By Sarah Montague
Building is an act of transformation. How do we translate a thought into a thing?
– from Natalia Zubko’s Space/Materiality course description
I do not come from a design background and I have always been intrigued by the idea of “teaching” space. It seemed like a very conceptual premise, like studying black holes or zero gravity.
Well, Natalia Zubko is here to set me straight. She talked with me about her practice, her projects and what her students take away from the challenge of making.
Zubko is Part-Time Adjunct Assistant Professor at Parsons, and she is an academic triple threat, with an M.F.A. from Parsons, a B.A. in Anthropology and Art History from Brandeis, and Post-Baccalaureate Fine Arts degree, also from Brandeis.
She is also an accomplished sculptor, so it is not surprising to find her at the nexus of teaching and making.
I mention that I was intrigued by the Space/Material course, because it seemed both concrete and conceptual. And apparently I have said the right thing, because Zubko falls on this dichotomy with zest:
“You’ve definitely hit the nail on the head. On the one hand, it’s a very concrete course, tons of materials and methods. You know, hoping to build out that toolbox for them.”
On the other, it’s an exploration of identity and one’s place in the world. The course description promises a triad, looking at three types of space: haptic (related to touch); inhabited (lived in or occupied space); and social and environmental (related to society and the natural world). So in a sense, it seems to follow an invitation implicit in nature: if there is a space, what do we do to fill it?
Zubko’s entrée to the Materiality program was a woodworking course that she taught before the Parsons First Year program was fully developed, and when the first year student body numbered some 300 (today it is over 1000).
Her approach is both extremely sophisticated—she cites the
Bauhaus us as a foundational movement—and extremely practical—”they’re learning how to physically construct things.”
The class begins by responding to a prompt feels like both a beginning and something that will open up in the rest of their post-Parsons lives:
“What do you need to feel that you can take creative risks and make your best work?”
They are also learning how not to default to obvious choices: “I’m looking at everything as a concept. So if I’m thinking of sewing, your first idea is going to be needle-thread-fabric. But really it’s two planar materials, and you’re poking holes with a thinner linear material. Or, like a flange or a hinge that would put two planer pieces together. You can make that out of anything that you can fold. It doesn’t have to be a piece of metal that you bought.
Which sounds almost—primitive—and perhaps that’s part of the point. Before everything was easy for us, how were these challenges met?
“And then there’s a conversation around, when is glue appropriate, versus when you just are freaking out, and you’re throwing glue on it.”
I am humbled: I am always the person who just throws glue on it; and even that doesn’t work too well.
And from this very practical approach comes the essential principle:
“Really kind of breaking things down and then asking the students ‘Okay, what is it you’re trying to solve for? And what is going to be the thing that helps you get to it?’”
These conceptual and practical skills are taught in an ascending array of projects that introduce new materials and new problems.
“We usually start with something flat or drawing, because that’s a nice way in that they all feel pretty comfortable with so I have them make
symbols about how they perceive themselves, so they’ll learn about line and shape and how that can start to communicate.”
The next stage involves translating the symbols into wire—I say that this makes me think of Alexander Calder. And then they move into mechanical drawing. “So they’re learning orthographic views and axonometric views, and we take their symbol, and then we extrude it out on the paper. And then the last step of the project is, we actually build it three dimensionally.”
Do you remember that novel Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions? It was issued as a trendy trade paperback in the 70s, but in fact was a satirical novella by the English schoolmaster Edwin Abbott, first published in 1884.
Zubko’s process seems designed to get students to rediscover for themselves the substance of the world we live in in both playful and serious ways. Just as Flatland got us thinking about what a miracle a third dimension was.
I tell her—as a materiality neophyte–that I find the progression very exciting. Zubko’s goals reflect her teaching philosophy “statement of purpose” which includes “learn how to create a system of abstractions as well as building one idea off of the next.” And “resourcefulness.”
On that subject, she says she loves pointing out to students that great things can be made from modest materials. “ I want them to learn what choices they’re making. And to know that triangle–time, money, quality. Like, if I show them projects where people bought stuff from the 99-cent store, and you would never know, because [the makers] have taken the time to completely transform it.”
This seems an especially important message for students, who often have soaring imaginations, and limited means.
“So they’re starting to build with each thing a skill that then they’ll be able to adapt and apply to the next.”
This approach feels almost like rotations in medical school, which help students discover what types of healers they want to be. In this case, space and materiality help them to understand what types of makers they might be.
I ask Zubko what’s her greatest satisfaction as a teacher.
“When a student really surprises themselves that they were able to make something. Because, of course, I know they can. They are don’t always know they can.”