into drawing. Before I knew it, I had filled five pages of the notebook with random doodles. Then came the human characters, and that's when it hit me, I couldn't draw as well as before! My pencil strokes were stiff, and the proportions were disaster. I wondered why. There was only one answer: I hadn't been doing this for almost 10 years! No wonder my strokes lacked fluidity, as I had become accustomed to drawing building plans and sections, losing my delicate touch in the process. Being unemployed (some argue that a Ph.D. is a job, and I agree) and having the time, I was determined to reclaim those skills. There was only one way forward—learning and practicing. We often come across individuals with remarkable talents—an extraordinary sports player, a gifted artist and musician, or someone who excels at their job. It's easy to feel overwhelmed and think, "Oh, they're so amazing! I'm nothing compared to them," or even doubt our own talents, believing we have none. But what we often fail to realize is the amount of time and dedication these people invest in building their skills. They all have one thing in common: consistency. They consistently devote themselves to what they do, gradually mastering their craft over time. Returning to my own story, I've been diligently practicing my drawing skills since last year, even picking up a few new techniques. I've been consistent (believe me, I've tried) and have come to a single conclusion: being consistent is incredibly challenging, especially when it's something unrelated to your job. In my case, I'm not an artist; I'm an architect and a doctoral student who is currently focused on research, writing, and reading academic papers. On top of that, I'm also lazy. So, being consistent with something that's not directly relevant to my job is tough. However, as I write this, I'm still making progress. So, let's embark on this journey of learning to be consistent together, shall we? Humanity is a weird thing. Each of us possesses our own unique perception of the world, and it varies from person to person. Have you ever felt that time sometimes runs faster than it should? Einstein once suggested that it could be due to differences in gravitational fields between places. But is that truly the case? Psychologically, we often experience time moving swiftly when we're happy, and slower when we're sad. Personally, I've noticed that whenever I'm engrossed in something I love, time flies by. It's as if the duration of time is influenced by our moods or, in other words, relative to each individual. Have you ever come across memes featuring a serious scene in a movie with an oddly mismatched background sound? Or watched a film that intended to scare, but instead left you feeling emotional? Have you ever noticed some people who are undisturbed while sleeping with noise in the background, while others can't do anything if there's even a slight disturbance? Our perception of sound varies from person to person and can greatly influence our emotions, triggering anxiety or other responses. Not long ago, my parents visited me while I was abroad. Strangely enough, as we hugged and said our goodbyes, I felt an overwhelming surge of emotions, and tears streamed down my face. It was bizarre because I knew I would be returning home to them in a few weeks, and I had already been away for over two years. The act of touch intensifies our emotional experiences; it enhances our feelings. This doesn't just apply to sad emotions but also to other emotions. For example, when I attended my graduation ceremony online, I didn't experience any emotions or a sense of accomplishment. However, when I attended my graduation in person a year earlier, the emotions felt more real. Perhaps it's because we can physically connect with one another—through hugs, handshakes, and congratulations—that our emotions are heightened, even if it sounds strange. We, as humans, are fragile creatures. Sometimes we find ourselves crying uncontrollably, and other times we burst into fits of laughter. Whether we like it or not, our emotions are an integral part of us, and they define our humanity. Our heightened senses, which amplify these emotions, further contribute to our humanity. It's what sets us apart from machines or so-called artificial intelligence. Yes, we're weird creatures, but it's this uniqueness, shaped by our emotions, that makes us truly human. Recently, I had a conversation with a friend that made me think about the importance of a holistic approach in the construction industry. We were casually exchanging jokes, and at one point, my friend shared a joke about his other friend doing something silly. I didn't get it because I didn't know his friend, and our backgrounds were different. So, my friend tried to explain the joke, but it ended up being awkward. In that moment, it hit me: "Ah, this also happens in construction industries!"
When I worked as an architect, I often encountered disputes during the construction process because stakeholders came from different backgrounds. The architects couldn't always consider the structural aspects, and the structural engineers struggled to appreciate the aesthetics. It reminded me of what my professor used to say about integrating knowledge, and suddenly everything made more sense. Integrating knowledge in the architecture, engineering, and construction (AEC) industries reduces communication costs and leads to a streamlined construction processes It's similar to painting. When you paint, you don't start by focusing on the tiny details. You need to grasp the bigger picture first, and then you can dig into the specifics. If you obsess over the small details right away, your overall composition might suffer. Once you finish the details, it's too late to make significant changes without starting over. This same principle applies to the construction industry. Architects need to plan the entire building, considering the envelope, construction process, cost, and much more. However, like painting, architects also need to see the bigger picture before diving into the finer details. They must understand the materials—how strong they are, their limitations, and more. By considering these factors, architects can design structures that exploit the material's advantages and reduce potential disputes. Only then can they focus on the intricate details. Sometimes, we need to reflect on everyday life to understand complex concepts. Sometimes, all we need is to apply a simple example, just as I did when I spoke with my friend and discovered the importance of knowledge integration. We must understand that from a distance, we can eliminate unnecessary distractions, just as when we admire a landscape from afar. This way, we can appreciate the whole picture instead of fixating on a single part. Have you heard of Google search on steroids? Well, let me introduce you to ChatGPT. It’s an AI language model that can answer almost any question you throw at it. This AI is so mind-blowingly powerful that, in my honest opinion, it's a bit scary. And guess what? There are many other AI tools out there now that go beyond just processing text – they can even communicate using images! As a result, professions like artists, writers, architects (yes, I include myself here), and anyone working in creative industries should be aware of this. Many people are using these tools to create articles, artwork, research papers, and even for everyday tasks. It’s like we’re living with our own version of “Skynet” from the “Terminator” franchise.
As AI technologies continue to rise and more and more people hop on the AI train, it gets me thinking about some intriguing questions. If we create something with the help of AI, can we still call it our own work? Are we getting assistance from someone other than ourselves? Considering that AI models are trained on existing data, does it mean our creations are no longer original? Can we truly take pride in our work if AI has played a significant role? These moral dilemmas tick at my very soul. I, too, rely on these AI tools as a personal "Sensei" (I’m quite the weeaboo, you see) to expand my knowledge. Sometimes I even use them to check my grammar and ask for their opinions. Pathetic, right? Haha! Aside from my case, what about those who use AI tools to generate artwork, writing, and ideas and claim it as their own? Some argue that it’s just a matter of ideas, writing, or rendering. But isn’t the ability to initiate, to generate ideas, what sets us humans apart? If machines take over these tasks, are we no longer “human” enough? It's a bit of a dilemma, you know... In my personal view, this marks a paradigm shift in how we can coexist with AI. The question is, how? To what extent can we ethically use these tools? How do we retain control and resist the temptation to hand over all decision-making to AI? Sometimes, we find ourselves giving AI a bit too much credit, considering how undeniably helpful and versatile these tools are. Nevertheless, it's important to always remember to treat them for what they truly are—tools. By doing so, I can confidently say that the work we produce is still our own, not the AI’s. Let’s embrace AI as a tool, not as our ultimate decision-maker. As a lazy architect, I've always dreamt of designing a non-repeating pattern that could be used repeatedly, showcasing different expressions each time. And lo and behold, a group of researchers, including mathematicians and hobbyists, made a remarkable discovery!
In March, the mathematical world was captivated by the unveiling of the "Einstein" tile—a 13-sided aperiodic mono-tile capable of non-repetitive tiling. But, this tile is not "real" mono-tile since it required mirror translation to fill a plane. The following month, the same group of researchers (they surely love to work overtime) reveal a groundbreaking "real" aperiodic mono-tile called "Spectre" that could tile aperiodically without mirroring. As an architect, this discovery unlocked exciting possibilities for designing aperiodic patterns applicable to various paneling needs, be it floor tiles, facade panels, or curtain walls, using just one type of panel. However, due to its unusual shape, feasibility sometimes becomes questionable, although simplification methods can be found. Back in the 1970s, Roger Penrose, another mathematician (yes, mathematicians seem to encroach on our design territory), discovered Penrose tiling—an aperiodic tiling comprising rhombus-shaped "kites" and "darts." Once again, the tile's uncommon angles posed challenges in construction. But hold on! Around the 1960s, mathematician Hao Wang proposed the Wang tile, an assemblage of 11 colorful rectangular tiles that offered better constructibility. However, it lacked the expressive qualities of the other two. What a dilemma! Reflecting on these aperiodicity discoveries, it led me to ponder. While it's intriguing to uncover novel ideas, such as aperiodic mono-tiles, applying them to buildings inevitably confronts constructibility issues. Yes, they can still be constructed, but at what cost? Do we truly require these aperiodic patterns in our buildings to the point where we can disregard the expenses? Not to mention the concerns regarding versatility and resiliency of these so-called "Einstein" tiles. Myself, as a researcher and architect, we tend to focus on how we can improve one research or another, and how to incorporate new shapes into buildings. However, sometimes we need to pause and reflect: Is this truly what we NEED? Well... what a dilemma. Reducing Carbon Footprint through Reusable Building Components: The Promise of Osteomorphic Blocks6/13/2023 In recent times, the topic of reducing carbon footprint has become increasingly prevalent. As we strive to find innovative solutions, one approach that stands out is the reuse of building components. This is where reusable building components, specifically those utilizing topological interlocking, offer a practical and effective solution. Among these, osteomorphic blocks have gained significant attention due to their numerous advantages.
The concept of utilizing osteomorphic blocks with interlocking features holds great promise in combating waste and inefficiencies typically associated with traditional masonry construction methods. By employing these reusable masonry block systems, the building components can be easily assembled and disassembled for future use, thereby contributing to a more sustainable construction process. The integration of topological interlocking within these blocks enhances their stability and strength, resulting in structures that are not only environmentally friendly but also highly durable. In addition to their structural benefits, the use of osteomorphic blocks also offers advantages in terms of sustainability. This innovative approach significantly reduces the amount of mortar required during construction, thereby minimizing material waste and further enhancing the overall sustainability of the project. By embracing reusable building components and adopting topological interlocking techniques, the construction industry can make significant strides in reducing carbon footprint. The use of osteomorphic blocks not only addresses the concerns of waste and inefficiency but also leads to the creation of stronger, more durable structures. As we continue to prioritize sustainable practices, it is essential to explore and implement such innovative solutions that have the potential to revolutionize the way we build. As we strive for a better future, embracing innovative solutions like this will undoubtedly play a pivotal role in achieving our environmental goals. |
Just some random talk and ideas . . .
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