INDEX


THE WHERE
PRATT INSTITUTE

NAME
LIRIM KAPITAJ





I am sitting on my stool staring anxiously at the vellum in front of me. The white of the paper stared back at me so intensely I begin to sweat. It's not my fault that there were no fans or air conditioners installed in our studio. We were just first year students set up in the attic space of Higgins Hall. Why give us the option of comfort when their main goal was to squeeze out the weak links in the class. At this time of night, you would expect the school to be empty, however, architect majors are strangers to leisure time and we lacked a sleep schedule, so the studio was full of life. Life that was slowly being drained as the lead ran across paper. Erasers viciously rubbing back and forth trying to remove any trace of one's mistakes. My pencil moves around the field of creativity, my hand it's master, yet I feel as if I have no control. Time is ticking and I have to work for a hard deadline. It feels as if time is going slow, but it's far from the truth. I stand back and view my work...."SHIT!!!"


I start to feel sick as the reality hits me. My drawing is completely skewed and it is all because of my parallel ruler. This was possibly one of the worst things to have happened in my college career. I knew that I couldn't stay longer, since I would have to get home soon and there wouldn't be enough time to start the drawing over. My eyes begin to water as all the pressure building up over the past days starts to break free. What's worse is looking around and seeing all my peers just working away as if they are mindless zombies. No one looks happy, just exhausted to the point of no longer having emotions. That night I ended up going home with the drawing and spending the night in my room attempting to fix it. This was one of my first experiences in architecture school that exposed the truth about this rigorous major. Architecture isn't something that one does a few hours a day, and then forgets about. It is a harsh and difficult lifestyle that not many can adapt to. Your life becomes your work and the studio becomes your home. I can still see the dull blue tint of the lighting hitting my desk and feel the pain in my lower back from the hard stool. This night was a memory that I cannot forget.