Category: Practice

In September we entered a competition to design a shade pavilion for the Sycamore Fields dog park. Our submission was a masterwork: a cardboard dome with 61 portholes, a sliding hatch, and a rooftop for loitering above the dogs.

The jury, composed entirely of dogs, awarded the commission to a competitor who proposed ‘a tree.’ We have studied the winning scheme closely. It is, indeed, a tree. We concede its structural advantages and its good smell, but note, with some bitterness, that it has no mezzanine. We have petitioned for a rematch. The dogs have replied by barking at the envelope.

We are frequently asked why our design fee is a flat 40 treats, regardless of scale. The answer is that scale is a human preoccupation. A box is the size it is, and so is our contempt for budgets.

Of the 40 treats, 22 go to concept, 11 go to supervision (watching), 5 go to material research (sitting in prior boxes), and 2 are retained as a handling charge for the architect who must be coaxed down from the curtain. Variation orders cost extra, as do revisions made after the client has moved in, napped, and developed opinions. Invoices may be paid in tuna, but we prefer the oil.

We are proud to report that our annual carbon pawprint is the smallest in the sector, because we do almost nothing and we do it in boxes already made. Last year the studio produced an estimated 3.2 kilograms of emissions, most of it in one dramatic sneeze.

Our waste stream is 100 percent recycled, in that we recycle it into more boxes. Our energy comes from a windowsill. Our transport policy is that nobody leaves. A third party audit by an elderly crow, Mr. Anselm Pewter, confirmed all of this in exchange for two sunflower seeds and a polite refusal to be photographed.

On the afternoon of the 27th, a project we shall not name (it was the Tideway Pavilion) met a sudden squall. The roof, a gentle origami of hope, absorbed 4 litres of water and then simply declined.

We take responsibility. The architect on duty, Beatrix Clawford, was reportedly ‘indoors, thinking about it.’ We have since issued a waterproofing protocol: no outdoor sites during weather, no weather during sites, and a new clause in every contract stating that rain is an ‘act of the universe, aimed at us.’ The Tideway clients have been refunded in full, or at least in half, and a quarter of a sardine.

A recurring misunderstanding deserves a public airing. Clients regularly request that we ‘follow the sun’ across the floor, as if the studio were a sunflower and not an unlicensed collective of strict professionals.

The sun patch migrates 1.8 metres between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. in July. Designing a mobile habitat to keep pace would require wheels, which are a betrayal of the box’s humility, and a rail system, which is a betrayal of everything. Our advice is to place the box once, stage it with a blanket, and trust the patch to arrive like a late but loved relative.